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Song made whole

You put the spring in my step,
and ever since the day we met,
I haven’t had even one regret.

You put the rhythm in my song.
You make me feel like I belong,
and that feeling keeps me strong.

Because I have lived a lonesome dream,
with friends who were not as they seemed,
whose love left me whistling at the seams.

But as I stood locked in a rage,
you thundered out on my life’s stage,
and helped my heart turn a new page.

Now you stand here by my side,
and I no longer want to hide.
I throw the gates of my heart wide,
and welcome you, my love, inside.

A Christmas story

Mark wandered the streets of New York, neither knowing nor caring where he was or where he was going.

He’d flown in to see Lisa for Christmas, and planned to spend two weeks with her.  They’d done this every year for the four years they’d been together.  But within three hours of his flight landing, she’d broken up with him.

“I’m sorry, but things haven’t been feeling right for a while now.  I meant to say something earlier – I really did – but I couldn’t figure out how.  And even though you’ve come all the way out here…  I’m sorry, but…it’s over.”

It was an understatement to say he felt crushed.  They’re spent four years together…and to have that fall apart…  He knew things hadn’t been good, that they had things to work on.  But he always thought there’d be more time.

“I guess I have all the time in the world now,” Mark thought, “but I have no idea what to do with myself…”

What should he do? He couldn’t go home, not after spending all that money to fly out here. Plus, going home early felt like admitting he was a failure. He dealt with those feelings often enough, but as low as he felt right now, he refused to feel sorry for himself. But what in the world should he do? He needed to find a place to stay, at the very least.

He needed time to think. He looked up. He didn’t recognize where he was, but he recognized the feel of it: the crowds, the people, the energy… “OK, let’s do this,” he said, hefting up his luggage.

He’d brought two pieces of luggage with him. The first was his suitcase, filled with two weeks of clothes, a bathroom travel kit, a spare change of shoes, and anything else he thought he might need for the two-week trip. But in the second piece of luggage, he carried his heart and soul.

He’d loved Lisa – he really had. But neither she nor any lover before her could ever replace music in his life.  Many tried.  Lisa had tried, but she never understood why he preferred performing in front of a crowd, however small, over parties and other social gatherings.  They were alright, but they were nothing when compared to making music.

He rarely went anywhere without his instrument, and had it with him in New York.  So he looked around for a few minutes to find a good spot, and set up.  When he was ready, he removed his heart from its case and began tuning the strings.  And once the two of them – man and instrument – were in sync, he began to play and sing.

He played a song of Christmas snow – light and fluffy.  He played a song of Holiday gift-giving, bright but mysterious.  He played a song to the longest night of the year, full of cheer and merriment in the face of darkness.  He played a song to drive the night away.

Then Mark closed his eyes and played the song of his relationship with Lisa.  It was a song of heartbreak and regret.  It was a song of nostalgia and remembrance.  He played of the day the two of them met.  He played of the first time they made love.  He played of hundreds of memories, until the ache in his fingers bothered him more than the ache in his heart.  Then, he stopped playing and opened his eyes.

The crowd had stopped, and they were staring at him with bright, tear-stained eyes.  “I got dumped tonight,” Mark said, a bit choked up himself, “and I had to get that off my chest.  Thank you all for listening.”

And they cheered, and applauded, and hooted and hollered.  Some threw money into his open music case.  After he’d set his instrument aside, some of them came up and gave him hugs.  Some told him things like, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” “You’re so talented,” or things like that.  He listened to them, and thanked them all with an honest, if tired, smile.

And once the crowd had thinned down and died out, a woman about the same age as Mark approached him.

“That was amazing.  I’ve never heard anything like it,” she said.

“Thank you very much,” Mark replied with a smile.

“Was that true?  Did you really…get dumped tonight?”

“Yes,” Mark sighed.  “Yes, I did.  That’s why I came out here to play:  to get a few things out, and think about what I was going to do over the rest of my trip.”

“How long are you going to be in New York?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh, nice.  The city’s great this time of the year.  Where are you staying?  Maybe I can make some recommendations on things to do while you’re here.”

“Right now, I don’t know.  I was supposed to be staying with my girl- with my ex, but that didn’t work out.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.  That sounds awful.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be OK.  Things have a way of working out,” Mark responded, beginning to pack up his things.

It was long, quiet couple of moments before she spoke again.  “Well, it’s not much, but I have a couch that’s free at my place.  I mean, if you’re interested.”

Mark stopped and turned around to look at her.  She seemed nervous, but in a way that felt safe – like she’d seen hard times herself, and wanted to do something when she saw a stranger going through them too.  He had a good feeling about her.

“Sure, thank you.  I’d like that,” he replied.  “I’m Mark.”

“I’m Hannah,” she said, offering a handshake.  “it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Hannah,” Mark said, shaking her hand.  “Thank you for being so kind.”

“Oh, not at all.”

Mark finished packing the last of his things and turned to face her.  “Lead the way.”

She smiled shyly, and started walking.

“Oh, wait,” Mark said.

“Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas Hannah,” Mark said, giving her his best smile.

