And ah, the fading light of the falling sun going down after another day here in Purgatory.
Beauty goes anywhere it chooses. I know this as much as I know there is a sky above and the ground below. I know that the moon has shown its face differently and currently, the autumn moon holds a few colors, which are enough to change a sullen moment into a hopeful idea that life can change at any given moment.
I do believe in beauty.
And like I said, beauty can go anywhere it chooses because no matter how the times may be, a spark of beauty will always outshine any brand of darkness.
Ah, woman.
Nothing is like you.
There is no creation as warm or as perfect or as puzzling and nor is there a creation as dazzling and mesmerizing as her—woman, the Goddess of all, Holy Mother, and the place to which all is born and without her, I know that beauty cannot exist because without her, beauty can never be reborn again.
The horizon has been kind to me lately. Perhaps the “everywhere spirit” understands the division and the contrast of life, which includes the duality of man, the love of a woman, and all the quandaries in-between.
I am neither here nor there and nor am I damned or heavenly bound.
I am here to serve my sentence and find my penance.
I am neither blessed nor cursed but mainly and perfectly, I am still and in a holding pattern, the same as when my body pauses between the in and out of breaths.
Mother of Creation and God and God of all my Fathers are as real as the leaves I see falling from the trees along my street . . .
It is autumn in New York.
Here is my life and thus; here is my Purgatory which is no different from any other incorporated village, complete with traffic cameras and parking meters and laws to which we all must abide by.
For now, there is only quiet. Nothing is underway yet.
The sun is not out yet, but we know she is up and coming.
For now, there is nothing more than the sights and visions and the smoke and mirrors and the tricks of an impactful deception. And yes. Of course.
The deception comes from within.
Or maybe this is just me . . .
The deception is within, to which we often tell ourselves intently and daily, “something is coming!”
Something is on its way to which we prepare for the worst and supposedly hope for the best. Or again, maybe this is just me.
I am afraid to be caught again.
I am afraid to be exposed or worse, to show my cards and play fair and lose to a cheating hand and an earthshattering loss. And so, therefore, like a false alibi and a mantra of unfortunate choices, I put on countless masks and pretend to wear my brave face.
I try.
I really do.
I try to assume the character of my surroundings but my fear causes me to stick out like a sore thumb.
I am not happy or sad but instead, I stand more so with a defiant nature to define my right to endure.
Ah, the right to endure.
Yes, I can take pain.
We are old friends . . . pain and me.
I have the right to endure.
I own the right to accept truth or the truths which I believe, and even if my truths are not true or if I am wrong; the mind is often too curious about worst-case scenarios, and so, my fixation upon these things becomes detrimental—or unfortunate.
And despite the sudden changes that Purgatory offers with a moderate cheer, like, say, the smile in a picture or the voice of her sweetness; still, I have the uncomfortable fear is that my vulnerability is too dreamy—dreamy, I say—and while I have been here before; the truth is I have never been here before.
I have never loved before.
I have never dared nor tried, nor witnessed anything so perfect or beautiful and no matter how long I exist for, even if I go on for millenniums, no one in the universe is this beautiful. Not like her.
I have had Déjà vu before
but I have never been here before
But –
I’M HERE NOW!
Lost, uncovered, naked in some cases and hidden in too many others.
Either way—
I am not beaten nor stronger nor am I doubtful or hopeful. I am neither of this but yes; I am perfectly aware that this too is part of life.
These are the lessons and the trials and the ways I must travel. And increasingly, I see that my lessons unfold both eventually and inevitably because in the end, all will be revealed
(eventually)
I have sworn off things, which are silly when I say them out loud. I have sworn off songs and music from certain bands to which their impact hurt someone else.
Not me.
This never hurt me before
but I know that I am witness to a pain that belongs to her and therefore, I cannot hear things that remind me of pains which have been caused by man and handed down to her.
I know.
I am too vague
(for now)
I have sworn off old songs from my youth. Yet, I have sworn them off for swearing’s sake and I wear this like a badge to depict a war that was held by someone else.
I wear more than just a badge.
Yes.
I wear things like a particular shampoo in my beard. I do this to take on the smell of someone who reminds me that love wears a beautiful smile.
Even if my smile is ugly or unsightly
I smile because yes. I know her
I am me
Crooked smile
coffee breath . . .
