Finding Home

Every once in a while, out of the blue, something happens that make you confront your own demons again. How many they were. How deep they wounded you. How unfathomable they seemed. How it brought the age old ache that rips just about all your nerve endings. How you never think you'd reach a point of no return. How blatantly stupid one can choose to be. How absurd, impossible, unbelievable. But real, frighteningly real, it scares the whole life out of you. The questions. Ask them, face them, confront them even if the winds cut your face. Because there is really no getting out of this place. No other way but through. One unforgiving truth comes out-- you have never been merciful to yourself. Not even a single bit. I mean do you really have to? You buried it deep enough under mounds of earth the same earth you thought you'd already be buried in. Is there no redemption from this place? This place that you hoped would be your home. Where you would feel the most safe. But then even

Here and now Rain falling Coming in merciful torrents Dissipates all pain Dispersing Unimaginable heat Its sound like Flat notes on a Piano Andante, moderato With hints of Staccato delicately, deliberately plunked By a solitary soul comforting, imploring, "Close your eyes Breathe deep All that is good Remember life And all its miracles Hold on to hope Find that joy Excavate all That is not and just Let. it. Go. " Then repeat.

You just get used to it. Eventually. That ebb and flow of expectation and disappointment. Sooner or later you begin to memorize the script by heart. You even know when the attempt to change begins. For whatever good intention there is you still find it in your heart to appreciate it because you can't help it. And then you wonder could it be true? The road to hell is indeed full of good intentions. So where are you off to? To hell? Or a heaven of intentions? But again it really is a matter of how much a heart can hold. It's amazing how quickly and slowly a heart can heal. In one instant you feel as if the wind has been knocked out of you and all you see is the world spinning, and in the seconds that follow, that familiar acrid acidic process in your insides, at the pit of your gut takes place ever so slowly. You fail to identify what it is until you realize, "oh its you" --your natural ability to adapt, accommodate, adjust your perspectives and ultimately your expec

Poetry Readings A sacred haven where boys Became men And men turned Into craftsmen Artisans Of words and Emotions The very language Of your hypothalamus the very function Of your left brain Exploding Like Katy Perry's Fireworks Unashamed Unfeterred Unapologetic you hear them Articulate Throes Of sorrow Desperation Of lost loves Of happy endings Of musings That speak of The chaos In their mind Taboo almost And yet it is Taboo That makes it All the more Beautiful Euphoric nostalgic eternal Where women Reveal How cold a fire Can turn And how the heat Can emanate From ice Where spite Is thrown Here and there And yet It is picked up Again one by one Like shards of glass Reattached and turned Into one hilarious Song Of romance And love and frisky Sunsets Singing your Age old pain that ironically Is the prime Ingredient Of your joy Gibran was right

So here we are, on this frayed bench The sun has set And the wind is picking up Not unlike your words Startling Almost like silence And banging cymbals Deafening You are one universe Of contradiction and yet beneath It all The pauses And deep breaths You take Makes Me want to Run my fingers Through your hair Cup your face And tell you Over and over Until you believe it "It's okay." Breathe in Breathe deep The questions, They're there For God knows what And who knows What the hell for You'll find the Answers soon and no, you won't Find it in this place or anywhere else I take your hand Press it to your Wildly beating Chest I say, It's right there. Listen to Rumi Pain has its Mercies And the wound, The wound Is where the Light enters You Just be still Wait, listen Look at me I found you Didn't I? Oh I'm telling you, You'll find yours

-2-20-13- Come sit with me Down on this bench Wooden, frayed, old Like a man In his late years Who has seen much Too much for the mind To comprehend The sky is beckoning The colors of the sun And the wind Come now it's time To settle down Come sit with me And breathe deep As we enter into Conversations of Endless starts and Hesitant endings Asking queries as How much can one Heart hold? What pain and Renunciation are Ready to be told? When does healing Start? What choices are To be made To make the terrible right? Come, sit with me There are stories Aching to be Laid out Like cards on The table of life The sun is turning A glorious red Transforming the Sky magnificent Come sit with me And allow The comfort Of silence and words To envelope Your tired soul Like a safe haven That admonishes you Gently, clearly Remember, you are Not alone. The sun is setting Now Come Si

2-20-13 The slumbering hours Are done My body wakes Yet unmoving, still Listening to the World wake From its drowsy State When the darkest Dark of night Turns to dawn Where midnight breaks Its shell to give way To morning calling Beckoning Like the furious Singing Of this place's version Of larks Or nightingales Bursting in Joyful praise Of the coming day Gray dusts of light Turning light yellow Bursting through The window I gently place My gaze on my little king Sleeping soundly Softly snoring I smile in wonder at the Miracle in my midst Day wondrously breaking and this amazing Bundle of life Gently, peacefully Breathing I wrap my arms Around him Holding him tight He snuggles close I then memorize The image of The sun's rays Willing my body To move and rise I take in My king's scent Inhaling deep His peace And as I do My eyes close And once again My bod