mere hurdles

today he laughed. smiled in between stanzas, paragraphs, and word lists. even extended the bounds of the previous invitation as he offered up a few more details - a 90 year old ex-marine father, son Jake, and a love of skiing. rigidity fell further by the wayside and conscious walls relaxed to mere hurdles. he still smells of basements and soap but i imagine he always will whether here or elsewhere, for it is just as much a part of him now as anything.

more on the subject of walls to come...for i have much to think on this. for now, the cadence of night calls me to join it...and so i, too, let go.

so

sometimes standing next to you

i wanna kiss you so bad that it's right.

and as we speak, i find myself gradually

leaning into you as if you'd even 

know to meet me halfway.

you don't see it 'cause i dont let you.

i see me gently swiping away the wisps

of hair covering your eye, you see me

stepping backwards safely into my own line.

instead of your lips, i brush against your laughter in the air     which,

by itself, hangs delicately between us in a moment

that is so so, it's just right.

full spoons, full hearts

i witnessed something today that has left both eyes widened and reeling. wide because i almost missed it, reeling because though i have tried since to comprehend it, i just can't....despite feeling every ounce of significance the moment carried. as i slowed to a stoplight on one of the busiest streets in town, i saw a leathery woman with a soiled face and clothes matching the crumpled trashbag she clutched against her chest stand up from the bus stop bench on which she sat, turn around with her back facing traffic, and freely urinate on herself. it was not a mirage nor were my eyes tired; she was homeless and i was witnessing privacy stolen, stubborn pride a distant memory to daily survival. city bus stops and blacktops are now the only homes she recognizes, so when basic needs are in need of being met we probably would all do what we had to do to ensure we see the next day. as an aside, this is my second encounter of sorts in two days with someone who is homeless and while i wont be reaching too far with this post to extract some sort of grandeur (which would be, i would hope, to state the obvious), i do take from it just good 'ol fashioned gratefulness. the kind that comes bare bones from what our families instill further into our blood at an early age if we're lucky enough, as we're taught to be thankful for full spoons, full hearts, and a mended roof over head. all this to say, as far as life signs go, my eyes remain widened to them both intentional and haphazard. they will not be for naught....

his name is David

his name is David. i was a few minutes early for our meeting, most certainly due to the nerves scurrying around like mice in the pit of my stomach. standing in the lobby of the public library, i watched the headlights of countless cars pull into the parking lot and with each pair my stomach sank a little further. quiet visitations of self doubt, i’m sure, given the task i was about to take on in less than 10 minutes. i noticed him jogging towards me with his work coat held over his head to shield the April rain, and then he stopped briefly, took out a tiny piece of paper and scanned it. my name. i bet he forgot my name, and he was checking where he had written it down so he could appropriately address me. seeing that, i recalled him saying he had a horrible time remembering names. i thought it extremely ironic that a man who has difficulty reading depends upon writing down the details of his life just to keep them clearly aligned in his mind. to think that a sense of security can come in something as small as 2x3 sheets of worn, white paper. i suppose we take it wherever we can get it. i took in a deep “now or never” breath as he approached me and we both smiled knowingly – for those two smiles were for certain tiny invitations into the most vulnerable moments of the time we will spend together over the next few weeks. once inside the library, he said he had already gone by earlier that day and reserved a tutoring room for us that would keep us from disturbing the other library-goers. an act that told me he was just as nervous about this endeavor as i was. more accurately i knew it was yet another way to shield the secret of his disability he has gotten so used to keeping hidden from the outside world. in just an instant, the walls of that tiny sound-proof room became the boundaries within which he would trust me. in both of our meetings so far, i’ve noticed he smells of the musty basements and crevices he services daily as a plumber, wearing the grind of his trade in the scent on his skin. his hands, too, are as calloused with the work as i would have imagined them to be. he began tracing each word with his soiled index finger in a determined effort equal to that of a school kid reading his first book. yet he is in his late 40’s, i am most certain. for the next hour and a half he would tentatively stumble across consonant sounds and double letters as if he just met them all for the first time. when he speaks, he tilts his head slightly to the left and closes his eyes in what looks like two squinting slants, for he knows that in them i will detect his insecurity. the very act of closing them a safe harbor of protection. so i smile warmly back in his direction, and will continue to do so as many times as needed as assurance that i, too, am a safe harbor. as we were leaving, he said he had lost my phone number, so he pulled out that same square sheet of paper from his pocket i had seen earlier, my theory confirmed. under the name he had already written down for me, he scribbled each number with purposed care and tucked the square back inside his coat with the other life nuggets. protection yet again. with a simple "see you thursday?", i sent him back out into the daylight except that now i felt more connection and responsibility for what he would find while out there.

his name is David. and he does not know that the letters "sch" in the word schedule sound like a "k" when said aloud. he does not know that i will feel a loss in only a month’s time when he moves to Colorado and i can no longer see his progress. i will be left to wonder if i have helped this man navigate his world with a little more ease than he had before, but i will never know for sure.

and he does not know that this experience, that he, will change me. the truth, rather, is that changed and humbled i already am. and so we begin.

comedy of errors

life is one freakin' comedian. and i think she thinks she's much more witty than she is in actuality. she places ironies and contradictions like tiny wildfires in our paths, i would surmise for the sheer enjoyment of seeing how we'll dance around them. to see whether we are gullible enough to ask the question which will produce the punch line - of which is almost always so obvious it's foolishly difficult. thankfully though, life is also from time to time the poet, the painter, the designer, or the musician; and that is how i think we learn to dance with the comedian's one man show of errors enough to form what is beautiful and necessary to each of us as we go along. we dance, we laugh, and we love despite those ironies and wildfires...and isn't that the point? simply, that we did. that we do. or at least that we keep trying. so in the end, i hope the joke is always on her.

how the music happens

"i sat on the bench outside of class today and talked to jon. i read to him from my journal, it was the part about the accordian player i was watching on the street last weekend. he said that an accordian is such a perfect metaphor for love, because you are always opening, and closing, shifting, and getting air, and that's how the music happens. true."

— sabrina ward harrison

this much i know is true

also known as: messages of hope to the collective "you" (part deux).

you are ok. in fact, you are better than ok * sometimes you're closer when you're letting go * no one takes something from you that you did not give of your own freedom * you do not have to travel as far as you think to find what is most empowering * in the rightful equation, love is greater than fear. love yourself with wild abandon, then spill it open into this world.

shedding the excess

driving home tonight from the bar, wipers quietly scraping the windshield, i noticed when it rains the street lamps look like they’re crying. as if each light sheds its excess in the form of tears, which soon turn to vapor the second they hit the pavement. so i slowed to a stop on one of the back roads towards my temporary home, pulling off onto the shoulder, and stepped out into the down pouring light. face turned upwards as if to say, “it’s OK, i’m here.” those four words i have heard in abundance over the last twelve days, the magnitude of which was not lost on me as i stood to catch the tears of the night on my lashes. to accept abundance when you have little or none to give in return leaves me feeling awestricken and thankful, yet truly unworthy. and as i walked rain-soaked back to the car, i felt the chill of vulnerability in my bones and it became incredibly clear in that moment why mankind learns to cry.