Sometimes, A Quiet Wonder

I do have to wonder about silence. What happens when two lives become a distant enigma, seemingly non-existent, the memory of which might need to be repressed. I realize as human beings we must learn to continue forward in our lives, to sometimes not look back, and yet, there are moments when it is impossible. Perhaps it might be a song on the radio, driving past some familiar memory, just a whimsical notion that we fall into. Perhaps it is because we refuse to let go of what we feel is real.

A Soul Searcher’s Gaze

Screen Shot 2019-02-07 at 4.48.18 PM

I wrote this piece today as part of a network of poets that I am delighted to write with. I know I said I’m going to limit my poetry here, but it is still going to show up. Quite honestly I’m having a hard time leaving this page behind, because so often my writing would be a true appraisal of my feelings – whether directed to anyone or simple thoughts in my head.

So today, I have been thinking about my soul, and everyone’s soul I suppose. I know mine aches with a passion that cannot be fulfilled, and yet, we were told when we were children raised in a Catholic enclave that the soul is not something tangible. We can feel our heart, we know when it aches, it being a combination of the brain not fathoming pain, and the heart being such an organic reactionary to our personal struggle.

I cried in my quiet time today – this has been rather frequent. I don’t write these words looking for sympathy, more so I suppose I am asking for empathy that I hope people might relate and have some takeaway from my current state of mind. It is funny because I’m in tears a lot and it has me wondering about the condition of my soul. I was raised to believe the soul is a huge component of our spiritual morality, and so on occasion throughout my life I have sometimes feared the damage already done. I guess I am sort of in that place again. I’ve done a lot of damage both to myself and those close to me, and I am unable to find peace in my world at present. I also don’t have a solution beyond just being able to express my journey to whomever chooses to read these words.

This is a far different image than the sensual poet I have created in this site for the last few years. This is the real me, there are some that know the real me, but for the sake of my own need to express myself, I appreciate the anonymous nature of this site. It is not hard for anyone to read between the lines and perceive the constant confusion I do feel.

So back to the notion of the soul. Mine hurts, and there is a constant search happening, and I don’t know how long or where this journey will take me. I do know it is not nearly the dark chasm I was miring in weeks ago, but there are days. Routines are difficult and finding purpose is a struggle. I just appreciate I suppose a venue to express myself because I do respect that there are listeners and I guess I just appreciate your eyes.

Have a wonderful night and stay warm. Be back soon, I guess.

When Friends Come Out Of The Darkness

I just got a text from a friend, he simply gave me a positive word. There are times when simple support comes unexpectedly. I didn’t ask him for anything, he just chose to send me a note and it left me in tears. I’m totally aware of my emotions lately, it has been a rough road.

I injured myself around a month ago, and am nearly recovered but it turned my world upside down – left me alone at a time when I needed some way to feel good about my life. I was on narcotics for a couple of weeks and said some pretty stupid things, and then overstepped my needs until finally coming out of a fog and realizing the losses I had just created for myself.

So today I’m reevaluating – moving beyond the lovely enticement of my words here and instead trying to wrap my head around who I am and why I like words, and what I want to do with them. I find myself still trying to fix things, and then realizing there are so many things to fix, some that I will never repair, and some I have no desire to repair. These are situations in my real life, not this online world.

I appreciate all of my readers because so many of you are passionate and caring people and what I do here the next few weeks, months will be to help move myself in theĀ  right positive direction keeping an open journal for readership. There is not one of you that has to read these words, simply move along if you are not interested.

For me, this begins my healing … a long process that while in the midst of it, I will continue to hold the love that is in my heart, and will feel no need to diminish the passion people to bring to my life. I do certainly appreciate the beauty of love. It is real.

On the Burden of Mental Health

I’ve written poetry on this site for years, along with several other venues. I’ve traveled many circles in words, encountered countless writers of all gender, all with the same passions, same desires, same hurts and wants and understandings. I’ve met some that so spoke to my own inner self that I wondered if our lives had passed by one another. Ironically, I have often thought of former lovers, years ago, who might come across my words, and without really knowing, wonder if, just if.

I’ve written about the mystique of woman in so many different ways I’ve lost count of my reason why. Or perhaps I no longer want to think about why. I do know what love is, and at the same time, I recognize pain, and I struggle to allow the beauty of love to become a tragic malady in the lives of human beings who feel. I wonder about the actual moment when what a person feels suddenly turns dangerous, and their bodies both mentally and physically choose to retreat, because humanity is taught to shelter ourselves rather than take risks. I don’t fault a person for wanting shelter, for choosing what is safe in their lives. I just sometimes envy those that learn how to navigate the edge.

