Silence Has No Echo

moon

A quiet morning ride,

a setting moon across the western horizon,

one might imagine,

two soul

similar reaction to a skyline

perhaps in the silence of a drive

we could now realize

hearts are no longer isolated

everyone if they pay attention

will see the same

in the symbolic nature of life

as it were,

beyond the sweet echo

we could choose

to no longer,

a symbolic gesture …

recognize recall.

Love Story #4 – So This Is Marriage

When I was still recovering from the loss of # 3, I began to stop eating, drank a lot of coffee, smoked cigarettes, worked on a psych unit in a hospital, lived in three or four different places for about a year, didn’t really notice anything or anyone because I was lost. I remember sitting at lunch one day and a colleague came up to me and asked me how I was doing. I said I’m alright. He told me I was kind of taking on a bit of a mountain man look in my appearance. I laughed.

I went home to my apartment that night, looked in the mirror for the first time in about a half a year, and my friend was right, but it wasn’t as much a mountain man, as I looked emaciated and homeless. It was on that day I decided I needed to move on.

There was a woman who I’d noticed around the hospital, she kept to herself, but I was drawn to her. She was the kind of woman you needed to have your act together if you were going to speak to her, otherwise she might have you for lunch. Intellectually I felt like, well I wondered what she thought of me if she even noticed me. I found out she was a psychologist on another ward, so I figured I didn’t stand a chance.

Funny thing though, we kept running into each other in different places away from work, and so I was intrigued because she wasn’t typical – didn’t go home to her psych books after work, actually hung out in same venues. I one time went to the movie ‘Wings of Desire’ on a date, and she was walking out of the earlier screening with her own date. We both kind of laughed about it months later that the conversation with one another about the movie would have been better with each other. That movie is my favorite movie of all time, for her, it was just alright, but that was ok by me. I still thought she was hot.

Somehow some weeks went by and my best friend and I went to see a Wallets concert at the Union bar on our bicycles. That friend and I just saw each other a couple of days ago, so he’d appreciate this memory. We found a table in the crowded space right at the edge of the stage, it was sort of like God had opened up the gates. I turned around and there she was with her girlfriend. I looked at my buddy and said let’s go play pool, and while we were there decided who was going to go for who.  We came back to our table and I turned to her and asked her ‘How Irish are you?’ – and her response left me a little let down, she said she didn’t think she was any. At that time, I’d been planning to move to Ireland in about six months, but as it turns out, she and I would begin dating after that night, and Ireland didn’t happen.

As the night went on we started dancing, and we actually ended up stealing the stage – we sort of parted the room because our dancing in rhythm with one another seemed to be a sudden showcase for everyone else. After the bar closed, they met us at a local cafe, we rode our bikes, and they drove. I asked her out about a week later.

We went bicycling, and she kicked my ass, which was interesting because I lived on my bike, and she was into a routine of 60 miles a day around the lakes after work. She was in remarkable shape, and it was all I could do to keep up with her. The sex in those early days was rather incredible, but there was always something in the back of my mind, holding me back. There was that refusal to not give completely of myself.

That winter, she asked me to go up to her family’s cabin. We did, we had to snowshoe our way in, build a fire, and survive the elements. That night it snowed 14 inches so we were snowed in and no plows went by. I’ll never forget waking up to the forest in a blanket of fresh snow, having coffee with her on the deck, thinking I might be falling in love. I was careful though – I didn’t want to be hurt. I didn’t trust what I felt.

We ended up skiing seven miles to a telephone to get our road plowed. We were snowed in for three days. We were 29 years old, we figured out a way to get through the time together … but still, there was this anxiety. We married a year later in September. We wanted the same things, security, children. She liked the artist in me, I could write a sweet poem and naturally then they were always about her. I liked her knowledge of psych, and we had political views that seemed to match. Though she was quite a feminist, I wouldn’t realize how strict her views were until years later. I was a liberal hippy, so she was ok with that.

Those were all the early moments of our relationship that would make for a great love story. The hidden reality is our wedding night was a chore in consummation. I really didn’t want to sleep with her because I was feeling used. I was already feeling like this was one sided, and my emotions didn’t come into play. I think a lot of it was fear because I kept waiting for when she would tell me she was leaving but she never did, and I felt like she might need to because I was feeling overwhelmed.

We had our first child and it was the most incredible moment of my life. I suddenly knew what a miracle meant in the birth of my daughter. I was so in love with her, I couldn’t wait for when she would lay on my chest and we would nap the afternoon away. A few years later we had our boy, and it was the same thing, this remarkable beauty of a child that I could call my own.

