..the beauty in those smoky sunsets

...Whether you realize it or not,
You are a survivor.
Sounds a tad melodramatic, doesn't it.


It is true. 
If you are drawing breath as you are reading this,
You are surviving.

We all are.

For each of us,
It is something different.

The world can be such a wonderful place,
Filled with bright light,
Glittering, hopeful eyes that look toward a rapidly approaching dawn.

Sometimes it's not so pretty.

That's alright.
You are surviving.
You're not the only one.

With each of us,
It is something as unique
As we all are.
Something inside.
Something that hardens our hearts,
Maybe makes us more sensitive,
Maybe makes us artists.
Maybe it makes us want to give up.
Sometimes it makes us want to try harder.
Maybe we are just very tired,

Or want to help others and don't know how.
Perhaps we just want things to be a little easier for a while,
Just long enough for us to catch our breath.

You could have lost someone close to you.
Maybe you are very sick, and don't know to get through each day.
Have no idea who to talk to you...
Or who would even listen.

Maybe you're having trouble paying those bills.
There are always more than enough of those, but 
Never enough money.

You could be worried about the world your children are growing up in,
Or the space in your world that your parents will eventually leave.

It's all important.

It's even more important to remember
You're surviving. You're a survivor.
We all are.

We don't have to survive alone,
In a vacuum.

We might not always like each other.
Not asking you to.

But
We can help each other.
Doesn't even take much.

It starts small.

An idea.
Good intentions.

Armed with these I believe we can take this place and make the not so beautiful things
A little prettier.
A little softer.
A life that's a little less about surviving

And a lot more about glitter, light, hope.

"What does this have to do with anything?"
Good question.

The answer is:
"You have a story worth telling." 
Let's hear it.
"You are worth being helped."
Let's find a way for all of us to help you.
"You are worthy of helping others."
Let's find a way to enjoy ourselves and help those strangers that should be known as our neighbors, our community.
 
Let's get started.

long seasons, little prayers

Not that long ago I thought that I was finally

Starting to lose it,

Was feeling a little bit crazy.

Couldn't figure out where the

Reality ended, and my reactions began.

Between the moments when I rushed my mother to the hospital,

A close friend losing his son,

My father's struggle for his own place in a new life,

His anger,

Someone close to me and a suicide attempt..

Work becoming a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and eventually

Personal rage...

I thought this was it. 

I'm done.

No more.

I just couldn't handle any more.

 

I just wanted a quiet place.

Please God, just some peace and quiet.

I think for a little while I became nothing more than a sack of meat

That reacted to stimuli,

That smiled weakly in the hopes that it would 

Hold those shadows at bay.

Please God, let me stay sane a little while longer.

I don't want to push her away. Her, a love that came swiftly from the ether.

Please don't let her leave.

Not yet.

This was my nightly prayer.

 

She is light, 

Genuine smiles.

Honest love.

She gently holds my insides,

Does not tug or tear.

She protects me, prevents my softness from

Spilling carelessly on the floor.

She is always there.

We love each other.

It is more than enough.

It drives me to quiet and safety, and her arms pull me back from the brink.

Many times already...

and She is still here.

I am thankful for that.

We protect each other.

It is always more than enough.

Please God, let mom live.

This was my daily prayer.

Still is.

I stopped playing music for a while.

Nothing comprehensible to say at the time.

Just a lot of worry.

So much worry.

Please God, let me one day to commit to some sort of faith.

I believe..

I think.

My heart says yes, my actions say that there is a line

and I refuse to cross it.

I envy those whose faith seems to flow so freely, who are able to smile in the face of all that has and will come to pass. 

And they still believe.

Instead of pursuing my yearning for belief and being,

I got angry.

Mom might die. 

A child died.

My father may never recover from his own actions and that of 

Those around him.

A family member wants to kill themselves. Tries to.

Work becomes more important to me than it should. Easier to drown myself in the things that don't really matter.

Please God, let me stop questioning you so god damn much.

This is my afternoon prayer

When I stop being hurt long enough to take the time to do so.

I started writing again.

I am getting ready to perform again.

I am preparing to breathe in music again.

Everything has changed.

It will get better.

It is getting better.

I will be better.

I look over at my love.

Thank you, Lord, for this gift that is her.

I don't have to do this alone any more.