There is someone out there for all of us. I know this to be true, because even so, we cannot always have what it is we believe we should have. Sometimes the choice is not ours and no matter how hard we try, we cannot change the mind of a lover scorned. Once described as an unmet expectation, the unraveling of what once was a certainty no longer holds the fabric of our quiet passion. We find ourselves scrambling to justify, to describe a rationale that will keep everyone happy, and then one day, it is a silent day, a meditative reflection, we come to terms with the form of alone that allows us to make a decision, to create another chapter, or in the crudest manner, gloss over the beauty of what once was a magic, a wonder, a reality.

In recent months, my mental health has been tested more than I would like to imagine. I’ve made choices based upon my desires, leaving me with an outcome that has revealed a certain void in my life that has me on my knees more often than I would like. The beauty of woman is what first motivated me to write here, the words the readers, the venue allowed me to explore a fascination that has been closed, locked away, denied for many years. I wrote words that I wanted both men and women to shudder upon, to realize just how marvelous is the sensual nature of the human condition. I had a wonderful time doing so, and have met many lovely and real and genuine people along the way. Yet love is a surreal reality in the mind of a philosophical romantic.

I came to realize I was writing for one person, and it wasn’t me. Now, all the research I do on writing seems to suggest I must write for myself. I find that to be a very lonely place, one that only allows me to struggle. I listen to music as a background to my writing. There are times when a certain song or melody takes me places that I want to go and it inspires my world on paper. Then there are times when I cannot find the right song, composition, driving force of nature to give my writing a boost.

So tonight I sat in my – local – cafe, close to my home, and I wondered how to address this question in my mind. I still haven’t found an answer beyond knowing I have known love and I am grateful. I wish it could just be that without all of the societal constraints that determine just how much we can be who we are in a managed and planned experiment. I wonder sometimes who it was that determined the rules for this experiment. I believe in God, or some entity of spiritual determination, but as I write these last words I am convinced we have, or maybe it is just me, moved a bar beyond the original concept of what He means in our lives, in my life.

I wonder about the beauty of two people in love, I wish breaking rules meant a greater understanding without the fear of discretion. I appreciate the loneliness of having to choose a place to land. My feet are still not firmly planted on the ground, so I’m still at risk for knowing what is true, what is fantasy, what is my own personal breaking point.

I wonder always about the beauty of woman and the inspiration you do bring to my life.

To The Readers

I am taking a sabbatical for awhile. I did the same on Twitter recently, Instagram is certainly pending. I just cannot write about this anymore. As much as I want to my heart hurts and the confusion in my head is beyond speakable. It has been a tough winter, and these three days of arctic blast have given me an opportunity to make final efforts that have not met the light I hoped. There have been days when I just wanted to check out altogether because the people I read here write about such lovely ideals and experiences and fantasies, all of which entice me when in the right frame of mind.

I’m not in that frame of mind. I’m struggling to define my next chapter alone. I have a partner at home whom I don’t know yet, I do everything for and feel little to nothing in return. So what will be this chapter? I don’t know.

The only answer I have right now is I don’t want to leave here, but I cannot stay if the inspiration, the mystique, the muse of writings can no longer be found. Oh yes, there are many of you that inspire me, don’t misinterpret, but my real, that genuine aspect of what defines love in my life – perhaps that is my chapter, to help find meaning in this stage of my life.

I will occasionally post but not at the rate I have been and the topic or subject will be vastly different, perhaps more personal, a struggle of sorts … take care.

Love and many enticing and embracing words to all of you …

EM

My last post, ‘When There In The Moment’ is my best explanation.

When I Opened My Twitter Feed Today

I found the usual – writings, commentaries, notions, desires, wants, reprimands, slams, wishes – every aspect of anything we might desire, hope for, imagine, fantasize. In recent weeks what speaks to me more is the beautiful sensuality of writers speaking from their hearts of loves, passions, needs, imagines.

I realized I want as much as everyone of the writers I follow, and then along with that I realized it is time for me to look at what is real in my own world. I love erotica, I love sensuality, I love the avenues this page and my twitter and other outlets have allowed me the avenue to speak to my own imagined desires. Yet there is something now in the reality of all of this fantasy.

It is difficult for me now to read of a beautiful person’s yearnings because I understand them, but not as much as I once did in the beauty of the moment, the reachable touch of desire inside the realm of drawing a visual of such intrigue. Today that sensuality is alone in my mind, the mystique of which, the yearning leaves me quiet.

I won’t post on Twitter for awhile, in fact, I probably won’t read that often because the majority of my follows are those beautiful artists of erotica and sensuality, and it just brings tears to my eyes because I cannot feel that and I need to not feel that. I have the sense of loss that I cannot fill and with every glance the reminder tells me that perhaps a sabbatical is a good idea.

