A Letter from Ginger

My children recently received a letter from Ginger, our Elf on a Shelf. It read:

“Dear Michael and Gianna,

It has been my pleasure to be with you these many years. I’ve been able to see you grow, watch your challenges and your joys, and I couldn’t be happier that Santa sent me to you.

I wanted to let you know that my mission has now changed. You both are such wonderful Beings, and you are beautiful people with so much love in you that it is time that you see me as I truly am. I am not Santa’s “spy”. He never sent me to report back to him on what you were doing wrong. Instead, he sent me to report to him on what you were doing RIGHT, and that list has grown larger than I can keep. You both have made the world a much better place.

For now on, during the Holiday Season, I have been tasked to be a reminder to you both. A reminder of all the good you can bring into the world. A reminder of the Spirit of Giving, and the power of offering a helping hand whenever you can. A reminder of the power of a hug, of a kind word, of a loving smile.

The truest gifts are not the things that we get, but the things that we give. Powerful gifts are not expensive, in fact they do not cost a thing. You both know what I am talking about, I’ve watched you give gifts of love and truth for years.

I may appear throughout the year if it feels as if you need a reminder. Remember that I love you, and that the Spirit of Christmas is about love, and about sharing that love with everyone you meet. It is about, seeing how powerful you are when you simply allow the love within you to show itself. When you see me appear, remember those things, and simply say to yourself,

“I love you.”

Everything will change when you believe those words. Say “I love you” to yourself over an over again until that smile appears on your face. It will, I promise.

Have a wonderful Holiday. Peace.

Ginger, your faithful friend.”

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The Simplicity of Such a Complexity (Letter to Her)

I have seen the future…and behold those pools of blue, the sultry waves of your smile, the nestled heart I feel beat in our tightest embrace.

There are no missions left to the simple man. I see, with as much simplicity as I can muster, the complexity of emotions when in the grasp your beautiful gaze. There, the purpose of a life reborn into simple terms takes a turn. There, a man finds himself, renewed with a vigor and a purpose, one that requires he love a woman regardless of the outcome.

Yes, I’ve seen the future, one possible outcome of a million potential stories. I’ve walked with you, hand-in-hand, over a million miles in my mind. I’ve kissed you throughout eternity in my dreams. I’ve held you countless minutes through countless storms and awesome sunny days in my heart. Most of all I’ve given you all you need and you, in turn, have shown me all I could ever be.

There I am…a misty form in one of many dreams, hugging you from behind, kissing your neck as your body surrenders into me. There I am…a man who has finally been realized in a one, true love. There I am…a simply man lost in hopeless complexity, or a complex man lost in absolute simplicity.

My life has never been one of shortcuts, of easy routes to the top of anything. So I wait, hoping beyond hope that you’ll finally lean your head against my shoulder, look up at me, and know you are right where you belong.

That’s all. A simple request in a complex world. A simple union of two hearts, of two blocks of marble molded into pieces that fit by the complexities of time and experience. We can share a simple kiss. A simple word. A simple, light touch in just the right place. The simplicity of all I’ll ever need to know.

Things like that seem so simple, but can be so complex. Things like that end up being so complex, but end up so simple. It all works out, the way it should, in its time. Yet, I’ll love you just the same. I’ll seek the best for you. I’ll carry you anytime you need to be carried.

That’s love, as I see it.

A New Religion (Somewhat Mature)

Memories often fade as lonely raindrops on a desert’s sands. There are moments, though, that survive the brutal nature of our journey, and give rise to something new. Something we remember in every vision, in every touch, and in every way mere mortals can be reminded of their infinity.

I remember this. There, in the twilight shadows of a life that has found harmony within itself, I remember. I have felt it, and I feel it now as something courses through my Being, onto the canvas that now shares these words in a way that will never be erased.

I have felt you, my love.

I remember the first time I touched you. You were standing there, that smile, that body, that aura. We hugged, and you held me for a while, allowing those things we share but rarely talk about to have a communion of their own. I could feel your breasts against my chest, your hands pressing hard against my back. Soon, our hips were touching, as your head fit nicely on my shoulder. We rested there, forever in a moment.

It was there I first held the form of God, and it was there I had found a new religion.

I remember the first time I felt you. Really felt you. We were making love, you on top. I had lost the sense of where I was. No compass worked within me, and the room around us had blurred in the moment. I could see only you as I enjoyed your pleasure as your face contorted and your lips moaned with each endless movement. I reached up and pulled your head closer to my own, and we kissed. Our breath mixed, our bodies meshed, and as our lips parted I held your face in my hand. Our eyes met, and it was like some magical circuit had been completed.

