The Intentions of Autumn Leaves

I'm thinking about harbor lights and dark water.
I think there is music there.
Haven't found it yet. Still looking.

Another night.
Different actors.
Same beautiful city.

She reveals herself to him.
Tells him the things he always so desperately wanted to hear.
Wants to feel these things. Thinks he could if he let himself.
Things have changed.
He believes in endings.
Feels instead like he is made of stone.
Says little.
Late night phone calls are sometimes the worst.

He loves the sound of her voice.
Feels like eyelashes brushing against his neck.
Just wants to close his eyes and listen for a little while.
Wants to enjoy the silky flow of her words before it ends.

He fears going through the endings again.

Thinks she is near tears in her need for him.
Feels so disconnected. Would love to see her face.
Maybe he feels something. Thinks he probably does.
Her voice is lovely when she is in pain.
Disturbing thought. For her sake, maybe he should stay away.
"Sorry for being so quiet. Sometimes I'm shy."
She ended up talking to a brick wall with a brain.

He hates the endings.

The moments after are sometimes the worst.

I love dreaming about harbor lights reflecting on dark water.
There is a lot of music to be found there.

..no different than the heavens we reach for.

It's quiet here. About an hour before I perform. Some scatterings of people, faces illuminated by the light of laptops or good conversation.
I like it here.
Soft lights on natural woods.
Perfect combination to settle me before the music begins.

Outside is a different world.
crowds milling about, made up of smiles and celebration.
It is a world of laughter.
Saturdays in Ballard always make you feel good inside.

Good place to stay for a little while, before I leave again.
I always feel so restless.
I think at some point my soul started wandering, and eventually my body caught up.
Don't ever stand still for too long. Harder to catch that way.
Funny thought.

Thinking about someone I talked to the other day.
Says that sometimes he compares his life to others.
Makes him sad.
Thinks that he doesn't measure up to the lights he sees on a screen.
Everyone is more interesting than you are online.

Between the photos of smile-filled vacations,
Incessant posts of inspiring quotes (I have been guilty of this myself)
and all of the other digital feel-goods,

He just doesn't understand why at times he can't see more than the space between this heartbeat and the next.

It was another one of those days.

I will know people who are attending the performance this evening.
Feeling fortunate that this is happening so soon after moving here.
Such support and kindness in my little world.

The rumors about this city were dead wrong.
It can be a place of warmth, yet anonymity.
Passions and aloofness.
Contrast in abundance here, but
Seattle's heart could fill the world with the sparkling light cast by the hopes and dreams of millions.

We're all chasing after something.
Something worth pursuing.
Sometimes we're running.
None of it is easy.
No one ever said it would be.

He has a life. Some consider it to be a very good life.
He knows this.
Something inside just feels very wrong.
No words, just an ache.

Always present,
So persistent.

He wants to believe in something.
He used to.
He felt that at some point the bubble burst. Just wants to be naive and foolish again.
Innocent.
Hates this feeling. Is very good at invalidating his own feelings.
Someone always has it worse than him, right? He says he's just restless.

Wonders why everyone else seems to have it together, when he's struggling with the invisible.

Asks me what to do with all of these things, expecting some words of wisdom and comfort.

I hesitate to say anything.
I'll be honest.
Don't really like giving advice much any more.
I like listening. I'm good at that.

I want to tell him something good.
Something to believe in.
Something that will build the bubble back up, so he can go on with his day,
Smiling, laughing and playing with the fun ones that he admires so much.

He's so eager for something to take this ache away.
He could ignore it. It will hurt later. An option.
Could try and look at it honestly. Risk of falling further into the hole if he's not careful. Another option.

I pause a little longer.
No wise words tonight from someone who knows way too many quotes and reaffirmations, but hasn't figured out how to live any of them.

I tell him the only thing that I think I can.
The only thing I know is true.

I tell him I understand.

My head is back in the cafe,
Back in Ballard on a beautiful Saturday evening.
I look at my watch.
Time to play a little music.
I feel made for this place.
At least for a little while...