She stared for a moment before responding in kind,

“Merry Christmas Mark.”

Polyandrium

Those brave and strong,
lauded in story and song,
who pierced through the night
with the force of their might…

Polyandrium.

Those gentle and kind,
strong in heart and in mind,
who lead others toward tomorrow
and overcame each and every sorrow…

Polyandrium.

Those noble and proud
who shirked not the shroud,
who knew the cost for all their deeds,
who knew where the path of a hero leads…

Polyandrium.

Those who stand upright today,
who strive to find a better way,
who know full well that they may fall,
but even still they risk it all…

Polyandrium.

I know now that the stories are true:
that heroes live within each of you,
and you need not fear a shallow grave –
glory waits upon the brave.

Polyandrium.

La petite mort

Pleasure
is a twirling, twisting thing.

Shivering and chilled,
feverish and sweating –
the sickness is catching,
the little death is close,
and whether you’re bound
for heaven or hell
the force of it
will bury you.

Save me, damn me,
obey me, command me –
the little death is catching
through looks,
through touches,
through kisses
that blow through you
and leave you breathless.

Connections

We’ll see each other again, right?  This isn’t goodbye forever…right?

Those words had haunted David for the last several years.

They were often the last thing on his mind before he crawled into bed at night.  They were usually his first thoughts of the morning.  They stayed with him through the nights when he didn’t sleep at all – whether because of impending deadlines or insomnia.

People always tell him, “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” and he’d grown to hate that expression.  They weren’t wrong, but those words – and the people who spoke them – felt so callous to him.  It was like they expected him to suddenly wake up and stop loving her – like he could turn his feelings off just like that.  But he couldn’t, and he wholly, helplessly loved Laura.

He was obsessed, and he knew that too.  You don’t spend years haunted by a memory and call it anything but obsession.  But understanding what it was didn’t make it any easier to understand what he should do with those feelings.

He tried moving on – it didn’t work, but it did make him feel like an ass when he had to end relationships because he loved a memory more than his girlfriend.  He tried drinking – and that made it worse.  Drinking gave him a series of misadventures he was glad he didn’t remember, as well as a legion of headaches he wished he could forget.  He tried burying himself in his work, but it just made him feel dead inside.  Only Laura, or the memory of her, made him feel alive.

Pain was an interesting way to measure “feeling alive”, but it was all he had these days.

They had met in college, and spent more than a year a friends before spending two as lovers.  But when graduation came and they had to head out into the real world, life took them in two completely different directions.  Laura headed to Boston to work on her Master’s.  David had gone to the West Coast, where the corporate culture proved agreeable to him, and he made a name for himself.

He didn’t mean for them to drift apart.  He’d always planned to call, to text, to…something.  But there’d always been one reason, or another, and he put it off for another day.  He put it off time and time again until the delay became a question he was terrified to answer.  And he never heard from her – and his own doubts and insecurities filled that silence as well.

Believing she’d moved on, David tried to move on too, and failed miserably.  And in a moment of desperation, he sent her a message, expecting the worst.  But the unbelievable happened:  Laura replied.

Hey, I’ve missed you.  How have you been?

And slowly, their relationship picked up again.  She’d finished her Master’s and was teaching at the University of Vermont.  Her father had passed away, but her mother was still with her.  She’d never married.  Little by little, they bridged the distance of those years apart from one another.

And recently, they’d agreed to meet.  David was flying in to Burlington, and would stay the week.  His nerves were a mess the entire trip.

She’d told him she’d meet him at the baggage claim.  David made a bee line for it as soon as the plane touched down.  He waited impatiently for his luggage to arrive, and anxiously scanned the crowd for Laura.  He looked and looked, but he couldn’t find her.

I’ll wear blue.  You won’t miss me – unless I find you first.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around.

Flower, seed, and soil

I am the flower, the seed, and the soil.

I am the flower,
beloved and bright,
I root to the earth,
and stand in the light.

I am the seed,
my potential’s unknown,
but with tender hands,
my glory is grown.

I am the soil,
holding steadfast and sure,
and I nurture new lives
with those who came before.

I am the flower, beautiful and brave;
I am the seed, pure possibility;
I am the soil, built o’er the grave;
All these, and more, live within me.

One World, One People

The concept of Unity has come to prominence lately, with recent events bringing people together. And with regards to those events and the idea of Unity, I wanted to put in my two cents on the concept. So, here we go.

I’ve seen much of the discussion of Unity come from a religious, spiritual, or philosophical perspective. And while that is a beautiful thought, I have a few issues with what I’ve seen coming out of those camps.

1) Self-righteousness – groups I’ve seen put forth the idea of Unity dream of its implementation through conformity. Christians think the world would be better if everyone was Christian, vegans believing the same if everyone abstained from eating meat and using animal products, feminists think they’ll save the world with feminist, and etcetera. Regardless of whatever measure is used, it all boils down to one thought:  The world would be better if everyone was like me. And to that I can but ask, “Why are you so special? Why is your way the one, true righteous path? Why must all others forsake themselves and their identity for your vision?” Does your Unity only come to fruition by the subjugation of others?