Our bodies had joined below, our souls met in the union of our eyes. It was there I touched the face of God for the very first time, and it was there I practiced my new religion.

No person would ever need meet my demands again. You were free, completely. I would love you without question, but I would never own you. I would hold you firmly in my arms, but never seek to place you in a box. It was through you I found that love could not be focused like a laser without destroying everything it touched. Instead, love must be like a star shining brightly  in all directions. What it touches, it reveals.

When my ego’s fears would shout ill-advised words into my mind, I would refocus my attention on the soft whispers of love spoken directly to my heart. When fear would raise its ugly head to bite this wounded man, I would calmly seek the soft attention of a man who’s healed himself. I would not cater again to the fallacies I had been taught. Instead, I would stand upon new ground, on a new earth, that I, myself, had formed.

Upon that ground I built a sturdy altar, one that looks like nothing ever built before. In its many forms we lay, we sit, we stand tall, our lips embraced as our bodies tell a sacred tale. Upon that altar our sweat becomes a nectar of the gods, and that music from our lungs a sweet song that caresses every corner of the heavens that we share.

I have felt  you, my god have I felt you! In the massive quakes and sultry rattles in my entirety, I have felt you. Shaken to dust are the ornate fixtures of my life, and torn to bits are the crimson, silky fabric on which I once would lay my head. Arisen from the rubble stands a naked man, bloodied and caked with mud yet clean and strong to his very core.  It is that man who kneels upon your sacred space, uttering not a promise save the one, forever truth.

I love you.

Such a wonderful place to worship, such a beautiful place to kneel! There, amongst the weathered trees and misty clouds bearing the wicked winds of impermanence, I have found my truest faith. There, amongst the piles of the charred bridges I have burnt away and the rusty remains of ideas I have since all but thrown asunder, you stand as a testament to what was always meant to be.

Such sweet songs we sing.

Little Bits of Her

Suddenly, I think of her.

Yes…you know her too. She’s captured your imagination and set fire to your senses. She’s waved pixie dust in your eyes and poured you a glass of the sweetest nectar you have ever tasted.

There are those moments when she captures my attention even when she’s absent from view. I can picture her in my mind smiling that smile, wilting away the darkness of the day. I can imagine her writing in that little book of hers as I dream of her dreams, share in her aspirations, and wish nothing but the best for us both.

I know very little about her. but I know so much about me with her. I’ve relished in the bits of her that she shares, but I realize that in bathing in the droplets of water spraying from the shoreline rocks, that I have not experienced the sea. There is a vastness to her; and I want to swim there.  There’s so much depth, and I want to dive into her. There so much beauty, and I want to walk along her shores.

Those little bits of her…like bars scattered about from a fractured song…can ignite my wick into a flame. I need very little from her, but I want so much. She owes me nothing, but gives me so much.  She has set me free, and I love her whole in each little bit that I see.

There are no steel bars that hold us, no shackles that tie us to each other. Instead, we’ve accepted the wind on our backs, and the Sun in our eyes, as we fly straight into heaven. Our hands may hold one another’s, our arms may be locked in an embrace, but we are always free, together. Our hearts beat strongly each other’s name, but in love we are free, and in love we belong to the Universe.

Thus, the first note has been struck in a new symphony, the first wave has broken upon new shores. Out of nothing, everything was born, and out of loss came the greatest love I will ever know.  There is no mystery in the wound. It’s simply a passage into unlimited greatness.

That’s what I’ve found in those little bits of her. Those little bits that have made me whole, those little bits that have lit the torches along my path. Those little bits that create the song I whistle as I walk. Those little bits that leave me weak in my explosive moments of ecstasy.

She knows them, and as she caresses me back to life those little bits of her open my eyes and bring me closer to where I want to be. She accepts me as I am, and takes little bits of me into her hands. Rather than capture them in a jar, she nurtures them and blows them back into the ether, setting free all but those parts of me that have become parts of her.

She loves me, but never needs say it. I can feel it with every thought I have, with every touch we share, with every drop of sweat we offer to one another. Somehow, not-so-little bits of her have become part of me, too. I love her, and she knows it even if the words have never been spoken.

There is greatness in the spoken word, but greater power in the words that never need be spoken. The silence and the notes make the song. The light and the darkness make the day. Somehow, those little bits of her and those little bits of me have mixed to make a wonderful masterpiece. Somehow a simple seed as fallen onto fertile ground, and now we have a forest to explore. Somehow, a single drop of rain gave birth to a vast ocean. and here we are so ready to take a swim.

A beautiful moment indeed. The birth of a brand new Universe. The birth of eternity.

