Fictional Dream

And just like that, I woke up, my face toward the ceiling, only the ceiling was gone.  I was looking up and where the dull light had been flickering when my eyes shut, there was an expanse, a gap, a hole.  A gentle breeze tiptoed across my shoulders.  The stars blinked their eyes at me, as if they too had just awoken from the most lucid of dreams.  The tall, shadowed oaks waved their greeting to me, as if to remind me that their shadows aren't to be feared.  I waved back with a few short blinks from my barely conscious eyes.

The breeze on my shoulders now tickled my down my spine.  Could I still be dreaming?  I reached for my blankets that had fallen off the bed, as usual.  As I pulled the first over my now shivering body, I felt an ocean of warmth rush from my toes to my head.  The stars starred at me, though not in a gawkish manner.  Their gaze somehow felt soothing.  I reached for the second blanket, though I'm not sure why.  I was warm enough, as I lay there returning the stars' gaze.

What happened last night?  Or was it tonight?  What time is it anyway?  Or what day?  Suddenly, I realized the breeze was producing a strange sensation on my face.  There was something foreign wrapping my chin like a scarf.  With one quick swoop, I took a swing at it.  What?!  How could this be?  Didn't I just shave yesterday morning?  I felt it again, though not as a baseball player this time.  I brought my hand to my face, like someone about to take a bite of a fresh, juicy peach, only, I was intentionally reaching just below my mouth.

It was true!  I had a full-grown beard.  I traced it from my chin my earlobes, then from there back below my nostrils.  How is this possible?  How long have I slept?  Where am I taking this life?

One final wave from the trees and everything was black again.

Already

"Don't tell me you don't know
already.
Don't tell me you let go
already."

But if I tell you that I miss you
already
will you stay around?
Or will you run and hide?

Simple thoughts,
simple actions,
yet they mean
so much in my mind.

Do you realize that?
The language you use
makes me think we
need definition,
though it also
puts me at ease.

Tell the heart
with the skewer inside
I've got feelings,
up my sleeve I can't hide.

I can't just push you aside.
You make it easy to be
me with you
and me.

Still, I want to learn
your story.
I want to dig deeper
To hear the more
profound,
where are you lost
where are you found?

It's okay to pull me down,
to pull me back onto the ground.
Let's be realistic.
Let's be real,
authentic.

After all
we're just the
"already
but not yet"
and together
we can make it.

We don't need each other
but we can be kneaded
together.
Are you ready to
work at it?

Shallow Rumination

So much
on my mind and so few
words to explain
them.

If you talk to the motivation
debater, tell her
I'm looking for her, but
my eyes are closed.

If you see
the Judge,
I'm working
hard, but that's
just what it is.

Will this be enough?  Words
jump from
the page, it's empty though
sprinkled.  Like my mind; can
I fast-forward the rewind?

My two things,
or one?
Serving others,
loving others,
putting others
before myself.
Or loving people
and the creative process,
writing, instead of righting.

An empty soup can
two nickels,
one dime,
is that all
that's inside?
Can you
hear my mind?

It's not
enough today.
Words are just
s
 p
  i
   l
   l
  i
 n
g
     this time.

If you
catch me
I'll be fine,
but I can't count
on you
all the time.

There is little rhyme,
little time.
Time is money
though I'm broke
and breaking
all the time.

What
are you looking
for?  Is there something on
your mind?
If you want something for
you, I'll give
your line a hook:

I know
you're soon leaving, but
something says
it's okay.  Something
says you'll stay.
Not here for now
but
these days
these moments
seem more purposive.

I'm not writing you
a book; am I?
A carefully scripted page.
Don't read too much
into me,
these words
aren't from
a sage.

Dreaming on the Shores of Consciousness (Part I)

Let's try this...

Horus was a dreamer.  He often spent his days lying on the beach just listening to crashing of the waves.  He didn't actually lay directly on the sand.  That would be too much for his sensitive skin.  No, he lay on an especially soft towel, one found at a five-star hotel in Times Square.  As his body lay perfectly still underneath a bright yellow canvas parasol, his mind would soar.