2) Everything would be better if we were all the same – even if the conformity I mentioned in my first point came to pass, would people still be harmonious? Hasn’t religion provided points contrary to that throughout history? Even within the same religion, different people interpret things differently. Catholics and Protestants are both Christians, and share the same basic beliefs. But these groups still come into conflict even with those same base beliefs, as seen in Ireland for Christianity or in the Middle East with the Sunnis and the Shiites. I guess the Devil is in the details, as they say.

In my eyes, Unity is something unlike all of that. It sees others not as threats or rivals, nor does it strive to understand and respect others, nor does it strive to embrace others out of love. Unity is seeing no distinction between others and ourself. All the world is in us, and we are in all in the world.

But what does it really mean? What will it really take to get there?

Can you see yourself in another person, and them in you? Whom do you imagine when you do this: a parent, a lover, a child, or a friend? Indeed, that is the correct answer, but it is also an incorrect answer. Or perhaps more gently, it is an incomplete answer.

Can you see yourself in a rival as well? What about in a stranger? Can you see yourself in a romantic interest who rebuffed your advances? Can you see yourself in another person who practices a different religion, belongs to a different political party, or has a different sexual orientation?

Can you see yourself in an enemy? Can you see yourself in someone you hate or condemn?

The world is not lacking monsters, and they must be challenged and overcome. But each and every monster, every murderer, every rapist, every pedophile is still a person. They may be someone’s lover, just as you may be. They may be someone’s parent, just as you may be. They are someone’s child, just as you are.

Can you see yourself in them as well? Can you cultivate compassion for our fallen brother and sisters, even knowing that they must be stopped – and killed if necessary? Do you grieve for the perpetrators as fiercely as you do for the victims? Can you?

That is the absolute, unyielding cost of Unity. And it is not something we can demand of others – it is something we must first cultivate in ourselves. Only then can we go out into the world and inspire others to follow that path, rather than demanding or terrifying them into converting to our beliefs.

We are one people. We are all in the world, and the world is in all of us – the good, and the evil. Can you open your arms, your mind, and your heart wide enough to welcome home those whom are most lost, and steel yourself to challenge them if you must?

To me, that is Unity. That is One World and One People. It is difficult, but it is also worth pursuing.

Heartstone

They say you have a heart of stone –
cold and unfeeling, you cannot be moved.
But I know better.
Yes, I know better.

You have a heart of crystal –
shimmering and shining the day away.
You catch the light sent your way,
reflecting and refracting it.

The stillness that they see
is their own inflexibility.
They call you cold only because
they cannot bear embracing you.

There is a garden in your heart
that catches fire every dawn,
enraptures rime every moonrise,
and welcomes wonder every starlit night.

Every crack and every flaw
is but one more purchase for the light,
and all the scars the world gave you
add a beauty called “character”.

They say you have a heart of stone –
cold and unfeeling, you cannot be moved,
but you carry a cultivated prominence,
and your glory grows with each new day.

On thinking big

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, you figured out something that would revolutionize the world. Maybe you discovered out how to let people fly, or the secrets to teleportation. And let’s also say that you’re in a position to spread that knowledge to the world immediately. Would you?

Most people would give an enthusiastic, “YES!” to that question. Whether you share that kind of information out of the goodness of your heart, or you sell it to make a fortune, I imagine most people’s first reaction would be to immediately share or sell what they’d discovered.

I would not, because I’ve given some thought as to what that would do.

If we revolutionized transportation, things would change – and in a big way. Cars and trucks would become antiquated luxury items. This would reduce pollution, but it would also put a whole, WHOLE lot of people out of work.

And I don’t just mean the major car manufacturers. I mean the majority of car dealerships, gas stations, and mechanics – just gone. Heck, the iron and oil industries would probably be hit hard too with such a sharp decrease in demand. The shipping and trucking industries would likely take a hit as well, depending on what the revolution was.

Forget about thousands or even hundreds of thousands of jobs lost…making such sudden and drastic changes to the world would leave tens of millions of people unemployed.

I could probably think of a few ways to more thoroughly destroy the world, but I’d have to put some effort into it.

Which brings me to my point: thinking big is good, having grand dreams is great, but always think big enough and grand enough to include the consequences of your actions. I don’t say this to discourage people from trying to make the world a better place. On the contrary, I think a revolution in transportation (for example) would do the world some good. But if this or any other revolution is done without consideration for those whom will be caught in the path of change… That will create quite the tragedy.

Song of spring

The world spins and turns,
seasons come and go,
and while winter is on the rise,
spring will come again.

The nascent glacial weather
will frost the fall foliage,
but snowmelt waters sleeping seeds
and nurtures new growth.

While the winds sharpen icy edges
and the days dim and darken,
the nights burn brighter
with kind-hearted company.

And as the snows pile higher,
we stay snug as bugs on a fireside rug,
laughing loudly with such mirth
that we shake clean the rafters and the roof.

And when spring finally returns,
it’s shocked and surprised to learn
that we’d carried its spirit all winter long
to greet the buds with joyous song.