August 19, 2011

We counted your breaths

Huddled around your bedside

As the nurse slipped morphine tablets 

Under your tongue

And I tried to be strong

For you

          For them

                       For me

But the truth was, 

I was lost in the painting of the snow leopard behind your head

It was beautiful

And there was something sanctified

About its paws on the white snow

As the priest read you your Last Rites

In the background

"Praise Mom and Dad"

The plaque written by your son

Dead four years now

Hangs upon the wall next to

A picture of his three year old toddler's face

Making snow angels in white down of Buffalo winter

The walls are plain, boring, beige

But outside the world bursts

Green, sunshine yellow, fuchsia flowers

People on the walkway, unaware

Of oxygen tubes, morphine tablets and

Labored breathing, restless limbs

I can hear you breathe--it's terrible

And I never knew until right now

What the death rattle sounded like

The snow leopard stares back at me

Peace, his eyes say, peace

I hope you are at peace as you slip away

This is goodbye

This is the end

Peace, I say

Peace

Arrivederci, Nono

You know that means:

Farewell

Until we meet again

Te amo e

Arrivederci

Beauty

He kissed her
Everywhere
Her warm porcelain skin his
Favorite oxymoron
The freckle on her inner thigh
The light crescent quarter moon birthmark
Shadowed on her back
She was always so self conscious about
Her scars
But he knew that they were beautiful
Just as she was beautiful
Indelibly ingrained in her skin
A story
So he would kiss her
And drink all of her story in

The Art of Being

Listening to: Night Drive by Jimmy Eat World

There is a feeling like none other on earth. Beyond love, beyond pain, beyond happiness, beyond sadness, it transcends all. It is the art of just being, pure essence of existence. This music, it pulls down to my very bone, it leads me, it consumes me. There is a sweet blissful fire in this art of being. There is a sweet blissful numbness when all you are is in notes and pure vibrating being, soaring, undulating, existing. There is no separation of thought, no differentiation in who you are, where you have been, what the words mean. There is nothing, only this. Purity, vibrant, virulent color of sound. Yes, color, even that, in images, in the tangible produced by the intangible. You never could understand how powerful feeling is in the absence of emotion. Seems impossible, but in the impossible is the probable.


I can see the lovers, I can sense the hesitation, the passion unfolding, building, surviving. I can sense the loss, the last ditch effort, the struggle to create something beautiful, something tragically unique and compelling. I can sense the pounding feet on the pavement, seeking a release of emotion in the physical. I see eyes open, awareness of life's harsh realities and its subtle beauties, refusing to be tainted by the pain. I can see hope, I can see the fire of passion, I can see the glow. Heartbeats, together as one, they pound, unstoppable. I can see the struggle to be original, the desire to be completely one with yourself. All the imperfections, all of the impurities, they were more a part of you than the utopian. It never was attainable, so stop trying. Stop trying to do, and just be for once. Just breathe, and just be. Beyond it all, just be.

On A Lazy Sunday

Nature holds me
A sweet solemn embrace
The sounds of innocence
Hold fast
For the beauty of nations
Is only in nature itself

Today I did something I haven't done in a very long time. Actually, I can tell you the exact date I last did something of this nature. It was the fifteenth of October and I was in Hyde Park, London, England. It was one of the rare sunny days you see--especially in the fall, and we had decided to visit the famous landmark. Immediately I regretted not going sooner, and I still regret not returning to its sandy paths and green lawns after. Green. Everything is so green in England. Not really so here unless it has rained for days on end. But it was sunny, and it reflected off of the beautiful pond, glistening and drawing us in. And on the flat green expanse of grass I lay down and closed my eyes, and for the first time in over a month since we had arrived, I felt myself relax. I sank into the ground, let it cradle me. And the sun shone down with a wonderful warmth, weak compared to the glorious strength of my beautiful California sun, but enough to warm my bones, the very core of my being. I felt it upon my cheek as though it were a butterfly’s kiss, alighting for only a moment before fluttering away.

Today was like that. It was so nice outside, I could feel it calling to me. And so, I took my sweater outside and lay it on it in the grass, trying my best to avoid the itchy St. Augustine and I turned on my music and closed my eyes and let the heat seep into my bones. And I felt so at home, so connected. And when I opened my eyes, the naked tree swayed above me, buds beginning on its brown, bare branches, in stark contrast to the pure robin’s egg blue of the sky. My mind took me so many places as I lay there, and I was reminded of the last time I had enjoyed the sun and its warmth. I could see Hyde Park, smell it and feel it as if I was actually there. But when I opened my eyes, I was greeted with the powerful glare of California sun, and eucalyptus trees waved slowly in the distance; for some reason each individual leaf was clear to me. Two hawks soared overhead and in a moment of pause from music, I heard the plaintive call of a seagull.
I am so far from that day in London, but it is still in my heart. But I am so close to the things my heart yearned for while so far away, and it brings such joy to my life. And as afternoon turns to dusk and dusk turns to the darkness of night I can hear the crickets sing, and a lone frog begins his chorus as well. And I laugh for the pure beauty of it all, the sheer joy as I watch my sky turn the firey orange that can only be found on this side of the world, in this small haven that I call a home. It isn’t always perfect, but it is enough, this wonderful slice of heaven on earth, this wonderful cradle of nature that envelops me. And when I close my eyes again tonight, I hear the seagull call, the crickets chirp, and I see the branches sway, and the glowing sun warms my bones. My beautiful lazy Sunday. It is enough. And life is beautiful.