Barnabas...



The king sits in a room alone anesthetized by suffered vision.  With eyes closed he looks up and sees a great man about to die.  A man with the ability to kill because he knew how to heal.  A man with the ability to steal because he knew how to protect that which was most valuable.  A man torn by two worlds that found nobility in each and kept what was most useful to him.  Through the mist of panorama the king now sees the mans death...

His procession is one fit for an ancient king.  A casket of glass, flowers and music interlaced with stringed instruments.  Mourners gather in the hundreds with nothing to say.  Nothing to share.  Whatever memory they had of him...was private.  Why did they mourn?  Why were they there?  What was he to them?  He never knew.  He never accepted his impact so as to keep himself steady.  He was a shadow behind the greats.  A momentary whisper of encouragement in the wind.  A moment to remember...

The king now knows his name...Barnabas...

Missa Defunctorum...

What more can be said that hasn't been said already...silence is my remedy...

Dreams...

This past week has been a week of vivid dreams but this morning I woke up from one of the most vivid dreams Ive had in awhile.  Someone I knew that I had not seen in about a year was here.  Nudging at me to wake up as she sat at the side of my bed.  She had let herself in because she has always had a set of keys.  I woke up a bit shocked that someone was there, rubbed my eyes and said "hello".  It was actually cool to see her again.  Yet I saw her differently.  Like she "belonged" yet at the same time...didn't.  Like she "fit" but only for a season.  It was as though this is the way it was always meant to be.  She was just passin through...until next time.

Time has allowed me to see and accept many things.  The permanence of a few even though they are absent.  Even though there is silence...it makes no difference.  I do hope that wherever she is, she's living up to all the great things I saw in her.  There were many...

Behind The Smoke...

"Behind the smoke, there lies a fine line of purpose and circumstance.  To frustrate, to maim and to impassion.  To make you who you are meant to be...sedated..."

Words of a poet tossed about by Absinthe, thought and his hookah pipe.  Words written in haze with a tinge of lucidity.  With trouble surrounding his essence he no longer feels a thing.  He no longer allows entrance into his "being".  He remains as he is meant to be...a man sedated.  Sedated by the knowledge that all things will fall into place as they must.  Sedated by the knowledge that destiny is destiny as fate is fate.  Knocking on every door without allowing depression to set when they do not open.  He's become even more resigned.

His Absinthe and his hookah pipe have become the knowledge of truth.  The simple truth that peace will only come from the inside out.  The place where perspective manifests itself into reality.  What will be, will be...acceptance...

Lighthouse In The Wild...

"...leave a little light on in the wild..."

Reflections Of An Honest Man...

You know when the smoke clears and you allow gratitude to set in you can be amazed at what you find.  Faces and lives, some that stay and some that have gone.  Moments shared and words spoken that allow you to see the grace of God in it all. Grace, because you know you are not deserving of such gifts.  Gifts that others would envy.  Gifts in the smiles...in the hearts and loving care that others offer.

I count my blessings in this timeless space.  They have names.  A handful of names too valuable to fit in a "little black book".  They are extraordinary, amazing and phenomenal.  They've called me beautiful, sweets, goober and honey...in more than one language.  They've shown me understanding, maturity, sacrifice and hope. They've come over to share wine and a light touch.  Never being afraid to reveal themselves that true intimacy would be expressed...even for just a moment.  I don't care what happens now...they are implanted in my make-up and I find them beautiful.  I always will...

This is who I am...this is who I will always be...

What Is Familiar...

One night your walking through the streets and you realize..."I've gone as far as I could go in the right direction".  A place where you find there is nothing left for you to do.  A place where you are tired of being "sick and tired".  That place of numbness where all you can do is laugh at life as a comedy riddled with twists and turns.  Where every other door has shut and there is only one door left to enter through.  Turns out, that is the final door that takes you past the finish line.

Looking back, how many times have you been here before?  How many hard tears have you cried because you thought you wouldn't make it?  You always made it.  God made sure of that.  There was always a crack in the window.  There was always a way to slip in unawares.  They are always present yet the question is, "What precedent will you adhere to?"  The one that says "Life is sh*t"?  Or the one that stays hidden amidst the sorrow that says "It'll be okay in time"?

I learn this lesson on a weekly basis but I will admit it to be one of the hardest of lessons to learn.  Through all I've been through...I am still alive.  I still feel.  I still find time to laugh, to smile...to love.  I still find moments of gratitude between the moments of inequity.  I still see faith...and passion...

This tells me something...everything will always be alright.

There's something familiar about this place ;-)

Apollo

Apollo stands at the precipice of his existence and feels the need to live.  The need to love the art that drives him destitute and happy.  The need to arrive at a place of rest where he hears only the sound of his heart beating to the keys of Sati and Bach.  The place of loss...and deliberate gain.  The place where the new face is familiar and beautiful.  Drawn by the heart.  Drawn by the soul.

He will find his place and thrive without vexing his keeper.  The man of honor that has kept him from self destruction and death.  The man that existed before him and grows stronger by the day.  This man will build a house for Apollo.  A house with glass that doesn't shatter and furniture riddled with nails.  A house where Apollo will do his best without hurting a soul.  His lust, his conflict, his passion...is his art.  Apollo will live.  Behind smoke, strong drink and purpose...he will live...

Working It "Out"...

Philippians 2:12 Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.

Consider this scripture and think for a minute.  How does this fit in with grace?  We don't "work" for salvation but we do "work" things "out"...or "outwardly".  From a biblical standpoint, we work "out" what is within and that is all the good that God imparts. 

How does this apply humanistically? 

I have always held to the belief that all externals are luxuries based on all that our internals have to contribute by way of necessity.  The "man in the mirror" that carries weight on shoulders, armor and all manner of pressure is far more important than anything you can acquire outside "self".  That is the "richness" of all you bring to the table.  Even healthy couples need "alone" time because it is this "alone" time that keeps alive the individuality that drew you in the first place.  So find the place and time for this "man".  Build and create castles that can house many but whose main chamber is yours.  Find the art in you.  Find your breath.  Study the workings of your internal clock and fix it until it ticks just the way you want it.  Stare at your innermost until you know "him" enough to present "him" everywhere you go.  Raise "him" right...

Only then, will you find out what you are truly looking for...

A man loses his keys.  He looks everywhere but he can't find them.  He looks in his car, he looks in his home.  Every place he goes...he looks.  Frustration hits and he becomes consumed with those keys.  One day he just says to himself  "Eh, they'll turn up" and he goes about the business of "him".  Without looking...they turn up in his coin pocket...  

All It Means To Me - A Poem by Moe

Songbirds have the night
Clearing up my sight
To see the great called You

Strings of light are filled
With stories all but tilled
In ground that makes it's way

And I rest on her cloud
Taking on her shroud
For all it means to me

~Moses