Sigh of relief.

Thank you God.

I may not be ready to love my creator fully yet,

But at least I can honestly thank Him.

Maybe someday we can try this again.

I would like that.

...those whispers that tasted like rain (soft words illuminated by heart light)

I realized that I don't speak enough of the good things.

Life flows in unexpected and wondrous directions, and I become quiet.

Pretty silly.

I remember the rain splashing gently against her cheeks,

The way her eyes shone so brightly,

the impending kiss that changed my life.

My heart woke up that night...

...and i found it had a lot to say.

I remember thinking that even if it was only for this one night,

No one could ever take it from me.

 

No one could tell me it was only a trick of the light.

I remember a walk along a bridge,

Watching the sky catch cold fire

As the sun lazily fell below the horizon.

We were holding each other so tightly, drowning in scents and smiles, and the heat of our tender touch.

I remember thinking at the time that if it ended tomorrow, it was all worth it,

Just to experience

That single moment 

Where we basked in each others sun.

No one could convince me it was only the longing whispers that speak so soft, so urgent

In my mind.  

 

I remember how worried I was when I told her I loved her.

Oh God, how I can worry sometimes.

I was ready for the consequences.

This is not an easy thing to say, when you feel that your future could quickly slip from your outstretched and wanting hands.

As always, she put my worries to rest. 

She loves me. I still feel swift lightning pulsate within every inch of me every single time I think of this.

She loves me.

It amazes me how such a simple touch from her feels like things are brighter, more vivid, much more beautiful. 

Color has a taste. Scents have a look. Sound feels like soft velvet on softer skin.

I don't know how, but I feel that I had always missed her. It is like a reunion of long-lost hearts, finally colliding with a passion and intensity that I am still only beginning to understand.

God, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever set eyes on..

...And she loves me.

What does this have to do with the subtle strains of music that float from heart to fingers?

 

Everything.

Quand tu danses (in the rain, with arms outstretched)

I was spinning in circles.
Eyes closed, fingers lightly touching the steel strings of my guitar,
music slowly falling in tiny droplets
Into the air surrounding me.
A little mist I breathe in,
Composed from the tiniest little notes.
Fingers speak only in the quiet rhythms of my heart,
Telling that old tale our insides know too well.

Secrets, passions, desires.

My plain will and how I try to gently exert it onto the world around me.
How I love to pretend I'm really the one in control.
In these moments I almost believe it.

The song ends, spinning stops, eyes open.
I'm alone in my room.
It's late. So quiet.
Nothing left for the guitar or my heart to say tonight.

It's so quiet.

From the soft glow cast from dim lamplight
I think about how I always wanted to dance and kiss in rain.
Play and laugh, let silliness abound for smiles' sake.

Think about how I always wanted to be immortal,
Spare my loved ones from the day that it will be the time for me to bid adieu.

I would rather be the last one standing on that quiet hillside,
The one overlooking the farmland that my elders worked with their own hands,
Waiting once again for that northern sun to set, 
Missing those closest to me, rather than be missed.

In the late night quiet of my room
A little thought tickles the back of my neck.

Someday I'm going to die.
 
A few days ago there were smiles and laughter in this otherwise quiet home.
Children laughing, playing, being children.
Adults talking, smiling. The rooms seemed brighter that day.
Those shadows that I follow didn't seem so dark.

In those children's eyes I finally saw immortality for what it really is,
What it should be.
The moment when those loving children hug you, and you kiss the tops of their little heads,
Tell them you love them. They tell you the same, and all of those words mean very little
Compared to what your hearts sing so sweetly,
so strongly to each other.

The melodies spun from the hearts of children,
Made of the purest, tinkling notes,
Songs that need to be heard by all of us.
I think maybe we would all be a little happier
If we took the time to listen to their little tunes
that speak of play, of laughter,
Of silliness for smiles' sake.

In the quiet of my room
I still want to be immortal.

I don't want to, but I know
That
Someday
I'm going to die.

I hope to dear God that
Children will be singing, playing and laughing that day.

..how I love the way you wish upon your own stars.

One of those evenings.

I drove for a while,

No destination.

Lights trailing across wet pavement,

Music unassumingly flowing from the stereo.

I don't even know what's playing, 

The notes quickly forgotten as soon as they are created and cast forth.