In the meantime, our relationship began to worsen. The one thing I realized when we married was that within a  year, this woman that I thought was tough as nails, was suddenly so insecure and dependent on me that I couldn’t leave her alone. I could no longer hang out with long and dear friends because of her jealousy, and I couldn’t get her to make arrangements with girlfriends, so I began to feel trapped. We had a tough time with this, and I discovered I had a defined now, addictive personality so it impacted our relationship.

Suddenly a few years into our marriage I was seeing a woman I no longer knew, she had gained far too much weight for her petite size and I became a generalizing, stereotypical husband with a drinking problem … that was the basis of the first ten years of our marriage. Since that time we have had our ups and downs, and now we are friends, but the lovers of the years before we married and the early months afterward never returned. I felt a different kind of love, but sadly I knew she wasn’t my soul-mate. I no longer believed that to be the case, and it had a tremendous impact on our lives.

It was then I began to manifest the framework of my next and final love story …

On Love Stories

I’m writing one right now. With these words, everything I want to say is about love. I am not an expert, only a person who feels, and in that respect I think we can all agree we have some say in the matter of love. We know the overwhelming feeling that our heart embraces, we understand the tears, we know the longing and yet when inside the moment, it is probably the most difficult reality to speak about freely.

So today I have tears, they are of a river I have designed over the course of many weeks and yet their flow is always welcome, a sort of cleansing and as I said yesterday, they offer me a freedom from the fear I feel. I don’t wish anyone to believe I am walking around feeling abandoned. That came up in conversation yesterday, and I didn’t have a chance to explain myself, so today I will.

I have abandonment issues. I always have, since as a child, if I knew I was losing someone I would do two things. I would clear my head and move forward and break connections altogether or I would try with all my heart and soul to fix matters. I have never once in my life been successful with the latter because I overcompensated and eventually would push that person I love as far away as they could find themselves without me in the picture. As I write these words of love, this has been my greatest fear.

Yesterday, I realized though, I haven’t been left behind. I felt love yesterday. I could look in eyes, and see the grace and beauty I have come to know. I could smile and laugh in between the tears. I could talk about my embarrassment and no one got up and walked away. She stayed with me, she listened, she believed.

I think love is important for everyone. I think we also get lost in the obligation of love. To me, it is what I feel, not what I need. I have never felt a true love like the one I am experiencing today, and so rather than let the pain interact with my frame of mind, I hold on to what I know to be true.

There are eyes that hold my love, and where deep inside the soul we stay in our preserved safe place, we can choose. I know I cannot choose for someone else, but I will choose for myself, because I have that permission.

So last night, i looked my love in the eye and I told her that no one may ever take away the love I feel for her, and she smiled. She touched me on my knee and I felt her presence, we walked outside into the beautiful winter afternoon and we said good-bye, and I in my natural reflex told her I loved her and I got in my car and I cried.

I know what love is. Love is the pain of realizing we cannot always have what we want, but we can recognize and embrace the beauty of knowing someone at such a deep level that it moves beyond anything fantasy driven and will always be real.

Love is real.

Her Touch

the sensory motion

of a feeling,

her touch

would in its

silent immediacy

take me somewhere

warm,

didn’t matter how

or why or when,

just the moment

that I might feel shelter

a sweet resonate

touch

would it be that this

might have

begun some silent sojourn

only I

could endeavor

to walk away

for it was me that so

did, does yearn

to feel that sensual nature

designed in love …

your touch.

The Romance of a Letter

letters

That sense of wonder

has she, did it reach,

will there be another.

 

Oh to honor the parchment

of love in its antiquity

the eyes we well in a lament.

 

I could wanting my pen

speak in clear word

how is true my love then.

 

In some forever rhythm

the ink is laid

and the imagined him

 

whose blood and soul do

hold favor to her smile,

eyes that might find true.

 

Oh to find the true blessing

in words of a scrawl,

forever binding, always living.

 

When last I spoke I wrote

in a flash pages fill

with all my love so remote

 

yet here swoon in the quiet of a silent

peace fashioned a style not so ancient.


picture – pinterest

A Year Ago

I need to be clear. This blog will gradually become my place to heal. Those readers that follow, well I appreciate your eyes, your read, your compassion, and your patience with who I am and who I become … I am a person whom has become completely alone in one sense of the word. In many other aspects I am very connected with my colleagues, my children, my people that I interact with every day. In other words, I really haven’t anything to complain about if this was truly the life I did wish to live. The problem is it is not.