I think soul-searching sucks sometimes. I understand its value. I realize the need. But in this writing today, it is obvious, I do not yet know where it is I am going. Taking smaller steps, shorter breaths, staying alive.

A Story of Love

I know this woman, knew this woman, I know this woman today. See the very confusion of that opening line should indicate how difficult it is within this story for me to find my way. I suppose it all began when I was 15 years old. I met a woman, a classmate whom I was infatuated with and wanted to ask her out. My best friend told me she wouldn’t give me the time of day, but he was wrong. We started dating and she was my first kiss.

I remember it well, it was at a local beach in our hometown, where we were going swimming. She was gorgeous and her body was asking me to love her, all teenager and bursting in her bikini. Being the boy I was, I had to hide my excitement, though, nowadays I know she knew. Here’s where things get dicey.

We started making out, and I held back, because I was scared. Oh I wanted to touch every part of her body, and she might have wanted the same, but I couldn’t. I wanted her to know how much I respected her. Our little courtship went on a few more weeks until she had had enough and started dating a guy from the football team. I’m pretty sure they found their way quickly because she never looked back, and me, I pined over her the rest of my high school years.

Years later, in college I met the woman of my dreams. She was tall and elegant and postured in such a way that anything she wore around her body was sensually driving my mind. She had a pair of rain boots that were the sexiest in the world, and I just thought I needed to walk through puddles with her one day. We dated for over four years, had probably some of the best sex of my life, but it really wasn’t sex, it was to me, love. I’d never felt so close to someone in my life, and yet, I couldn’t consummate our love-making beyond doing everything else but intercourse. I felt like if I did that, I would be obligated to marry her. My upbringing again, stalled so many of my moments. I remember she and I would find each other after weeks, go back to each other’s apartments and spend the next day or two in bed, frustrating ourselves to no end. And yet, in the end, we knew we loved each other.

For years after we parted we wrote one another letters. These were the kind that romanticists have struggled to recreate for years. Back then, we didn’t have email, the internet, snapchat, twitter – anything. If we wrote one another, we’d have to wait a couple of days before we knew they would receive it. We wrote over 100 letters back and forth, and in the meantime, she had started dating an old high school friend of mine. One time she told me how upset he was to see her walking up her long gravel road on a summer’s day, reading yet another letter from me. We wrote more discreetly after that, eventually moved to different cities and began lives with new people.

I married, and ironically, she is someone I’ve never written a letter to. Perhaps some poems around anniversaries and birthdays but even then those never felt nearly as thrilling and exhilarating as the ones I shared with Jane. I’ll call her Jane because it is safe to say, we may never cross paths again, though I do often hope she wonders about me even half the time I do think about her.

So, where dose this all lead. I’ll finish here soon, I promise. there is a point and it is a romantic one. Fast forward ten years, I’ve been married, have two beautiful children and experience a certain unhappiness in my world I cannot shake. I struggle with the obligation of maintaining my vows with the uncertainty of a man feeling lost in the pained expression of societies mores. That sounds all heady and everything but the reality is, as I write this today, I’ve spent the last 30 years in a marriage of convenience. It is a terrible thing for a man to say, but it is my truth. I love my spouse with all my heart, but I do not love her. Some of you get that, some of you don’t care. I can live with that.

Here’s the point.

I met someone in grad school years ago. I didn’t take the class expecting to meet this person. However, she walked into the classroom a sunny, summer day, and it was one of those moments when I could not help to look away for fear she might see me falling in love with her in the moment. We did over the course of the next few weeks become close, and started sharing laughs and time together. When the class ended I walked out of her life with an email address, having spent the night before at a theatre performance with her by my side, the two of us telling one another years later the closeness drove us both crazy wild with passion.

I wrote her a letter initially expressing how much I loved knowing her and sharing time with her. I got a response a couple of days later, and there it began. For years I had been searching for my soul-mate in words, my muse, my woman of mystique who might respond to all of my tellings in my poetic verse. Her words came back to me as if we were writing a Zelda & Scott testimonial of true love and romance. We did eventually find ourselves wanting to be with one another, and in the shadows of our real lives we began a courtship of passion and honesty.

One day, in the throes of realizing who we were without the constraints of our marriages, I took the leap and told her ‘I love you’ and she gave me a look that suggesting I was destroying our moment that was well enough without complication. It would be years later I would discover I misread the moment, and even though for that time our demise fell upon us, we both would realize a decade or more later, we did know what love is.

For now, I will stay here in this moment, and let you imagine the next few years … the story continues. The greatest takeaway I want the reader to know is how after all these years of my protestations that I would not ever give myself completely to a woman again, well, I realized I was wrong … again.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~