Thinking of someone I know.

A gentle, kind heart.

A beautiful smile, cast in a lovely face.

She doesn't believe these things.

Timid. Kind. 

Doesn't see those things in herself.

I am very fortunate to know her.

A good person under an enormous strain.

Consider her a friend.

I wish I could help.

Not my place, though.

Can only lend an ear.

That has to be enough, I guess.

I just want her life to sing,

A lilting melody that removes the approaching shadows under her eyes.

A simple tune that makes all in attendance smile

At the realization of what life can really be.

Less light around me now, less sound.

Just a constant and quiet hum of the engine,

The persistent hum of thoughts I encounter and dissect.

Coffee in one hand, lightly burning my hand through the paper sleeve.

The slick and smooth steering wheel in the other.

I slow down before the next curve on a blackened back road.

I think of him,

A good man who tells me he doesn't know how to talk about himself.

A very honest statement coming from a gentle heart.

I pester him too much about revealing himself,

Only because I know the taste of those bitter things hiding inside.

Separations aren't easy, and all of the persistent little internal unsaids 

Can take the kindest and sensitive of us,

Twist and turn our hearts into something unrecognizable that couldn't conceivably still be 

Beating and fighting for life.

I wish more people would try and topple the towers of his fortress, that forced cool and calm exterior,

Demolish the fortified gates that block access to that still-beating heart.

He is beautiful, and has thoughts worth listening to.

He doesn't believe that.

Still capable of so much.

He can be a survivor whose heart can one day sing that song 

A subtle and moving piece,

Of hidden suns whose light we forget to reach for,

But whose warmth will eventually reach us whether we ask for it or not.

He is worth a life melody that crescendos into a resolution of happy notes. 

I can hear the music coming from my stereo.

Fitting song. Turn it up after I finish the last of my now cold coffee.

Light has surrounded me on my drive once more.

No longer driving in such a darkened place.

Other travelers on a busy road surround me.

The sounds of their passing and the soft illumination of city lights feels good.

The light feels good again.

It's not a subtle realization.

Those words hit my guts so hard that it almost hurts a little.

I want to remind both of the beautiful souls on my mind tonight that

Being loved is never too much to ask for.

I need to remind myself too.

The light can feel good again.

self-portraits drawn with eyes closed.

Sometimes I am too high strung.

Sometimes at work I am an idiot.

I often don't like the person I become in those daylight hours,

Some sort of vicious lycanthrope who knows it all and is very opinionated.

During those times I pray for night to fall.

I want to let out that deep, soul shaking sigh,

Fall back into my timid ways.

Just be me.

Not worrying about everything.

I realized that the more substantial I feel the quieter I become.

I fight a daily personal war for survival in the workplace.

I turn myself into something I'm not.

I don't like it. It is how I get by.

Those who know me at work and those who know me personally have experienced two very different creatures.

The beast of the daylight hours is very vocal, very brash, very driven.

Very scared.

All these people around. I am uncomfortable.

Deep down I wonder if I should even be here. I care too much and can't let go of the smallest things.

Forget what deep breaths are like.

The person I know myself to be when the sun sets is 

Quiet, friendly, a little unassuming.

Very shy. Very loving. Very forgiving. 

Not very opinionated.

Humble. Not so crass.

Looks forward to long walks and even longer drives late at night.

Looks forward to those beautiful conversations.

Can't wait for more of those moments that make me write the music that I know I can.

I am older than I pretend to be,

Not as old as I sometimes feel.

I am scared.

I think I have reasons why I dove back into that daylight life headfirst recently. 

I have secrets.

I don't want them.

They are there.

This is part of getting older, I hear.

I drove back the old personal demons.

Unknowingly created new regrets.

 

This time I'm not trying to forget, but understand.

Maybe we're all scared, sometimes.

Maybe we don't really pay attention to our effect on others,

Maybe we are wrapped up in ourselves.

It can hurt to open our arms and hearts to another.

Maybe I need to forgive myself a little more.

Maybe I will be kinder to others in the daylight,

and not just when I feel better in the twilight.

Maybe none of this makes sense to anyone else.

Tonight it makes sense to me.