Today is Valentine’s Day – it is not a day I’ve ever relished. When I was younger and without someone on this day, I would spend the hours envious and morbidly sad. Over time I became one of the anti -V day contingent enjoying the sarcasm and cynicism that comes with the territory. Years later I did marry, and since we have celebrated a dinner for the past nearly three decades. This year we stayed home, and while she watches TV, I write in this blog, something that has become routine in recent years.

Up until around four years ago, I was convinced I would live out this life in the rather quiet manner I have, trying to be content and yet always aware that there might be so much more out there in my life. I spoke to someone once who said if you are going to be happy, you need to take action. I have reasons to not, it’s complicated. So today I continue to reflect. I looked back a year ago, and found a letter that said the same as anything I have written time and time again. I then went back two years earlier, and discovered the reason I am still here.

Happy Valentine.

Always here.

His Hero

Little man,

a sweet smile

inside a beautiful

mind,

drawn by the

quiet love

of his personal

hero.

 

She would go

to the ends of the world

to find inspiration,

keep honing

the sparkle,

sweet glint in his eye

that would suggest

beauty is all I

see when you are with me.

 

Please,

allow her to know

she is elegance

the delight

in his soul

when finding

inspiration,

will she give him

her love,

yes,

always will his

life be the wonder

of her personal dreams

to give him

swift confidence,

sweet innocence,

 

For her love in his eyes

will his wonder live wise.

 

Losing My Muse

The truth is, years ago, I fell in love with a woman who one day decided her life was moving in a different direction and I was left behind. My recovery took many years, in fact a friend of mine, one time pointed out that for several days all I did was talk about the loss, and I needed to change my focus.

So I did, after some time, I knew I was still in love, but ironically, I found out she had been sleeping with my best friend for months, so suddenly everything made sense, and I started to get past my broken heart. The one thing I said to myself was that I would never fall in love to such a degree again.

Jump a few years later and I decided to settle down with a woman whom had similar goals as mine – we got married, but I knew going in – this is a sad reality – I would never love again the way I had. I would simply be content. We have beautiful children together and we made a life. Sadly though I’ve never been happy, and I cannot imagine she has been. Despite it all we stayed together.

Embedded within all of this common reality is an experience I discovered while in grad school. Many years ago, I met a woman whom carried a similar energy as my own. We began writing letters and discovered a love for words, something I had missed with a woman for many many years. we then took it a step further and became intimate, spreading years between those early days of romantic parchment to now an enticement with one another. One day, in the winter, very much like our present season, I felt I must tell her that I loved her, and I did, but she heard me wrong – and the timing unraveled our affections. We had been walking around with an ‘is this all there is’ and I was afraid to tell her that I loved her because I thought I would lose her. It back fired and we fell apart. I returned fully – as much as possible – to my marriage, a broken and confused man – struggling with my reality, while a woman I loved faded out of my life.

I looked for her over the years, knew where she was but let her go. I even deleted her phone number so I wouldn’t be tempted. It wasn’t until years later I discovered she would call my voice mail with certain music that touched my heart.

A few years ago, a decade after we had gone our ways we did encounter one another, and over the course of several months we realized we were both quite in love, and our courtship outside of our marriages began again. We expressed our desires at the same time knowing we could not maintain the level of passion we experienced together but we always assured ourselves we probably would never leave this in the same circumstances as years ago.

I had found my muse and the mystique of her beauty and elegance became again, as it was without her directly in my life, the drive for my sensual poetry. Now, I am in a place where I no longer have the inspiration and that aspect of my writing is impacted, so I struggle with my words.

The one true thing I will finish with is I’ve just written a fantasy that I hope you the readers might have enjoyed. Because, there seems no reality in my words.

So now my days are spent searching for my muse, knowing love once again played its harmony with great zeal and slapped my heart and soul with disparaging abandon.

The Wonder of Time

If I might in the quiet of my silent memory

imagine a kiss, soft, a velvet touch

a naked shoulder,

fingertips that would play upon welcome

sweet response, asking my hands

to stay there forever.

 

If I might remember just when

a time we could laugh,

with such unbridled release of our

own inhibitions,

we did,

we traveled far, quickly,

it was love,

a passion that did define my soul.

 

If I might, if I could,

if everything that began

might revisit, remain, return

in some manner

to allow me to realize

this was real

without leaving me wandering

alone

in a wonder of disbelief.

 

If I could, might I sweet always dream.