vacant

it had been two years since i last saw him. my father had been telling me, but without laying eyes on him myself i pushed it all away as unfamiliar impossibilities. when i walked in, he sat at the dining room table in his blue pajama set, which my dad says he now lives in. the buttons of his shirt were done halfway, exposing the same huge, alabaster belly i used to pretend was a punching bag when i was a little girl and he'd prop me up on his lap. what little gray, wiry hair he has left atop his head was visibly disheveled and unbrushed and you could see straight through to his freckled scalp. breadcrumbs peeked from the corners of his mouth and traces of stained dirt showed from underneath his fingernails. i leaned over to hug him and immediately smelled the odor of someone who has resisted bathing for a few days. a task my dad also said he neglects lately. this is my grandfather. but he is not the same man i remember, that the small town of upper north carolina remembers, who owned the town's one and only car dealership. back then, he was always extremely polished right down to his wingtip shoes and blue blazers. always a blue blazer. and always an extended hand ready for any handshake as he talked up the men and women of the town, both old and young. he was mr. personality, mr. class. mr. davidson. he was not this unbathed, frail-minded man before me. so there he sat, serving as the reality check i've been missing that..god, oh god...life does go on. we grow, and we grow up. even more, we grow old. we start life as dependent entities and we end it in much the same way. and it's the reality that nothing in life stops in it's tracks for us to catch up to it. instead, it pulls us forth with speeds relative to a locomotive...only on this train there are no loud horns signaling each stop, just the scenery whizzing by in a blur.

looking down at his vacant eyes, the vacancy which flickered in and out of the story that day and i imagine does every day now, he smiled up at me the smile that told me i'm still his babygirl. still the first born grandchild he used to be so proud of, though his smile now was also more childlike itself than i'd ever seen it. for in that smile i saw more than just a man, more than a childhood, i saw everything i hope my life to be and the fragility it can all contain. but, god knows, i also saw plenty of love.

seeping further

the soft spotlights waited over head, but had those been absent there would have been no need for them. where they sat, in a half-circle surrounded by stools and guitars of various types, whatever light present on that stage seemed to pour forth out of each of them into the open. much like the crisp, effortlessness that hung in the air from their breaths. they traded songs and anecdotal stories as if those of us sitting down below in our aligned rows weren't even there. individually they draw sold-out crowds of folksters, hippies, and the acutely sensitive; tonight, though, the focus was on the understood energy being passed back and forth and all places in between. periodically, heartfelt "mmm's" and whispered "damn's" escaped from those of us receiving the precious gift these four larger-than-life musicians extended, indications that no single moment or note of this evening would be lost on any of us there. the night was simple; and with it, i carried that warm, calm with me to let it seep further into the places it will.

the love study

npr recently did a series on how positive thoughts contain healing powers of sorts.  particularly, the study was in regards to how we are all connected to the world and people around us, touched by all things spiritual and physical and even those invisible.  in part 3 of the series, they explored the idea that two people who are connected by, and in, love can have very calming, positive health effects for both partners.  one particular couple had been married for ten years and were still so apparently in love that they immediately became the perfect specimen for such research.  both were hooked up to electrodes measuring blood flow and skin reactivity and told that over the next few minutes images of their partner would randomly appear on screen before them.   changes in both partners' nervous system responses were measured across each image they viewed and so the theory became gradually more and more supported with each blip of the monitors:  it is possible for two people to be so linked that the bond, and in this case love, they share is both undeniable and physically unbreakable.  

so of course this article peeled back the layers to expose the inner dreamer in me yet again, the dreamer that quite frankly i am so thankful to never have lost.  because i can hardly wait for the day i feel that powerful of a bond again with someone to where even ten years later that love is so palpable it could set all sorts of monitors and graphs afire...though it will be so evident that no doctors or researchers will need to confirm it.  and though i remain grounded in the ever-present nows of my life, i believe the love study is simply this: love is vital and, more than just existing, it thrives beyond physical boundaries when it's real.

until now

until now, i thought the fissures in the foundational walls of this heart finally had a reprieve.
they are as wide as chasms.
until now, i thought i'd cried myself to sleep for the last time.
the rain won't let up.
until now, i thought i knew you.
i've never had the chance.
until now, you were one of the few things outside of myself i could rely on.
it's just me.
until now, i looked to a red and black star to guide me.
there is vacancy where meaning once was.

funny that i've always struggled with the idea of "now", only to find that it's all there really is.

enough

the end is getting closer. this became apparent today amid discussions of to-do lists and detail loops needing to be closed within weeks. his already-fleeting attention span slipped another notch and i could tell that in the halls of his mind he's already thousands of miles away with his family and belongings. he mentioned decreasing the number of hours our sessions contain and as his scattered thoughts perforated the air i tried to push away the weighty sense of failure nudging my insides. i know in my mind the concept of failure is, to begin with, a relative one anyway...but i cannot escape the feeling that i haven't affected the change i've been hoping for. lack of time, yes...lack of focus, certainly. but then the metered lines of poetry i've been able to share with him so far jump to the forefront and relief washes over every last one. because if a man who has only ever known the grease of broken air conditioners and stopped up plumbing systems is now able to recognize the thoughts of nikki giovanni at first glance, then change did come a'knockin afterall. maybe he'll be able to feel that too...and maybe, just maybe, he'll want to read on for more.

that will have to be enough now.

simply delicious

the man on the radio talk show described various types of cheeses as if they were voluptuous women or travels unknown to exotic lands. such passion, appreciation, and even longing. it was his description of a type of monchego cheese as "excruciatingly delicious", though, that particularly caught my attention. the idea that something can be so intensely delightful that it brings about pain. so good it hurts, if you will. there are very few experiences that are that good and when they come around we'd better damn well notice them. it isn't about being able to just appreciate those as being the singular experiences they warrant; just as much, it's about taking them in and completely filling yourself with them until your cup spills over with joy. those little things that when added together separate those who truly live life and those who just meander through it in a disenchanted haze.

i planted myself near one of the window seats in Madhatters this morning and fired up the laptop, determined to get some work done for awhile. two bites into my breakfast, the pastry chef stepped out from behind his workstation long enough to sit down next to me to partake in his. the bald of his head reflected against the window, the shadows of his upturned mustache waving on either side of that reflection. his eyes caught mine and a wide smile appeared in between two chiseled cheekbones. in heavily accented English he raised his fork to me and said, "bon appetit, madame". i thanked him with a smile of my own and then we sat, strangers only two stools apart, eating together in warm, appreciative silence. minutes later, he finished the contents on his plate and again flagged down my attention. he smiled that same tooth-filled grin as before and this time departed with an "i wish you a good day". i smiled a return goodbye and wished him well, realizing that what just occurred dripped with such simple magnitude. i just had a taste of my own excruciatingly delicious, and not just the homemade granola and yogurt parfait. rather, the silent recognition that perfect moments do exist. like really good cheese and breakfasts shared with pastry chefs named Alfredo (i would later learn his name as the restaurant staff periodically called to him in playful jest). so good it hurts. this man just "gets" it, i'm convinced. it's a secret he not only knows and clearly lives, but thankfully decided to impart upon a stranger one random Monday morning. with just a few perfect phrases tucked inside a similarly perfect morning, my cup overflowed.

concise

we aren't talking much. i miss you. neither are ok. love, me.