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Handspan

We are alike, yet
we are not the same.

It is more than a matter of gender or race:
whether the difference is sex or skin,
what differs without does not within.
It is only the failure of our eyes
that see a flaw where none lies.

It is more than a matter of religion or Faith:
the God(s) you believe in, the ones you won’t,
and those of us who simply don’t –
no matter what Faith you hear call,
a faith holds fast for us all.

It is more than a matter of country or culture:
we’re all children of the same planet,
and all the land we claim on it
rests beneath the same blue sky
that sees no borders between you and I.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective:
that strength is not in the facts we face,
but rather, we can measure our disgrace
in how openly we can face the facts
and restrain ourselves from attacks.

Perhaps it is our hopes and dreams:
the glimm’ring stars we reach for
and the things that we adore
are the measure of our hearts,
and what sets us most apart.

Perhaps the truth is closer than we think…
the difference is in our hands –
whether to heal or reprimand –
do we try to tear others down,
or offer them the glory of the crown.

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Song of storms

Sing for me a song of storms,

Sing to me of gallons of rain,
carried in the arms of a hurricane,
swallowing all our hopes and dreams
just like their clouds consume sunbeams.

Sing to me of a frozen gale,
of snow, of ice, and deadly hail –
frigid blades within the breeze
that cut you deep how’er they please.

Sing to me of roaring thunder,
of lightning that splits the night asunder,
scorches the earth with Heaven’s ire,
and smites the sinful with Their fire.

Sing to me of the tempest,
of wind that rages relentless,
that huffs and puffs with a laugh
and blows away the last of the chaff.

Sing to me of human hearts,
of the trembling flesh that shakes and starts
at the approach of the ones they hold dear
and the advance of those they fear.

For all the storms that nature brings,
the winds and rains that howl and sing –
the glories of Gaia at her best
are outdone by the storm within our breast.

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I lie for a reason 2

A writer friend of mine recently told me about a Reader’s Digest writing prompt to write a story that begins with the phrase, “The difference is, I lie for a reason.” I found the idea inspiring, and below is my second story based on that prompt.

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“The difference is, I lie for a reason.”

Jane sat there, a contented-looking smile on her face while she listened to her husband boast to his coworkers at a corporate dinner party. They’d had some hard times recently, a few lean years, but things were turning around for the two of them. And with the way things were at Tom’s law firm, the two of them weren’t in any danger of decline.

“Our clients do the most ridiculous things, and then they start mouthing off to the first person who will listen to them. But me – I lie to get them out of the messes they make for themselves. I say, ‘Your Honor, my client would never be so foolish,’ but in reality, they’re probably already digging themselves a deeper hole. I swear, some of them are probably making their next mistake before they ever even leave the courtroom.”

Tom’s coworkers laughed at this, and the closest of them gave him hearty slaps on the back. All but one of them were Partners – her husband’s peers. But they were joined by Robert Mullivan, Senior Partner and one of the members of the firm’s Leadership Committee, and it was his endorsement that catapulted Tom to his position ahead of more tenured employees. And with the way he was laughing along with the others, Jane’s husband still had Robert’s support.

“You crack me up Kid,” Robert said with a guffaw. “I had a hunch you had something significant to offer this firm, and I was right. Congratulations on your success!” Robert raised his glass, and the others joined him before swallowing their drinks in a toast.

After finishing his drink, Robert checked his watch. “And as much as I’d like to spend the rest of the night celebrating with you youngsters, my old bones and this watch are telling me I need to be on my way. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course Sir,” Tom said, shaking Robert’s hand in farewell. Robert turned to leave, and the remaining partners turned back to Tom to talk shop. As they closed ranks, Jane leaned in close to her husband.

“Honey,” Jane said, “I’m going to go powder my nose.”

“OK Jane – you’ll be back soon?”

“Of course Love,” Jane said, planting a peck on Tom’s cheek before walking away.

