When it comes to these things...(11-23-2010)

Dear Mystery, the essence that provokes, the feeling of desire that hungers for more.

Dear reflection of myself in the mirror’s image, that tells a backward tale of a young man’s morning hair, yet to be bathed.

Dear myself when I was five, discovering my body, its height, its color, its volume within a reclining chair.

Dear summertime days that I didn’t make art, that I didn’t sentiment trees or discuss romance.

In the afternoon you will leave me, and I will cook a meal. I will ponder my schedule, my words, my thoughts, my plans. I will take a bite and eat it, and maybe my mind will become empty.

Flowers don’t bloom in the winter, they come in the later spring. This makes sense to a gardener. Men in misery will drink their beer, ignoring the distance between us and them. Scared men will kiss their mates, making wild love, begging existence to stay where it is. You’ve left me no choice but to consider these things, dissecting the skin to discover organs. Within the process of looking, so many minds wonder, will they continue to feel?

I go first when it comes to these things, diving in a pool, maybe never to return. In the context of all things, the landscape remains the same. The sun still sets on the overcast day, and my gut wants to pull over to see it. My hand will reach for yours, greeting the cold surface of the car seat.

Is there some way to transmit this to you, void of intention, a pure gift to see?

In the context of all things I am awake to some problem, to which I face the reality of misery and protect myself in romance, but I am a slave to it all until I see it as it is. And then, without pride, something beautiful occurs. Neither you nor I can describe it. I am passionate to respond, and that joy translates into muffled sounds, a language no misery can bare. And in the context of it all, I am learning to be alone, and why it seems to make true love come to life.