..the prettiest of wishes, like flowers, laid across your grave

I went to a memorial service the other day,
It felt like a high school reunion.
He was a good soul.
He fell through the cracks of everyone else's lives.
He was truly one made of light,
of all the good things I want to be someday.

In the end it didn't matter.

I wanted him to win.
He, above most others,
Was always worth that.

No one ever said any of this would be fair.

It was a beautiful service.
The images of an all too short life displayed on a projector.
A voice heard one last time,
Taken from a radio broadcast.
A captured moment in time,
Never repeated.

We smile. We laugh. It's like he is still here.
Except that it took a bullet to his brain
For most of us to take some time out of our more important and self-involved lives
To spend a moment with him.

I hear the stories about how he was always present,
Always caring, always loving.
Always selfless.

I wonder if that is why he didn't win.
Played with his own shadows for too long,
They showed him a few things.
At the end of the day,
He was loving and all alone.

He deserved better than we could provide.

This is no place for the good and virtuous.
We'll feed on you until we've had our fill.
When we're done we'll move on.
It's what we do.

I wish it wasn't like that.
This should have been a place for the dignified and honorable to grow,
Nourished like spring flowers after a long rain.
Not achingly reaching for a sun that we have been told lives above those threatening clouds,
Not grasping blindly in the dust and dirt for some sustainance.

It was never supposed to be like this.

We could talk all we want about the pretty things,
But when it comes down to taking time for that sacred moment,
Giving a good man like him a chance,
We have better things to do.

Don't we.

This has been rattling around in my dusty brain for weeks.
Came to a vicious conclusion two days ago.
Music has been flowing freely ever since about these things.
It took a death to inspire me again.
See?
I'm no better.

I feel terrible for his family,
His closest friends.
They are sweet, loving.
They loved him dearly.
They deserve some peace, some love.

The rest of us have no right to be there.
Maybe we do.
Stare it straight in the eye.
Maybe learn a thing or two.

I watch as it quickly turns into a reunion, drinking and chatting.
"It is what he would have wanted."
Perhaps.
I'm ready to go.
People from my past emerge.
They are chatty. I pretend to be.
It is good to see them, but not the place or time.

This time it should be about him.
The one who should have won.
But it never is, is it? At least not for long.
It just has to be about the rest of us..

It should be better than this.
It's time to go.

such a pretty little partridge, found buried under the remains of your name

I think we all get a little crazy sometimes.

How could you not..
Sometimes the flows of a life are unnerving, uncomfortable,
Unflinchingly bitter,
Unbelievably sweet.

Whether it is in the moments that your heart feels as if it could burst from the joy contained within,
And you can no longer understand someone's fascination with shadow play:
You become so happy that you lose the perspective of pain.
You think everyone should feel this way;
Just revel in the ages of the shining sun.
Just smile more.

Maybe it's in those other moments;
You, A quiet exterior,  calm serenity, a little aloofness.
Your hidden places are chaos;
Clawing, gnashing, screaming in your guts,
Walking the thin line between shy sadness and hysterics. It may change at a moment's notice.
You think everyone should feel this way;
You've lost all recollection of light;
Find the bright things to be a humorless parody,
A small diversion before reality sets in again.

I was in a bookstore at night,
Breathing in that intoxicating smell of printed paper.
Saw two people standing near each other.
They couldn't have been further apart.

He is very tall, dark, medium length styled hair;
Chiseled jaw; blue eyes.
Untrusting eyes, but
Not unkind.

She is short,
close cropped reddish hair, a vivid tint that could never occur in nature.
A smile that reaches to
Sparkling green eyes.
She glows with warmth.

He alternates between offhandedly searching for a book,
And furiously texting to someone in the digital ether.
With every key he presses,
You can almost see the shadows he begins to gather 'round himself.

You can tell she is looking for that perfect gift;
Eyes scanning each title intently,
While her thumb unconsciously plays with the glittering engagement ring on her finger.

I can hear the soft click as the long, impeccably manicured nail of her thumb taps that shining gold promise.
I think it's adorable.

He hears it too.
He's agitated.
Keeps glancing over at her hand.
Brow furrows.

She notices his look.
Tries to warm him with her smile.
a beautiful grin showing white and even teeth. You could feel her light from across the room.

He tries to smile. It looks painful.
It hurts to watch.