Tired
Misplaced or perhaps—
Perhaps I only appear this way, worse for the wear, or a thousand times more threatening than my reality allows me to be.
I am not tough. And I know how I look.
I know I appear unkind and my face throws off the scent of the dogs, as a means of protection because if it is true that nice guys finish last; I don’t mind coming in last place. I just don’t like the idea of people taking me for granted or assuming I am weak or docile.
I am not weak or strong.
I only endure more quietly than the usual or typical mystery of an awkward, tortured soul.
After all . . . I am an artist
my poetry comes from somewhere and my poetic anthems come from the heart, which I admit that I am too much to bear at times and I go on with too much to share.
Yet, I send my thoughts to the midnight air and pray the seas will find my toes in the sand. I pray to return and find myself at the shore of a beach which means the world to me.
I swear
I am not mad nor violent, nor seeking revenge or looking to avenge my losses. I understand that I seem or portray myself as a weapon, like a carried knife and that if possessed or pushed, I appear to unsheathe my blade. If pushed, I appear easy to start and that I am a weak-triggered item, prepared for another knife fight which brings us to the death. But no.
I swear.
I swear a thousand times that I have died more than ten thousand times a day. In fact, this has gone on for so long that with caution to the wind, I never want to die anymore. So, please . . .
let me live
if possible
I am more than this. I am more than the terminal assumptions that life is dying one day at a time and that the loss of blood or sweat or more is draining me.
All I need to breathe and to go, be, and do.
I am not seeking any sort of payment or reparations
No
I would sooner forget all the regrettable yesterdays and my trespasses and equally, I would prefer to forgive those who have trespassed against me in the same breath.
Or maybe we can do this at the same time, like an even exchange, and we can move forward with a handshake.
We can agree to let the past be the past and the future can be better than the past we both knew.
I feel silly
No
Wait
I feel helpless.
No. Wait.
I am slightly hopeless and slightly weak as I uncover the truth that I am like a boy, too eager to go to the show and yet, I am petrified to admit that I don’t know how to dance.
I would love to dance but I fear my awkwardness is unsightly and unattractive.
I never danced because nobody showed me and nobody told me how to follow the music or trust the process.
I still have those thoughts about disappearing though. . .
I would love to go and be elsewhere, like the story I read about years ago . . .
A man decided he had enough and rather than fold his hand and drop his cards, he made an alteration that saved him from a bad perspective.
He changed direction and left his world behind for a place in a better part of Mexico or somewhere off the coast ear Baja California, Del Sur . . .
Down south
I do not have that kind of weight in my bank account and nor do I think I could pull it off.
Plus, my fears of the great unknown.
I might have had enough in the bank once and maybe I should have run while I had the chance.
but I stayed.
I might have had the money once, but the funds are gone, ever proving the necessary evil known as divorce.
And divorce is a trick.
Divorce is expensive but to all parties involved; I hope this is worth it to everyone in the end
I had a different life but, of course, that was then and this is now and therefore; now is not the time to waste my energy on inaccurate dreams.
I do not believe in perfection, but I do not agree with the ongoing negotiations or compromises because love is not about the stream of beauty and greatness.
No, real love means that the ugly truths and the imperfections are so meaningless and far behind that nothing in the world can tarnish the fact that my love is beautiful. And she is
She is beautiful and absolutely perfect, despite our imperfections.
I think about the idea to “get up and go!” and just run away, to which I agree.
Yes. I have wanted to run away more as a grown man than when I was a little kid.
Yes, I agree that the saying is popular because the saying is true: I have wanted to run away more as an adult than I ever did as a kid.
Absolutely, this is true, and so is the reality that no matter where I go or how fast I run, or where I hide, life is always going to find me
“Ready or not, here I come,” says the one who knows how to find me. “Tag. You’re it,” says the champion of games like Hide-and-seek
I need a plan . . .
Or maybe I can be like those who took the deal from the Panamanian government and accepted a fee to switch my citizenship and live down by the equator.
Man . . .
I’d never have the need to wear long pants or closed shoes, unless I choose to
Beauty can go anywhere
and sometimes, this truth is haunting because no matter where I go or how I run; she is my dream and of course, my dreams always follow me, no matter where I hide
