Friday, January 20, 2012

Still...If, I lost

If, I lost my vision
I would still be able to see you
If, I lost my hearing
I still would be able to hear you
I still…
Frozen in time and space
I experience the present of the moment
Where memories exist
Beyond the past and future torments
If, I lost my touch with my senses
I would be able to feel you
If, I lost my sense of smell
I still would be able to smell you enter the door
I still…

Stand among broken branches
Where leaves grow
The trunk maybe split
The roots still are where life flows
If, I lost my tongue
I still would be able to talk
Tasting the sweet and sour aroma
Of our conversations
If, I lost my life
I still would live a happy death
I still…
Walk upright, loins girt
Footprints connected
To Mother Earth
Giving birth to a movement
If, I lost my heart beat in the chaos of the city
I still would be able to dance with you
If, I lost my mind
I still would be able to remember you
I still…
Stand strong
You gave me life
And I still know
That any moment I could be lost

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Two Year Old Bottled Ghost World

From the belly of the beast I was reborn in the crease of the devil’s street. I was born with sin’s indebted by samsara. I was afraid to build relationships to live in because everyone stops breathing. I protected my self by building walls of regrets and refused to move close to anyone that had a heart. The bass of their heart caused me to tremble. And if they climbed the walls while I was not looking, immediately I would give them a Machavelian push to step on their heart to catapult me over any foreseeable obstacle. Water length guilt filled my soul that I constantly felt like I was drowning in my own sorrows.

Every night I would fall into an alcohol induced coma only to be awaken by the reality of my nightmares. Careless mysteries never tempted me to come out of my shell. I was content with the pain that I was sustaining because I felt that I deserved it. If, I could have exchanged breaths with him and my firstborn on their death bed I would have laid my life down at their feet. But, I was incapable of such sacrifices. After they fell asleep I burnt my skin with the memories clothed in his words, shadows of his smile, and his or her firsts.

Day in and day out, I lived for eight years as a city nomad. There was not a heart that I wanted to trust. Until one day the city introduced me to a love that I was unable to ignore. It turned my world upside down and rolled my lifeless body over and breathed life into me. hEr essence whistled through my nose and I woke up and saw an image that resembled my father. This is the day that I decided that impermanence is impermanent. Life is forever changing and if I live with the desire of the past I will remain the age that I was when I buried my father. Time is has no mercy on man. And I should not have mercy on time.

Tales of the crypt no longer course the streets of my mind. I walk the alleys of my consciousness and embrace those who live lonely in cardboard mansions. The space in between my heart and my mind is reserved for those who want to help me expand said space to the point my physical body can no longer take the pressure. They will find neither pleasure or pain taking the pressure and BEing with me. The blues do not fill my eyes. The weight from under my eyes fall short of holding me down. I was baptized in the gutter of her stomach and my colorless skin peeled off like dead snake skin. A love scripture was sketched on the surface of my heart. I had to translate it to my mind. I didn’t want to later be lost in translation. With this word imbedded in my existence the drunk ghosts are bottled up. Today marks the day 2years ago that they began to swim everywhere, but here.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Ugly Beauty in the Rearview Mirror

Do you know the Tristan Rêveur quote about bad art? It's "bad art is more tragically beautiful than good art 'cause it documents human failure." - Ryan Gosling "Stay"

Sometimes, I like to sit in the driver’s seat and look into the rearview mirror. It’s almost like watching a bad documentary. However, it is my life and I enjoy the lessons I learn and am learning. The lessons are my cocoon, but they allow me to spread my wings and fly. But, they also ground me. I sit in motion and the reflection drives me back to a place and a loneliness I don’t want to visit again. Solitude was my only comrade. Everyone had abandoned me. I reached out the door, wanting to be saved, and there was not one hand that sought mine in return. Darkness held my hand. But, now I am in a space that the past is only distant memories. The reflection of the past pulls away in the rearview mirror and I notice I am unable to see the man I used to be. People look different to me. Their skin looks softer.

Truth be told, we are all homeless and looking for a heart to lay their sorrows on so to lessen the weight of the daily struggle. I unsure why people look down those who live on the street. They work too. We all work to survive. And surviving is more tumultuous than giving up. The reality is this state of being is not our home. “We live alone and die alone. Everything in between is an illusion.“ So, what it the point of the struggle? I don't want them to struggle any longer. The point is we neither struggle to live or live to struggle. We live and we experience.

Webster’s Dictionary states, “Experience is the totality of the cognitions given by perception; all that is perceived, understood, and remembered.” There is no point, other than to live. But, while we are here we might as well say something. What do you have to say? I want to say, “I love you and I don‘t want to see you struggle.” I want to share with the world the words I feel scaling the walls in my head in the morning when I experience my first breath. I want to breathe this breath into the world. I don’t want to simply observe my breath aimlessly go everywhere, but nowhere. I want to draw with my breath the shadows that create images of ugly beauty or beautiful ugliness because both are my reality.