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Red Bird (A Poem)

An instinctive thought,
Ancestral song,
Knows no difference,
Right or wrong.

A weathered face,
An old man speaks,
This wise old soul,
Knows what he seeks.

An absent mind,
Once strong and true,
This old man walks,
With thoughts of you.

Once lonely steps,
With endless Sun,
A smile oft-tested,
By things he’s done.

She may never know,
The gift she’s been,
But the old man knows,
A winter’s wind.

He found his life,
In the deepest snow,
He found his love,
When he let it go.

The tear that forms,
As the Red Bird sings,
Let clear streams form,
It’s time for spring.

~TG

 

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You Know the One (A Poem)

There is one…
You know the one…
She is teasing with a glance,
Preying on you with her eyes,
Tormenting you with all those possibilities.

There is one…
You know the one…
Causing your mind to race,
Setting your heart on fire,
Scorching your soul with unspoken intentions.

That’s what gets me rising,
The promise, that promise of something wonderful,
The hope, the hope that springs eternal from within,
Whispering angels telling lies,
Shouting demons speaking nothing but the truth.

There is this one…
You know the one…
Making soft things firm,
Creating something out of nothing,
A strengthened arm rising from the molten ash.

There is one…
You know the one…
With just one word universes are born,
With just one inkling it all explodes,
A mountain rises from the sullen plains.

That’s where it all arises,
The Sun, the Moon, the silken sky,
That’s where it all meets,
Eternity and walls of Father Time,
What I’ve lost to get to what I’ve always wanted.

Because there is…one.
We all know…the one.

Yes, I Think of You

She wants to know.  I want to tell her.

Yes, I think of you. When the words pour from my soul they say your name. When the letters come and mix together, they spell your essence. When the thoughts arrive, they paint a picture of your smile, your eyes, your loving presence.

Yes, I think of you. When the moment comes and the Sun rises, I think of you. When the starry skies light up the nighttime path, I think of you. When I reach the summit of certain places, when my foot falls upon the hardest to reach spaces of my life, I think of you.

Those hard to reach places. Drawn as I am by the low and flat valleys, I am defined by the steep inclines and shaky pathways I have traveled. I have loved and lost, and stumbled as all men do. Yet, when rise and shake the dust from my bloody limbs, I think of you.

I think of you sitting on the summit, waiting for me to climb. I think of all the moments where you’ve entered through the gaps, where you’ve spoken through the silence, where you’ve uttered words only you could have spoken. I think of where you are, and where I stand. I think of the distance I have traveled to get to you, and the moment when our lips finally touch, and our bodies swear the oath our hearts had written so very long ago.

Until that moment, I’ll think of you. I’ll think about how beautiful you are. I’ll think about how thoughts of you rise me up each morning, and I’ll think of you as my eyes shut each night.

Yes, I think of you.

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Back Into You (A Poem)

In the stalwart, wicked ways we do
The shadows torment the whole day through,
And though stumble and fall as all men do,
This one will fall back into you.

Tis wondrous, her eyes wide shut,
A longing, wanting, desperate strut,
Those open wounds, so freshly cut,
She questions things, I don’t know what.

For now I seek a day anew,
To throw away those things untrue.
I’ll stumble and fall as all men do,
But I’ll stumble and fall back into you.

Another day, some other time,
Every word will seem to rhyme,
Two lovers not yet past their prime,
Will find a single hill to climb.

I feel these things, you know them too,
All those things we think we knew,
I’ll stumble and fall as all men do,
But I’ll stumble right back into you.

 

 

photo by: Chadica

In the Wallows

We are, as it is, Beings lost in the confusion of our mind. We are, as it is, unsure of who we are because, frankly, we are not meant to know such things.

We are meant for something more. If the Universe was satisfied with Oneness, duality would not need exist. If infinity was pleased with immortality, the beauty of finite moments would be lost to the wall-less expanse of eternity. We often look at enlightenment and bliss as the purpose of our existence. We look toward the stillness for light, toward the vast summits of our lives for the greatest views, toward the monuments we have constructed for our sense of purpose.

Yet, it is in the wallows that we find all we need to know. It is in the mud that we find our purity, and in the muck that we find our freedom. It is in the unknown depths that we find our courage, and in the abyss that we find our security. It is in the shaky ground that we discover our sanctuary. It is in the chaos of the noise around us that we find our sweetest silence.

We are souls born through joy, which is why we find the truest parts of us in the wallows. We are born to forget who we are, and we rediscover ourselves not through the laughter, but through the tears, not through the ecstasy, but through the pain. We discover our love for each other in our solitude, our need for connection in our loneliness, and all we have gained through the suffering of our loss.

