Life's great when you disappear...

The point of this year is quite simple: the world, those that barely know me, and even those who supposedly know me most, will have negative opinions about me and everything I do. I must let them judge and make their own conclusions. I have to let them react and doubt me. To question the decisions I am making. I have to learn to allow people to be wrong about me. Instead of wasting my time trying to prove to them who I am, I will start living my life in a way that makes me proud. Even if no one else gets to see it.

Hold me close when the night turns to day...

He decided that everything is falling into place perfectly. 

And that he won't be too picky,

about what he means by place. 

Or perfectly.

I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn't get me anywhere. It was work and it the pressure of becoming and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away. I think the only answer is to trust the universe more. I remember a time when our connection was undeniable. Lately I've been out of step. Its eye is always watching, cradling me in its gaze. I must not fear and then I can be comfortable and at home in any scenario. Only I must remain.

I want to orbit you...

But I can't help but imagine...

I take another one...

Got a death wish,

it's on my hit list,

I'm on the blacklist.

Just go ahead and run,

if you won't die for some,

if you don't stand for none.

His kingdom of fear...

I'm trying to learn that I don't always need to speak. Just because something can be said doesn't mean it should be. Not every situation needs my opinion, not every moment needs my reaction. I've spoken so many words already, knowing full well how they can build or break, and never be taken back. Going forward I am choosing not to waste my energy where it won't be valued or understood. I need to silence the noise, so I can hear myself again. To hear more, to understand more deeply, and carry fewer regrets.

If it goes to hell, oh well...

I've come to realize that I probably won't be that many things in this lifetime of mine. I won't be father, I won't be a husband, I won't be famous, or someone of particular note. I won't be rich or influential. I won't win awards or be mentioned in the notebooks of history. I won't even be remembered as a particularly good friend - at least based on how many I left slip through my fingers in all these years. But despite what I will never be, perhaps there are some things I still might. The coolest uncle, a partner that never leaves, an invisible influence on the world around me, a brother that always listens, a son that tries to understand, a friend that is there, even when the whole world goes quiet.

Hang me out to dry...

I'd rather die than let it go...

Still the dream persists, suppressed but always there, that somehow by some miraculous effort of the heart what was done could be undone. What form would such atonement take that would turn back time and bring the him back to life? 

Recently, I've been spending much of my time thinking about regret. Regret and its accompanying conviction that there is a perfect, placid life, my own alternate existence, pristine and simple, existing in a neighboring reality in which certain turns in the road were never set upon. A world where I made different choices and crossed paths with different people. A world I know doesn't exist and isn't true. I know that. I had learned it. But it is an irresistible fantasy, if only because it implies I have some control over my fate.

Let's talk about his pain...

I feel like a child building a sand castle. I embellish it with beautiful shells, bits of driftwood, and pieces of colored glass. The castle is mine, off limits to others. Ever so rarely do I let anyone visit. And even then, for such a small window of time. I'm willing to attack if others threaten to damage it. To go to war to protect it. Yet despite all my attachment, I know that the tide will inevitably come in and sweep the sand castle away. I'm learning to trick my mind to enjoy it fully but without clinging, and when the time comes, let it dissolve back into the sea.

Loud is his echo...

Deep in the valley, a lone ember rose,

drifted the ash and billowed the smoke.

Here in the wind and the withering cold,

burden the heavens and watch him go.

Come to the willow, a cradle of stone, 

lay down your weapons, the young and the old.

Here where the waves meet the rippling foam,

red is the river that carries him home.

The stallion flees the stable...

Life is what we make it to be; maybe it belongs to other people or it can be our special one. The difference is that the first we sit and watch and basically we know the ending but the second is defined by us and requires lots of work and effort to define the way we want to live by. It is a journey with no end in sight, no distance measured behind, just going. It is a faith similar to the faith in the universe but this one is just faith in yourself and your capability to define a path with a vision of the future that you really can not see but rather feel. A religion, where you are god, and the goal is genesis. 

Nobody else makes me feel like...

It's not for me to tell...

Have you ever had a dream that you were certain was real, only to wake up and realize that everyone and everything in the dream was really you? I was told that's actually how our reality works, as a dream in which we think we are individuals, but eventually, like in all dreams, we will wake up. Except in this dream we do not wake up to realize we are still in the world, we awake from the world to realize that we are the universe.

He sits to be heard. To speak without being judged. To listen and rekindle the ancient art of listening with an open heart. To spill tears and laughter, and to see truth. To have parts of himself revealed. To speak words spoken that shoot into the heart like a lightning strike. To be pulled into the expansive river of consciousness that he didn't know existed. To experience a oneness with himself and the universe that feels like floating along on gentle rapids. He yearns to have his cynical mind opened by a shooting star's approving appearance, or to watch the clouds pass over the face of the moon and be flushed with the deep sense of belonging.

To all the pain and suffering...

A field full of fireflies...

If I had it my way, 

I would blink and we'd disappear.

Somewhere, somehow,

watching the stars come out.

We'd have a record on,

dance a little by the fire placе,

thеn we'd just lay.

If I had it my way.

I guess I'm not better alone...

He knew that there are many ways for a heart to break. Sometimes it's from the crowding of life, the compression of responsibility, and burdens that squeezed you until you couldn't breathe anymore. Even though your lungs were working just fine. And sometimes it's from the casual cruelty of a fate that took you far from where you had thought you would end up. And sometimes it's age in the face of youth. But sometimes it's just because you're looking into the eyes of your lover and your gratitude for having them in your life overflows. Because you showed them what was on the inside and they didn't run scared or turn away, they accepted you and loved you and held you in the midst of your passion or your fear. Or your combination of both.

Live my day as if there was no past...

He closed his eyes and began to weave a story. He abandoned the familiar threads he'd played so many times before and went in search of something new, no longer wanting a journey fed on pain or guilt. He needed one that could replace those wounds with strength, with resolve, with confidence. He needed a tale that could heal and build anew. The words warbled and fell, haphazard, chaotic, settling without flight. His forehead creased, yet he persisted. He let his fingers wander on their own, reached out with his mind. He chased the fleeting story he'd glimpsed once before. In his dreams he'd felt a hint of it: something wild, untamable, a thing sprung whole and flawless from the instant of creation.

A gate, a hedge, the same low hill...

Engraved on my mind...

Sever all ties. The words in his mouth like ash. It was not the coldness of the words that horrified him, their utter opposition to anything human, but rather his own affinity for them, the way he was drawn to this vision of solitude with a feeling almost of nostalgia. He had the kind of loneliness that battles everything, that makes a person strange forever.

They say in extreme moments time will slow, returning to its unmoving core, and standing there, it seemed as if everything stopped. Within the stillness, I felt the old, irrepressible ache to know what my point in the world might be. I felt the longing more solemnly than anything I'd ever felt, even more than my old innate loneliness. What came to me was a flicker of a dream of the lost boy who somehow still remembered how to conjure it. And how he carries that dream from place to place, like a sad, decaying hope.