The memories of yesteryear are not me. The memories that I squeeze from my hippocampus and or front lobe are confirmation that I am a new man. I cannot change your perspective on the way you see me, but change can help you realize you are new too. As the wheels turn, my eyes see change outside the windows. I can remember when I once looked out the window. I was only able to view recorded shadows on repeat. My whole life has changed since love shook me awake. Love has pulled my eyelids up like Venetian blinds. In my eyes are the world and forces of life allow me to see the light and the infinite possibilities that exist in my soul’s open windows. I am. I am able to focus on the road in front me.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Cherish Each Moment

The dark cold consumes the city lights as the earth‘s breath slowly rises to the heavens. Lonely bodies stand patiently waiting for permission to enter the gates of the Phoenix Rescue Mission. I am not sure where to go. But, a man, buried in his hooded winter coat, instructs me the way so that I can get out of the cold. My sleeveless arms cannot bare the cold so I walk briskly to the door where men are coatless.

I enter into a hallway filled with men’s sharing stories and laughter. A man asks me to sign-in and then he kindly escorts me to the kitchen and introduces me to an older woman that possesses a familiar face. I can’t remember where I have seen her face before. I didn’t know her personally, but her face was filled with kindness and is the reason her face seems familiar. She greets me with “Good Morning.” Then she politely asks me to empty cups of cottage cheese into a large bowl of fruit cocktail. This is the only cocktail these men will enjoy this morning. I am not passing judgment, but use the moment of grace that these men are to Recover from drugs, alcohol, and the past that hasn’t been so kind with them.

The smell of potatoes and eggs swim through the air and dive into my nose. I fall hungry, but I know I am not here to eat. I am summoned by a determination to give back to the community I once struggled to survive in.

A smile steals my mouth when a stranger’s smile says, “Hello.” It would not be the only smile that warmed my soul. Each man’s smile has a story, their teeth being a chapter of their lives, some missing whole chapeters and some with stained pages, but I am honored to listen. Their stories remind me that I was it not too long ago that I was in their same shoes. But, when I was homeless I did not have the courage to go to a homeless shelter because of the horror stories that crept through the Phoenix streets. I hand each man a tray and each man had a smile and “thank you,” to exchange.

Time passes quickly and I attempt to remember each timeless face. I am curious to know what their trick is to be so happy on such a cold morning. I see people in stores shopping with frowns and never understand why they seem to be so miserable when they have everything. And these men wake up each morning with only their skin and smile not knowing where their next meal may come and were kind enough to give me a sense of belonging. I left, gracious for what these men had given me; a smile that has been painted on my face and soul since I exited the doors of the Phoenix Rescue Mission.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

"All I Want For Christmas is to Dance With My Father Again"

“When it snows, you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels” - Anonymous

I think Honey and Jazzy would make Doggy Snow Angels if they had snow also.

Choices. Choices…. Choices? We all have them. The other day a good friend enlightened me with a comment, “You choose to be alone on Christmas.” Well yes, I do and I have for the last 8 years. I know it’s sad, but it’s because I don’t remember many Christmas’ before my father passed away in February 2002. To be honest I don’t remember much before my father’s passing. I try to remember his face and it is slowly fading away. But, I remember one thing. I remember the day that I last talked to my father on December 12, 2001. His last words, before I hung up the phone upset, were, “I love you.” I was upset because he and my mother wanted me to come home and celebrate Christmas with the family. And I wanted to spend it with my college girlfriend and her family. Not knowing that those words would be the words that echo through my eternity.

Before I went off to college in 1998, I don’t remember my father saying, “I love you,” to me. He was a man that sacrificed his life to show us that he loved us. I knew he always loved me and he never had to say it. He was a man of action. His voice carried a power that would tear down crack houses, but he also had a voice that embraced your heart with a smile. Most of all, I remember our conversations where our words danced around in complete happiness, gap toothed smiles shining from ear to ear.

Over the years I have allowed guilt to convince and shield away from loving people so that I never have to see another heart stop look at me and fade away. Along with memories of my father a lot of people have come and disappeared. I know that I am the one to blame. Either I, consciously or subconsciously, pushed good people away because I felt, like my father, they too would disappear soon enough. I believed that I was protecting myself from feeling the pain hearing the eerie sound of my father’s body flat line and seeing his spirit climb the stairs to heaven.
For years, I have never wanted anything, but to unwrap a ring and hear my father’s voice and tell him that I love him. But, all I can do is say it and hope he hears me. Instead all I really want for Christmas is a to spend it with the I love and want to build a family giving me the chance to be the father that my father was and more.

It has been a painful journey this holiday season. There has been many lonely nights and truth be told there were a couple tears that settled into my pillow. However, in the end, I found my smile. I found the happiness to have the courage to sit with the demons of my past that instill fear me of success. At times I wonder why my chest hurts. I now know its the demons of the past pressuring my mind to believe that I will never be the father my was. So, I have held myself down so not to feel the same rejection I have in the past. I am scared to fail. Who isn’t? I am also scared that my fathers hard work will be in vain if I don’t succeed.