Then it will be time to go.

Just one last dance, please.

I used to daydream about finding true love at the drive-in.
It's true.
It would be warm, the end of summer;
One of those evenings where the leftover heat of the day would gently radiate from the ground beneath.
Always loved those nights.
I would be wandering in the open spaces between cars, lightest of breezes brushing my cheek.
A million smiling faces all enjoying the film of the day, oblivious to the majesty about to enfold in their midst.

Always been such a dreamer.

I would see her.
The light of the screen would illuminate those perfect, searching features.
She would turn toward me and smile; I would feel that overwhelming, unyielding rush in my veins.

I didn't know what she would look like.
Was certain I'd know in that instant I saw her that she was the one.
The One.
We would have found each other at last.

This time it would be forever.

I couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 at the time.

..such a dreamer.

You get a little older.
You never noticed before how beaten up and run down that place had become.
You see it now. Decay, litter. Faded signs on even more faded walls.
Words aren't even legible any more.
Makes you a little sad.

How those childhood dreams still somehow stayed alive among the rubbish of old candy wrappers and
empty beer cans..

Then you get even older, and you chalk it all up to impossibilities and absurdities.
Silly dreams of youth.

I think I have lots of places like that inside. It's easy to forget sometimes.
Might be a little tarnished.
Might have a few nicks and scrapes.
Might not even notice the bright path ahead of me, because I'm too busy chasing shadows.

I wonder sometimes if I'm looking for shadows that aren't there.
Maybe I'm too worried about them in the first place.
Maybe I invent problems in my own mind, because I'm more comfortable playing in the dark.
Maybe it's easier to do that then to try really living again.
Maybe I just think too much and act too little.

Maybe...
I don't know.

But sometimes I dream about being at a drive-in, and there's a long-forgotten movie playing in the background.
I could care less what it is.
I'm too busy searching for something.
Among the trash and debris, the crowds of unsuspecting people.
I keep looking and looking.
Haven't found it yet.
Feels like it has to be closer.
Must be.

Hopes and dreams are powerful things.

I don't want to wake up from that feeling ever again.
This is how music is made.

Vae Victis

A beautiful open room.
Laughter and soft conversation flowing freely throughout this lovely mingling of wood and windows.
It's a surprisingly warm evening.
Scents of pasta and pesto, and of the red wine at the table next to me.

Some days I really miss my wine.
How it would start at my nostrils, and then go on to caress each of my pores.
My thoughts were always the next victim in this seduction.

So light.
So persistent.

I feel a subtle need starting to twist my brain, then touch each of my insides, one by one.
Almost starting to convince myself that it wouldn't be a big deal.

~ Just a little drink.

Hands are shaking a little now.

~ No one will know.
So enticing.
So damn enticing.

So wrong.

Take a sip of the coffee in front of me.
The heat and bitterness is soothing, bringing me back from that intense urge to throw it all away again for just one more teensy little taste..
But it's never just one, is it?

I laugh a little to myself.
The woman at the next table looks up, stares oddly in my direction.
Look back down at the black bitter pool in my cup, take another drink.

The coffee tastes very good tonight.

It's just a few minutes until I perform.
Feeling a little awkward tonight.
Out of sorts.
A nice older gentleman walks up and tells me he's looking forward to the show.
He loved my soundcheck.
I quietly thank him, try and smile.
Holding my coffee in both hands now. It burns a little.
The sensation reminds me that I'm still here.

~ I remember it was a very cold December.
Had just finished a serious binge with good friends. Can't even remember getting home that night, much less what I had been drinking.
Not the best time to receive a Dear John letter by email.
Even worse time to respond to one.

Not one of my finer moments.

It's show time.
I'm on stage, looking at the strings of my guitar...
Hesitating.
Sometimes they scare me.
When I begin, what hell are they going to lead me through for the sake of beauty?
Trembling inside.
This is what I want. What I need.
If I don't play, I think that these fires inside will finally burn me from the inside out.