Click.
He begins to tremble. Just a little.
Click.
His eyes narrowing, smile now absent.
Click.
His right hand absently touches the ring finger on his left, reaching for something that isn't there.
All that's there is a smooth indentation from a former gold promise.
Click.
He's looking angry now.
Click.
Click.
Click.

I think we all lose it sometimes.

He not so gently asks her to stop.
She is offended.
Angry reply.
Even angrier retort.
She walks off.
She can't understand why it annoys him so much. Can't see past her own light to the scar starting from his hand,
Reaching to his heart.
He can't understand her smiles. Doesn't want to. He can't comprehend a life outside of shadows and slow self-torture.

At least not right now.
Not yet.

I pray for them both.

I will write their song sometime soon.

unwritten letters that were addressed to you.

Tonight it's not about me.

We were boys when we met.
He was built of wavy dark hair, rosy cheeks.
The reddest of lips that couldn't belong to anyone but that smiling youth;

An honest look that instantly spoke of intelligence and light.

That was him.

The fiercest intelligence tempered with the kindest ways.

We got a little older.
Cheeks were still rosy.
He developed a striking voice. A strong voice. A kind voice. A voice built for broadcasting.
Had the resolve to pursue his dreams. Was driven.

A heart of a good man trapped in a child's growing body.

We got a little older and larger. We were becoming men.
His heart continued to outgrow his bones. His intelligence inspired us all.
At his core,
He remained an innocent.

As my friends in high school drunkenly and dismissively plotted the demise of some of our classmates, he remained untouched and sacred in our little schemes.
He would remain unscathed. Safe.
We wanted him to win. We knew he would some day.

With the strong bodies of youth and the muddled hearts and hormones of children pretending to be men, we still knew that the good guys had to eventually win.
Isn't that right?

I remember my wife and I running into him at a store a few years back.
Brief conversation. Very pleasant.
I told my wife that I realized that he was one of the good memories of my school days.
It was weird.
We were never especially close, but his presence was always reassuring.
Was a reminder of the good things.
I remember her looking at me and nodding.
Within that briefest of exchanges, she looked at me and said that he was one of the kindest souls she had ever met.
I couldn't help but smile and agree.

He contacted me a little over a year ago.
We talked of a few things. Of following dreams.
We talked of getting together sometime, and catching up.
I wanted to see how one of the last good men was doing.
I knew he had to be winning. I believed in that.
I became too busy. And I forgot.

Today I received a phone call from a close friend.
Told me that this shining beacon with the deep voice from our childhood had passed away.
Had taken his own life.

No.

That can't be right.
He's one of the good guys.
This is not how it's supposed to turn out.
Good eventually wins, right?

Maybe sometimes it becomes a little too dark inside.
Maybe those smiles and kind eyes hide a truth
That we're afraid to share.
Maybe we think no one can understand.
Maybe it just hurts a little too much in the hidden places within that shorten your breath and
Tighten your chest,
The place between your eyes that scream of washed out colors and muted sounds,
Where it's a toss up between pain and numbness as the lesser of two evils.
Maybe the unanswered questions seemed like a better alternative.

Maybe it's too hard sometimes to see life past the point of your nose,
when nothing else seems to exist but the quiet promise whispered from within the black barrel of that gun.

Maybe it becomes too hard to see your own light.
Maybe you spent so much of your time here illuminating everyone else's lives that
Now you're tired, and just need a little rest.

I don't know.

I only know you were and are loved,
Even by those of us who only wished we could have known you better,
Given you a little more of our time.
You will always remain in memory as a reminder of good things,
An embodiment of how kind people can truly be, if they just let themselves.

It's getting late.
You must be so tired.
It's ok.
Get some rest.

Goodnight.

...the place where you would sing with arms stretched to heaven.

It's quiet here.
A cozy, dark corner in a favorite cafe.
I had been running around nonstop.
Needed a few minutes for myself.
Needed to think.
Needed to breathe.

Steam from the coffee in front of me wafting lazily,
Thin threads of moisture and bitter heat dangling in midair.

I look up from my reading,
See a very soft and feminine smile,
Round features framed in thin blonde threads
Falling lazily across a pale and attractive face.

If her lashes were any longer they would kiss her nose.
I enjoy the freckles that lightly brush her cheeks.

She says hi.
Remembers me from some performances.
I guess we had talked before.

