an ode to her gracious being …
an ode to her gracious being …
I have tears all the time. In truth all my life I have been susceptible to being emotional at the most profoundly simple times, a hallmark commercial legacy follows me. Lifetime movies, a bittersweet scene from a new movie preview, the notion of two lovers being drawn apart by society. The events that most people look past with little or no reaction impact my daily life.
People chuckle sometimes at my inability to hold back a tear and the most urbane moment. For me, I always struggle to understand why. There are real moments that make sense. Watching a student perform their last solo in one of our productions is always a trigger, the beauty of their time on the stage quite evident in my mind, and their moving on beyond our program is always bittersweet.
Fast forward to today, and the remarkable energy of a love story always brings a tear to my eye, sometimes sobs. Understanding love has been one of the more confusing realities of my life, especially given my circumstances that suggest societal rules do not allow me to have emotional reactions outside of my ‘real’ world. Lately, I haven’t been able to wrap my head around my ‘real’ world. What is real to me, has suddenly become less merited than I might prefer. If that sounds vague then step into my head. The confusion is clearly apparent.
Weekends are tough because I have too much time on my hands. There is nothing happening home, so I am detached most of the time. Living like roommates my marriage has been minimized to say the least – I keep waiting for change, and my efforts towards doing so have been based upon obligatory reasoning being raised Catholic and recognizing the sacrament of a bond under God’s eyes. But I do question that whole theory when the element of happiness comes to mind. I know happiness, and unfortunately it isn’t happening at home.
So I look for outlets. Writing has been an outlet, it has always been my quiet release. There have been times when I have been rambunctious with my freedom with words, and those moments have taught me decorum. Today, my moments are far more reserved and I strive to have a respectful persona. In writing, we find certain energy in the mystique of a muse that inspires our words.
In recent years, my muse returned to my life, and therein lays the struggle. I gave my heart and soul to the beauty of the delight she brings to my world. Today, time is different and my acceptance has been partial to say the least. In the moment I say I understand, at the same time I am still searching for in roads to help me come to terms with the elegance of my muse, and her impact upon my life.
The concept of love is one that I feel quite confident in my own personal definition, and now today, as I write these words, I want to focus on the reality of a tear. My tears are real and cleansing, and for now that is all I have. I hang onto the fabric of their impact on my present world. A month ago, I was willing to sacrifice everything in my world due to my remorse, my inability to recognize space, to allow our lives to return to a world we both had expressed brought more pain than satisfaction to our hearts.
Oh to be sure there are certain aspects of our world that bring us joy. Please understand I have no illusions about the confusion of our passion and this romantic interlude that defines my identity.
I only have tears.
I’ve been keeping a journal – one every day, I’m hoping I will make it through the month – National Poetry Month. But I’m really just writing these for you …
I wrote seven poems today, I think that might be my highest number in the span of a day. Just saying, I’m in the same place, every day.
I have always loved the beauty of writing letters. Today I wrote the most difficult one of my life. I think it is important to think about why we write letters. For one it is a beautiful way to tell someone how we feel, how we feel about them, how we feel about life.
I had an old pal I used to write when he and I were kids, and he would go on summer vacation. By the time we were back in school we had each written around five letters to each other. I suppose that was some sort of love, we were two young boys, neighbors inseparable when together. I remember trying to get another neighbor boy to join us – we were a trio at the time. He thought it was stupid and that would be a sticking point in our friendship up to this day.
I had a girl I wrote letters to after we parted ways. This was in college – we wrote to each other frequently. I would ask her what book she was reading, and she would tell me, and then she would ask me about my writing and I would say I was trying. She told me one time when she was now living with someone, she read my letter walking up her long gravel driveway so she could hide it before her boyfriend saw it. He didn’t like my letters. We wrote to each other for years afterward, until one day I asked her to move to my city. She responded with a reaction that scared me so much, I never wrote her again. I have always regretted that. I still have her letters.
I encourage you to write a letter to someone you care about. Write it with all of the passion you felt when you were with them. Words are important, but people in our lives are far more important. A letter is a way of telling them so, even if the words contain sometimes painful realities. They are still what we mean and generally bleeding with compassion.
Write someone you love a letter!
I suppose I have an inherent desire to show a world the value of kindness, of the wonder in knowing beauty is a sweet reality when speaking of love. I would suggest another reason is because I have experienced love in my lifetime. I need to add though that with the beauty and magic also comes the pain, we do endure the full cycle of what love might mean in our lives. For instance, in the manner of love, we may appreciate the horrific nature of loss as passionately as we do that feeling found in the euphoria of falling in love.