I feel my heartbeat, the slick sweat on my hands.
The stage lights are hot.
Wondering where my coffee is.
I need something to touch, some other heat to distract me from my own.
This is the longest second of my life.

~ I remember that it was an even colder January.
Head was killing me, trying to figure out where I was. Vision's a little blurry.
I quickly recognized the faint outlines of my bedroom.
That's good. Somewhere safe.

See several empty bottles of wine on the floor.
See the beautiful naked form lying next to me. She's breathing softly.
Oh no. Oh God, no.
She feels me stirring, wakes up.
Turns over to me, at first smiling, and then her face changes.
She's looking at my eyes.

"Why don't you love me.."
I had no answers.
My eyes betrayed what my heart was hiding.
"Why can't you feel for me what you feel for her?"
She's crying.

I hated myself that day.

It's time.
No more hesitation.
No more fears.
MY heart's beating faster.
The flames are licking my guts, ready to char my remains if I don't begin.
Fingers are closer to those steel strings.
I need this.
I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to satisfy this fiery beast..
Maybe at least for a little while.

Playing the beginning notes of Beauty Undefined.
It's slower, more deliberate, almost like a dirge.
Things are feeling better.
The pace slowly picks up.
Eyes are closed, seeing subtle swirls of violet and blue.
Losing sense of where I am.
Beautiful faces and moments occupy my mind.
The good things replacing that dark interior.
I don't feel those strings any more, but I'm hearing the notes in the very back of my mind.
Must still be playing.
At some point, I open my eyes.
The song finished, and the colors in my head have been replaced with the sounds of applause.

I realize it's going to be alright.
I'm smiling onstage, and very quietly thanking the audience.

It ended up being a beautiful night.

the matter-of-factness of windows

He doesn't consider himself an ugly man, Nor is he particularly pretty.
He has many talents, and shares them.

He loves his friends and wraps them up in his heart as family.
Is asked often for advice.
Always happy to listen.
Likes being confided in.
Makes him feel needed for a little while.

He drags himself down a lot,
Wondering when he no longer needs to atone for past sins.
Wonders if he will let himself see the sun inside again.
He has allowed himself to become a shadow, a wretched thing without real substance, scratching and clawing,
tearing through enough layers until he finds something that can make sense.
Maybe none of it is supposed to.

When he allows himself to become close to someone, he patiently waits for the time that they will leave him and move on to a happier life.
Takes it in stride.
Enjoys the little time he feels they'll have together.

He tries not to think of it that way.
But he does.

Loves his family devotedly.
There is nothing more important to him, and he cherishes every single breath shared with them.
They are his sun.
Hugs and kisses.
Good things.

Been told he's boring. He's not the most exciting person i've ever met, but I enjoy his company all the same.
He makes sure he's not that way with others any more. Invented a persona made up of bravado and bullshit.
He doesn't like it, not really sure how to abandon it.
Old skins can be painfully hard to shed.
Prefers the times he doesn't feel he has to pretend so much.

Sometimes lets his guard down with a precious few.
Waits for the door to close behind them.
Always waiting.

He doesn't particularly feel sorry for himself.
Not at all.
Just resigned. Seems tired.
Becomes a little too quiet at times.
I know it's all too easy to become lost in your own thoughts.

He feels very blessed for the many miracles he's witnessed,
The bright lives that enter his for a time,
The moments that make him laugh...
Quiet and tender moments;
Those things he feels eventually have to end.

He also knows he is the constant.
The one thing that has to change if anything else will.
This paralyzes him.
Indecisiveness leads to inaction.
Inaction leads to a life moving on without him. This leads to sadness.
Sadness leads back to that terrible indecisiveness.

It is a painful cycle that he's created for himself. He hates it. Knows it's up to him alone to change. Doesn't really know how.

When asked, he will always tell you he's doing well.
Will tell you about all of the amazing things he's done.
He's right. They are amazing.

They're just not enough to fill up his soul.

I often wonder if he's trying to convince himself of his own worth.

In truth, he could be any one of us at certain times in our lives.
He has a name, a face.
A voice. It's very quiet, but it's there.
Just doesn't understand his place in things.