“Action is greater than inaction. Perform therefore thy task in life. Even the life of the body could not be if there were no action.” - Bhagavad Gita

Somewhere along the way my self-esteem and confidence evaporated with my tears. Never have I felt as vulnerable as I have this Christmas. But, over the years I have learned that being vulnerable is loving and loving is being vulnerable and open to all the possibilities that presents themselves. I worked so hard to build a wall around my heart for so long and for the last two years I have worked twice as hard to tear down those walls so I can love those enter and exist my life. I received the best present from my father this Christmas Eve. He obviously thought that I was ready to open it. He always knew what was best for me. I opened the present and it was my happiness, love, and the man my father once saw developing.

It may be sad not to spend the Christmas holidays with my family or a loved ONE, but I know it is the best feeling to know I can be happy with myself. And in this happiness that everyone is enjoying this Christmas I am able to dance in the conversation again with my father.

“ Thank you dad for giving me the best Christmas gift you could have ever given me.”

“Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is.” - Bhagavad Gita

Years of love knocking
Heart cracked under pressure
Walls crumbled
More room to love

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Be. Sure to spend time with those you love and let them know you appreciate and love them. Each moment is precious.

Friday, December 23, 2011


I would like to explain the meaning of compassion, which is often misunderstood. Genuine compassion is based not on our own projections and expectations, but rather on the rights of the other: irrespective of whether another person is a close friend or an enemy, as long as that person wishes for peace and happiness and wishes to overcome suffering, then on that basis we develop genuine concern for his or her problem. This is genuine compassion. Usually when we are concerned about a close friend, we call this compassion. This is not compassion; it is attachment. Even in marriage, those marriages that last only a short time do so because of attachment – although it is generally present – but because there is also compassion. Marriages that last only a short time do so because of a lack of compassion; there is only emotional attachment based on projection and expectation. When the only bond between close friends is attachment, then even a minor issue may cause one’s projections to change. As soon as our projections change, the attachment disappears – because that attachment was based solely on projection and expectation. It is possible to have compassion without attachment – and similarly, to have anger without hatred. Therefore we need to clarify the distinctions between compassion and attachment, and between anger and hatred. Such clarity is useful in our daily life and in our efforts towards world peace. I consider these to be basic spiritual values for the happiness of all human beings, regardless of whether one is a believer or a nonbeliever. - His Holiness the Dalai Lama

Usually, I wake up in the morning and I feel like I am hanging from a closed door. Some would call it a "hangover." I don't drink, but this "hangover" is quite similar. Negativity takes it sharp claws and digs viciously into my mind, body, and spirit. I begin to wonder what door I am going to run into blindly today thinking if I run fast and hard enough that it will somehow breakdown. Instead of the door breaking down my mind and heart find a way to crumble unde the negative pressure. But, this morning it was different. I woke up. Thats it. I woke up and I felt open. I looked around and I was flushed with a sense of love and knowing that everything IS going to just fine IF I want it to BE. I need to believe in myself. I looked up at the ceiling fan in the dark and knew that life was moving and I was going to enjoy each and every step. I looked over at the impression that used to be filled with the woman I love and it was two little fury critters that I love so dearly. I said, "Good morning and I love you Chweetie and Jazzy." I spun off the bed letting my toes grab the carpet first. Then I sat there took a deep breath and slowly pushed my limp body up to standing and walked over to my meditation space.

I sat cross-legged, upright like a Shambhala warrior, and took a deep breath while closing my eyes. Each breath I took I felt myself go deeper within. I invited all my loved ones to walk with me along the path towards the space that exists between my heart and mind. A warmth rose from my toes to my crown. I felt free. I felt open. I am unsure how long I sat in this space, but when I opened my eyes I realized I was Who I Am. I cannot make anyone love me like I love me or how I love them regardless of their small flaws because they are who they are. I realized that every door is open if I want to see them as open. I realized everyone's heart is open if I see them as open. I am open.

Tree's leave, arms's waving, "Goodbye." My eyes speak with the wind in sign language wondering where the seasons go when they disappear into the night. Each blade of grass slide between my toes so not to hurt me. I walk delicately throughher hair. sHe comforts me with her soft earth tone skin. I bend on my knees and place my ears to her heart and each beat speaks to me. sHe moves me close enough that I dissolve into her divine bossom. hEr lips wraps around my consciousness. I begin to Believe no only in hEr, but ME. What sHe said was not secret. I notice hEr message written through the window every morning I wake up. The trees aren't leaving. They are being reborn and waving, "Hello."

Credit(Photographs by): Francesca Woodman

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Have You Ever....?

Have you ever been so in love that that pain you are supposed to feel you convince yourself that it feels good?

The night is day
The morning is night
Lost in love
Leaves you blind in the light

Have you ever got that feeling inside where you just want to paint the world with love?

I got that feeling...

I just want to paint smiles on everyone's faces inside and out!