We find life through death, and discover compassion when we are treated without it. We can discover contentment in hunger, simplicity in great challenge, and the value of smallness when trying to fill the vast voids we fear need filling. We are beings who seek shelter from a scorching Sun in the muck, and who look to cleanse in the muddiest of waters.

We aren’t always meant to be smiling vessels of harmony. Bliss is what bid us a fond farewell upon our own conception,  birthed to experience ourSelves as something so much more. We are meant to feel the pain of humanity, see the injustice of our thoughts, feel the sting of the lash we use against ourselves. We are meant to wear the shackles of our broken hearts, and to limit our flight in the blue skies that are untruthful. It is in the darkest part of night that the blue skies reveal their truth, as tiny spots of light reveal a void, reminding us that there is never any color  above us. The blue skies we see are nothing but a reflection. A reflection of something not blue itself, something that never exists as we see it. The illusion is in the light, when the Sun is strongest, when the beasts that would hurt us  seem to hide, when the things that would nourish us seem to be at their most vibrant.

I find so much value in the night. The air seems cleaner, the silence more to my liking.  I find a calmness in the moments when my body seeks its rest. I find much solace in the time when my eyes need to adjust to the lack of abundant light, and my body feels a chill in the absence of the Sun’s warmth.  I need that chill. I need that darkness. I need that solitude.

I need all of that to spring to life in the daylight, to relish in your company, to know what it is I have found.

It is in the wallows that I’ve found myself, and it is in the wallows where we discover all that we need know. The rest is conjecture, and a mind that lives in such fantasy can’t help but live a life of conjecture itself.

There is great strength in being true. True to the sunken pit in which you were born. True to the climb beyond the mud. True to the challenge of a weakened mind made dizzy by its own frailty. There is a great strength to standing up for truth, for the cold water splashed upon your bare skin, for the trail of blood that seeps from the fresh wound that was self-inflicted. There is a great strength to not buying into the bullshit, to standing up for your own experience regardless of what others say is true.

Yet, there is great value in the illusion. It’s like the south end of a compass pointing true north. It’s like the shell surrounding the pearl, the froth hiding what is beneath the surface of a stormy sea. Imagine if we had no choice in the direction we would travel. Imagine if there were no course corrections and nothing to navigate. Imagine how boring a journey this would be.

Peace.

Still, She Sings

Everything is different. The once plush, green leaves of spring now sacrifice themselves to a change, spraying the world with color. The warm summer breeze has become the crisp air of an autumn morn, with winter soon to come.

The clouds now blanketing the oft-blue Colorado sky send warning that things are changing. The browning hue of my mountain oasis reminds me that soon the White Veil will come, and the ice will return. The mule deer scurrying for final bites of summer food know it too, as nature begins its preparation for the brutality of winter.

That stark contrast of our summer joy, that wondrous playground of warmth, of Sun, of joyous outdoor games, that give way to ways of winter, the cold, the snow, the morning ice.  Still there is joy there, albeit covered in layers meant to keep us warm.

Another summer gone, another winter coming. Soon another year will pass, and with it the promise of time. We will all be another moment closer to our end, even as some of us live in the eternity of a moment born with a morning chill made good in the warmth of blanket, or a lover, or a memory of either.

So much will be lost, but she will still be singing.

I pray on the coldest night I will feel her warmth. I hope that on my driest days she will quench my thirst. I hope that when there is nothing but the barren branches of the trees that line my trail, I will see her smile and remember that spring will soon be here.

Because when the cold winds blow, and the snow piles upon my sacred ground, she will be singing. Her melody will melt the ice, her notes will show me purpose. A lyric will be born that unites us, our bodies dancing as shadows to some holy fire in which no winter’s breath survives.

We will brave the cold together just to feel the warmth. We will cast snow aside just to unite our lips. We will challenge the frosty day as two made one, as lovers united in a common cause.

That embrace. That sweet, holy embrace. That kiss. That breath of life between us. The sweat that drips from our skin that says to the snowy night, “love cannot be chilled.” That moment when time is frozen in the warmth of all that is. Forever.

A man with nothing knows his value. A man with everything forgets himself. A man who can truly hear her sing, forgets himself in everything he values. Even in the empty spaces I can hear her sing. Even in the lonely moments I can hear that melody. Even in the demand of life that patience be a virtue, her song rings through my soul. Forever, I guess, but for now, absolutely.

Come, open and waiting, and hurry. The first note has been struck, and we have not a second left to spare.

 

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What you feel is life, what you live is another story.

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