Jane heard her husband’s coworkers teasing him over that kiss as she walked away. She didn’t look back, but kept walking: past the buffet, the bar, the restroom, and out the front door. She kept a brisk pace, and caught up with Robert just as he was getting to his car.

“Robert.”

He startled, but quickly recovered. “Jane – you surprised me. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for my husband,” Jane said with a smile on her face.

“Oh – oh, you’re quite welcome,” Robert replied, looking a little anxious.

“Do you have a few minutes to spare, before you have to leave,” Jane asked, lowering her head and looking at Robert through her lashes.

“No, I really have to go,” Robert said

“We won’t be long. I promise.”

“No Jane. Tom needs to make it on his own. If I intervene every time there’s an issue, it will get out and reflect badly on all of us.”

“But there won’t’ be any issues, will there Robert?” Jane asked in slow, measured words as she approached him.

“He’s a fucking idiot! Did you hear him in there: insulting his clients in the middle of a very public setting?! It’s a miracle he’s come this far! I refuse to be a part of this any longer!”

“Now Robert, we’re just so grateful for your support. I only want to thank you on behalf of the both of us,” she said, beginning to stroke him lightly.

“Jane – we can’t…”

“Shh. Don’t worry. Everything will be OK,” Jane said, as she lowered herself to her knees and reached for Robert’s fly.

“I promise you Robert: I’ll make everything OK.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jane returned to her husband – her makeup as immaculate as her smile.

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A question of desire

My dearest love,

I want to plant a trail of kisses
up your trembling thigh,
while you stare, starstruck,
wondering how anyone could find you
so intoxicating.

I want to drink deeply of your desire,
and use my tongue to spell out a story there:
a one-act play of such intensity
that its inevitable climax
leaves you gibbering in its wake.

I want to caress you –
the tips of my fingers tracing
every glorious inch
of every glorious curve
and memorizing your mysteries.

I want to stir you up,
stoking the fires of your passion
until we’re both burning,
until we’re both erupting,
until we’re both spent.

I want to wake beside you hours later,
a hot, sticky mess,
and give you a smiling, sizzling look
that asks through the exhaustion,
“Again?”

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I lie for a reason

A writer friend of mine recently told me about a Reader’s Digest writing prompt to write a story that begins with the phrase, “The difference is, I lie for a reason.” I found the idea inspiring, though I took some liberties with its execution. But below is my story based on that prompt.

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People tell a lot of lies.  Some lie to others; others lie to themselves.  Some tell white lies, while others spread the darkest gossip.  I’m not like any of them though.

The difference is, I lie for a reason.

I lie for a man, a father, on his deathbed.  I tell him, “I love you.”  He smiles – I’m not sure if he knows I’m lying.

I lie for a woman, her hair streaked with grey.  I tell her, “You were a good wife, a good mother.”  She says nothing – I know she knows I’m lying, but I lie anyway and hope that I can convince her otherwise.

I lie to a girl who lied to me.  Once upon a time, she told me she loved me.  She didn’t.  Now, she tells me her boyfriend doesn’t beat her.  He does.  But I lie to her, and tell her that I don’t remember the last time I saw him.  I do.

The last time I saw him, the whites of his eyes shone like two full moons right after I told him a truth that left the night hushed like the twin kisses of a double-barrel shotgun.  The last time I saw him, he looked like a Jackson Pollock painting of the Invasion of Normandy.  The last time I saw him, he ran out of lies to tell me as I threw one last shovelful of dirt on an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.

“How could you do it?” you ask?  Maybe I’m just a stone-cold bastard.  Maybe not.  Anyway, that’s not the question you should be asking.

“Did you get the girl?”  No – but I keep an eye on her.  I listen to her lie to her acquaintances and say that she left him, and lie to her friends and say that he ran off with another woman.  Neither are true, and she knows that.  But she lies to them and to herself, out of habit or maybe just to make it through the day.  But that’s not the right question either.