Today though I want to speak of tragedy. If you pay attention to the news, you are starkly aware of the mass shooting that occurred in New Zealand on prayer day for the Muslim community. (If you have bias toward certain faith impeding upon your own please stop reading). I have tried, as always with such unbearable realities in our society, wanted to somehow wrap my head around this event. I have my own silent condolences, though will use this page to express how I really do feel.
I think in the matter of loss that people feel today is shocking, ripping the hearts out of so many members of the Muslim community. Last night I saw a group of gentlemen that gather at a local coffee shop in town and as I was packing up my things to leave, I felt compelled to walk over to their table. I expressed my own sadness, and just wanted them to know they were in my heart. There were about six of them and after thanking me, I heard one say words that are simple but impossible to ignore. “We are all human,” he said with a sad smile. He said it again, and his friends all nodded, and I said good night.
I can appreciate loss in my life, but I have never experienced loss because of the color of my skin, or the cultural mores of my society. I say this with confidence and anxiety because it allows me to realize how much further I need to go. I have been in a difficult state of mind in recent months, however all of that pales to a community that is under absolute scrutiny the minute they walk out their door, only for being who they are, what they believe, the piece of cloth they wear upon their head. When I think about the country I live in, the world we exist in together I am truly appalled by how easily we forget that simple reality.
We are all simply human.
A different love story perhaps, but yet it is still love, and today I am grieving. Yesterday, I showed a film, a Ted Talk – Islamophobia, by Suzanne Barakat. It speaks to the photo I will post with this writing. She herself is a human being of Muslim faith who experienced tremendous loss, but please be cognizant of the importance of language. I called her a human being before identifying any other aspect of who she is as a person in our world, in our lives, in our neighborhood.
Please practice love today.
Her story is linked in the caption of the photo – Peace!
She might live in disbelief
to be imagined so unique
her life is ordinary by name
yet only he can comprehend
the beauty in her Grace
his yearning he must face
alone now forever a wander
for always her love wonder
Though the skies will shine
as spring begins its reckoning
the sweet fragrance of memory
will hold his cheek in silence.
She speaks of a distant love
where when glancing far away
he will notice the song of a dove
forever reminders, yes, this love.
the words he wanted to hear,
when he complimented her,
she would then suggest,
‘I struggle with writing my thoughts.’
Whereas she then directed him,
his words would flow
when he listened
he would again question
his own motive.
Believing in ourselves
is such a tragedy
when looking in each other’s eyes.
Why do we only find peace
Rather we wish each other’s
might be the serenity
we would discover
upon the soul of such is love.
I wonder if she might know ever again
how her words will move his forever when.
~ finding my way, a personal journey ~
photo – Pinterest
At this our dusk
emit its certainty
a knowing glance
a realized tear.
In all of our misgivings
that overwhelming passion
returned inside a graying rule
of this our reality.
Oh to know when would be
the next wind,
the next passing breeze.
Truth is love.
~ finding my way, a personal journey ~
photo – Pinterest
I love a good letter. I think the art of writing a letter with passion has always been one of my favorite activities, an outlet, an opportunity to share beauty with another. There is a certain elegance in letter writing; even the simplest correspondence with a friend, nothing romantic can be a wonderful thing I believe. However, that romantic flourish of sweet delight and a cherished response holds the truth to the wonder of words.
I remember the first time I wrote her. I was a nervous wreck. There was this sweet bond we had with each other, though we knew our time was limited, however the fortune of email was upon us. I think I asked her one day, or perhaps we had our correspondence in the class we were taking, so I penned a note to her saying hello, and wondering about her life. I wanted my words to move her, even though I knew I probably shouldn’t. I was drawn to her, and I wanted to know more. I hadn’t been able to write words like those I wrote to her that first time to anyone for years. I was married for over a decade and my spouse, though I was writing daily had no clue about how important words were to me, so when suddenly I discovered a person who might relate to my words, I took the chance.
She responded. I was smitten from the moment. I couldn’t wait to write her again, and a few days later I would hear from her. I began to expand my words and she would match the sweet romantic nature of my words with discussion, telling me about her world, the sweet beauty of listening to nature outside of her home. I had no idea her life, but I felt like I was able to sit in her backyard with her and experience the moment.
I think it was then we began to fall in love; however so much confusion engulfed our lives we didn’t know how to move forward. Yet again, we made the choice and suddenly we were in each other’s arms for the next few years, a certain magnetism that had us willing to be with one another for as long as this would last.
I reflect now on words, how it was we were able to pen our thoughts to one another, in such synchronicity we would anticipate answering one another’s deeper emotions.
These moments turned to love and began to write our story. Love has a certain affinity with words and letters.
If when you visit
do you sense the tears
behind my words.
I was wondering
if ever there is a time
when while in a quiet
can you hear my voice.
I was wondering
when in the morning
the sunlight rays remind
me of miles of trails
I was wondering
if when we meet again
will we ever ,,,
really understand then.
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