All I can do is listen to him.

The Validity of Aching Embers

I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings a song of childhood.
It's a lovely little tune that always filled with my heart with the hope of things to come.
Some songs are like that.
His is a sad rendition, though.
Still very beautiful, but quieter;
A lullaby for the lost.

It's a quiet evening in Seattle.
Walking along a path to a favorite dinner destination.
Sidewalk is discolored, grass growing through the cracks like the hands of lost souls freed from the Underworld, desperately trying to reach the surface again.
The street lights are slowly coming to life, following my footsteps.
They will eventually find me. They always do.
Too bad. I was enjoying the half-light.

The first time I heard the statue's song, I was a teen.
Long hair. Sometimes a beard, sometimes not.
Had a girlfriend that I loved, lusted after, and hated all at once.
Our time was ending, and we didn't know it yet.

Then I met her.
Quickly became friends. Close friends.
Laughter and and long chats until the late hours.
She would sometimes fall asleep to the sound of me playing guitar.
Smell of sweet incense in the air, wisps of scented smoke floating around us.
She was lovely when she slept.
Blonde hair falling across closed eyes.
Those glittering blue eyes.
A small smile at the corners of her mouth as she softly breathed.
I would watch her drift off, and just keep playing and playing until she finally awoke.

This is where I learned to improvise.
Some of my favorite memories.

I've reached my destination, sitting at the counter with my back to everyone.
The window in front of me displays the emerging night life right outside.
Cars pass, lovers walk by.
Warm but overcast evening.

The faded glass reflects short, thinning hair. Deep lines on my face, dark circles under the eyes.
The stubble of a few unshaven days.
Much different than the long-haired youth that fell madly in love with an angel.

She always supported my gift.
Urged me to be a solo performer. I had always been in bands. Her insistence didn't make sense to me at
the time.
She spoke of the beauty of my music and of my heart, and how they reflected each other.

Her views on life were refreshing, new, sacred to me.
Always loving. Always caring.
Had the most beautiful heart, and she terrified me.

I wasn't ready for the intensity of my feelings.
She was too perfect,
and I wasn't.

The waitress probably thinks I'm crazy, sitting there,
drinking my Pepsi and eating dinner, and smiling to myself.
I wonder sometimes if I might be going insane.

Things had happened.
Life happened.
It always does.
I ran from her, made some poor decisions.
I came back. Was too late.
She had undergone defining moments of self-discovery, and was different.

It wasn't always about me. Took me a long time to realize that.

When I accepted our season had passed I hid away, and then shut down inside for a long time.
I wasn't ready for any of this.

Walking back from the cafe.
Trees on both sides, branches hanging lazily overhead, wrapping protectively around my path.
Makes me feel safe..
Walk by a faded wall now consisting more of ivy than of concrete.
Used to see contrast in these things, now I see the blending of two separate entities into a beautiful whole.

A year had passed.
I had just performed as a solo artist for the first time at a little cafe.
Someone emerges from the crowd, approaching me.
It was her.
Gives me a hug, hands me a hand-written note, walks out.
A message and a phone number in her lovely script.
The note ends with "I love you".
I still loved her. And it hurt like hell.

Called a few times. It was awkward. Lost contact again.

Another year or two passed.
Getting ready for another performance at a different venue.
I saw her there in the parking lot. My heart stopped.
More hugs.
She promised to come back later to see me perform.

I never saw her again.

I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings.
Tonight it is a sad song that reminds me of someone I once knew.

We always loved those flowers...

"I hope that you end up finding what you're looking for."
"I will be praying for you."

Beautiful sentiments from loving people.

Here we go again.

It's the middle of the night. I'm on a ferry returning to Seattle. I'm reassured by the constant hum of the boat beneath me, watching as the life of this city glitters in the darkness. We're getting closer. She slowly defeats the night sky and dominates my view. I look over at my friends. They too are lost in light. The eyes betray it all.
I hear that music again.