“Do I think I’ll ever get caught?”  Of course not – most criminals don’t, not that I think I am one.  But for all the red this confession seems to paint on my hands, no one will ever find a body.  Even if the cops bring me into the station, they’ll never get the story out of me.  Nothing will come of it.  Anyway, that’s still not the right question.

“Why did you do it?”  Ah…now that’s a better question.  Maybe I did it for the girl; maybe I did it for myself.  Maybe I’m mad, or maybe I’m just the last righteous man in a world full of liars.  Maybe you’ll never know.

Because when I lie, I lie for a reason…

And what if I’m lying to you tonight?  That…that is the right question.  Because anything else…?  Well, how can you believe anything I’m saying?

After all, I am a liar.

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The Sun and The Moon

Do you know of Tarot?  These cards are often used for fortunetelling, and can be divided into two sets:  the Minor Arcana, which became our modern playing cards, and the Major Arcana, which are often used to depict Tarot in films and stories.  And while all the cards are rich with meaning, today I would like to talk about two in particular:  The Sun and The Moon from the Major Arcana.

The Sun is a masculine card.  It represents day, enlightenment, and intellectual advancement.  All the things we associate with academy and philosophy are attributed to The Sun.

The Moon is a feminine card.  Some descriptions of Tarot depict The Moon as a negative card: representing wildness and unrestrained instincts.  However, I see it as intuitive – representing a deeper understanding of the word.

While The Sun burns, The Moon is cool.  While The Sun radiates, The Moon is still.  While The Sun speaks, The Moon is silent.

Some pains are born of sound and fury.  They cannot be healed with more of the same.  You cannot treat a burn with more fire.

Some nights, there are two moons in the sky: one without, and one within.  And on those nights, there exists a pain that cannot be cured by words or deeds.  It must be borne in silence – but not necessarily in solitude.

So friends, will you join me?  Will you listen, and help to bear this pain?  Will you stay awhile in my company?

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With and without

His joints, not without aches,
Her back, not without pain,

His mind, not without fatigue,
Her faith, not without strain,

His days, not without hardships,
Her nights, not without regrets,

Their hearts, not without scars.
Their souls, not without glory,

Their eyes, not without sorrow,
not without joy.

Their lives with grace,
standing side by side.

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On finding yourself

The journey to find ourself is a persistent cultural trope.  And with good reason – with each generation that succeeds, there is another generation who follows them and needs to take their own journeys.  And while the goal is the same, people pursue it through many different means.

There are people who look for themselves by saying, “Yes.”  They say “yes” to everything that interests them, and pursue themselves through new experiences.  By learning what they like, and what they don’t like, they attempt to find themselves.

There are those who look for themselves by saying, “No.”  Some give so much of themselves that they lose their sense of self in the pursuit of helping others.  By saying “no,” they free themselves from the perception that they must help others, which gives them time for their own journeys of self-discovery.

There are those who look for themselves in solitude – with the quiet and the isolation allowing them to process what they think and feel.

There are those who look for themselves in others – and revel in immersing themselves in cultures and communities.

And there are those whose journeys are complex and multifaceted.  Some may immerse themselves in saying “Yes,” but make time for solitary moments of self-reflection.  Others may revel in their interactions with others, but maintain healthy boundaries by learning when to tell people, “No.”  Some may be immersive and explorative, while others may need boundaries and solitude.

There are many different kinds of people in the world, and many different paths we could take in search of finding who we are.  I don’t believe there is any “one true path” that we all must take, but many open for us to explore.  And while there are roads that lead to ruin, I believe that there are fewer of those than our fears and insecurities lead us to believe.

They say, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and the journey in search of our self is perhaps as complex as any we’ll make in our lives.  But like the quote says, these journeys are long, but can be completed one step at a time.

So step.  Step with faith.  Step with confidence.  But step forward – your journey awaits.