Honestly, I don't remember her or our conversation.
I don't want to offend her, though.
I ask how she's doing.

She nervously brushes her hair back behind her ear.
Long, thin fingers.
She could easily play piano.
I see the smooth indentation on her ring finger,
a physical reminder of a wedding band that is conspicuously absent.

It took a long time for my reminder to fade.

I wonder how long it has been for her.
Then I see her eyes;
Not very long.

The things behind her eyes will take longer to heal.
But they will.
She will change.
Will become someone different.
But she'll learn to live again.
Will learn to breathe.

She tells me quietly and vaguely about her life.
Says there have been so many changes lately.
I know.

She and her sons relax nightly to my music.
She says it's crazy, because when listening she thinks that I must understand.
I do.
She doesn't tell me what is that I should understand.
But I know.
She looks at her feet, asks if I think she's just some crazy lady who's annoying a stranger.

"No."

You're not crazy. You're in pain.
You're not annoying. You're reaching out to someone, anyone, to make a connection with, because your
life has turned upside down, and the person who you have been the closest to is gone.

Your world no longer makes sense.

You're not crazy.
You'll smile again. It won't feel the same as before.
That's ok.
Maybe next time it will be better.

Now I wonder if I have been projecting my past onto her through my thoughts.
Seeing things that aren't there.
Maybe I'm the one who's nuts. I almost start laughing at myself.

She asks if she can tell me something.

"Of course."

"I'm... I'm getting divorced and everyone tells me you're kind, and have been there. I just need
someone to talk to."

I stand up and hug her tightly.
Tears falling onto my shoulder.
Long, long talk.
She will smile again.

Later I will write a song about her future,
About the day that her smile will reach her eyes again.

She lived in the twilight when we spoke of fire.

"What are your dreams?"

A friend asked me this question.
I think of it often.

I wish I knew how to tell you some of the things I've seen lately.
Words are never enough.
Music, sometimes nothing more than a glimpse.

A winter sunset over rolling hills,
The names of which I don't know.
Finding an abandoned dirt road that led towards them.
I remember climbing to the top,
Watching the sky illuminated by a torch borne of cold fire.

"What are your dreams?"

She told me that I could be the one.
We had just met.
For a single moment I wanted to believe it.
I knew better. I've heard this before.
Nothing more than simple lusty attractions masked as the stirrings of love.
I remember her sweet yet acrid kiss on a ferry heading to Seattle one night,
Her taste a subtle mingling of smoke and mint.
I remember her tears when she told me she was to wed another.
She ran away from me shortly after that
Like I was Death himself,
Finally come to claim his due.

I just wanted answers.
Too many questions in such a short amount of time.
There were none.
Just smoke and mirrors.
And a kiss.

I receive messages from her on occasion.
She wants to know how I'm doing.
I never respond.
Wouldn't know what to say.

I like the silence better.
Things are prettier without half-assed excuses.

"What are your dreams?"

I wish I could show you the lights of watery cities quietly passing in the long night.
How my heart lives somewhere between the winding paths that I follow at high speed,
And the glittering fingers that always beckon subtly
from outstretched steely hands.

I would share with you how the music playing in my car is somehow always appropriate,
No matter the mood.
Subtle swirling sound that matches the patterns of blurred pavement at night.

"What are your dreams?"

Standing face to face with someone I haven't seen in a long time.
Pleasant person.
Pleasant conversation.
I am very different. See my surroundings with different eyes.
I didn't realize how much I had changed until now.
The world seems much larger to my heart.
I can't understand how I put myself through such hell for this pretty face.
Seems so silly and inconsequential now.

I can't even begin to understand who I was back then.
If I ever had to meet something resembling that self-pitying, flimsy and weak "me",

I would kill him.

It would be the kindest mercy I could bestow on something so sad and pitiful.

"What are your dreams?"

I wish I knew how to explain how my insides light up when I perform,
How strangers can become the greatest of new friends in the space of a song.

I wish I could show you how the hugs of nieces and nephews always make the shadows disappear,
And how the closest of friends and family can tease a smile from a stubborn and sullen face.

My dreams consist of the point in my life when
The upcoming sunrise will clash with an eventual sunset,
And my mind will alight as a peaceful riot of fire
Wrapped up in a tiny song.
I will call it my future.