I was performing on one of the islands, and it felt good. Really good. I met a couple that decided to spend their anniversary here, with a complete stranger and his music. They were lovely people. I don't feel like we are strangers any more.

A close friend accompanied me musically at the end of the night, the notes of our bass and guitar swirling together into colors and patterns I could plainly see. We build up to a subtle yet definitive finale. Such a good night.

Precious moments in a beautiful venue.
Ego boosts.

I'll be honest. I love seeing my name in lights, and sometimes I'm more comfortable with strangers.

Next scene.

It's midday. I'm standing in an all too familiar place with people I used to know well. I still love them dearly.

Things have changed. I've changed. Everything feels smaller, so stifled and contained in-between nervous heartbeats.

It's a cool, rainy day. Thick clouds under a gray sky. I want to be among them.
Feeling a little too trapped. Need the freedom of open air.
Need to continue to fulfill the promises I made to myself.
Can't do that here.
I hear a lament. It's a beautiful and delicate piece, about grief,
about the delicacy in moments that have forever passed.
This can never exist again.

Over time a piece of me died a slow but necessary death.
Something else was birthed from that eternally self-conscious and apologetic corpse.
Something different.

It's time to leave.

"You're quieter now."
Relationships with some people are very different.
I moved. Paid a painful but necessary price.
I was warned this would happen.
It's okay.

"Sometimes when we talk now you seem to drift away.. I don't know if you're always really listening."

I'm trying hard to stay focused in this moment, this seemingly friendly conversation, but I'm hearing it again. A single, mournful note persistently calling, reminding me of something I've lost or forgotten.

I don't know what it is.

It's time to go.

About Emeralds and the Setting Sun..

"Did I ever tell you I was married once?"
She looks at me oddly from across the table in the sunlit cafe.
"Yes."

Very different life. Seems like it happened to someone else. Maybe it did.

She was beautiful. The way the sun lit her hair and smile when she worked in the yard. The way she loved animals so much, that those commercials about animal cruelty always drove her uncontrollably to tears.
Every single time.

She was even darkly beautiful when we fought. At the end we fought a lot.

I never really stopped loving her.
Don't think you ever completely do.

We never really learned to talk.
We never really learned to listen.

Something was wrong.
I wanted to listen, and she had nothing to say.
She wanted to listen, and I lost the ability to speak.

We started as lovers, and ended up as roommates.
I spent the last month sleeping in the basement.
I really wasn't helping matters any.

She wanted our family to be one of faith. I fought so hard against this at the time.
I fought against a lot of things. We both did.
Used to be so stubborn.

Ironic, since faith is so important to me now.

"Do you regret leaving?" it's a tough question. Not an easy answer to this.

I pause.

No, because she is loved by the kindest of men now. She is his universe. She was always worth that.
Funny that he inspires me to be a better man.

Even after our season in a setting sun had ended, she still had love and care for me. We worked hard to become friends.
We didn't abandon each other or deny the others existence.

6 months ago, I dragged my brain out of the bottle for the last time.

She was there when I needed it most. We talked of many things that night.
There were tears and apologies.
There was healing.

I wrote many lovely songs for her throughout a decade.
They are all true.

Commitments in Quiet Breaths

I was his best man one short year ago.

He has been part of my family for half of my life. He has always been quiet, full of faith and sincere smiles that reach into his eyes. Fantastic heart and funny jokes.
He has always been strong.

I once wrote a beautiful song for he and his love.

It's been a difficult year. Thinner now, more frail. Same beautiful smile and witty jokes that light up his love's life, but the smile doesn't always reach his eyes these days.

There is a long road ahead.
It involves hospital beds.
It involves needles.
It involves cutting and sewing back together.
It involves facing fear head on.
Most of all, it involves faith and love.

He has no choice but to face his fears daily.
His faith is inspiring and true.
His love is truer than any poet's words could ever portray.
He is loved devotedly.

He is a bright  and constant heavenly sun among a hell of ever-encroaching darkness
and uncertain times.

Sometimes a song isn't enough to convey these things.