His subconscious would take him to heights only young children could imagine.  Without a stamp on his passport, he could fly to the most exotic locale.  He had tamed lions, though hippopotami were far more stubborn.  He had taught a young Dalit girl how to ice skate from one rainbow to the next.  He even went as far as to convince the moon to take him fishing for starfish and butterflies.

Today Horus' head would take him somewhere he had never been: the edge of the horizon.  He had always wondered what he would find there, who could live there, and what it was really like.  Could the world really be as round as Columbus would make us believe?  Surely there's a thin line at the end of the beach where the sun goes to sleep.  He remembers the moon making mention of it once while they skipped rocks on the sea.  "How I long for a day when there is room enough on the horizon's edge for everyone, even small boys like yourself to enjoy its many wonders," she had said.  Horus hadn't asked the moon what she meant; no he had learned long before that one's own discovery and individual feelings of a time and place are the only true ways to experience them.  Another's words are nice, but individuals can only express an experience so well before it becomes clouded in their biases.

So it was decided.  Today, while the moon was taking her nap, Horus would sail to the ocean's edge and discover the horizon for himself.

A Few Inaudible Voices

They tell me not to dream again,
life is quickly slipping
and my hands are barely gripping.

They tell me stillness is intoxicating,
the voices in my head are breathing.

Some sort of life says,
"who will trust you?"
Stop talking, start thinking.
Stop thinking,
just be.

And I can't
though I can
and the restart button
feels pressure again.

Still another voice,
"Exhausted?
How are You not?
Nor Your mercy,
Your love?"

"No one can exhaust this
though many have tried."

And "Thank You" is all
I can reply.

Let's restart,
not so that we can get away
with it all again.
So we can find out,
what is this life?
where do I go next?

If you're trying
to follow me
I'm a miserable leader.
If you're not confused yet,
perhaps you
should be my teacher.

And one
last thing
before I leave you:
intimacy is far
from me because
the TV is stuck on
fast-forward.

Up and Down

Bipolar disorder.
It's a serious issue for many people and I know that.  Millions suffer everyday and I understand that.  I don't want anyone to think that I'm downplaying that at all.  With that said:

My life is quite up-and-down lately.  The highs have been quite high, though the lows have been lower.  I sometimes just want to share life with someone.  Really.  Just share life.  Sitting together.  Even if it's nothing, nothing just feels better with someone.  I feel desperate and so then I fall deeper.  I think, "Am I saying too much?  Am I revealing more of myself than I would otherwise in an effort to just connect with another?"  I don't know.  Sometimes I wish I could skip the beginning and get to where we know each other.  Those conversations are important and those conversations seem to be where I'm getting stuck.  Some people will tell me that they're surprised that I'm here.  Others remind me that I'm weird.  So I embrace it, but at the same time my heart begins to sweat lime juice on its scars.

I wonder, "Why did I leave the good thing I had?"  Though it wasn't as good as I imagine in my head.  Everything seems better when I try to remember it and anything that doesn't somehow seems worse.  I can't always remember things as they were.  There's either green grass or dead leaves, rarely are there aged roots of evergreens.

And the other times.  Conversations occurred.  There was little effort on my part.  I didn't have to think about it so much.  I just spoke and others were there.  I slept and there was little guilt on my part.  People took the initiative and I didn't feel so bad.  A few nerves were present, but they were only a bit more than anyone else may experience.  Social interaction comes in a healthy amount, though I sometimes wish it were more spread out.  People remember me..by name!..and there is greater specificity!

Life is a roller coaster and that's not abnormal.  Life is a broken heart beating and we all live it.  No one is black.  No one is white.  We are all gray and it's okay to admit it.  Speaking in absolutes doesn't make them true.  It doesn't even make a gray sky blue.  So I'm learning to live inside the Truth.  It's a difficult journey and often feels very alone.  The challenge is not to remember I'm not, it's the feeling beyond knowledge that may help me through.

Again Again

Again the words have come and gone.
Again I hope some still exist.

Again I've fallen asleep in Your arms.
Who do I think I am?
Am I looking for someone to blame?
Something?

I'm ready to go.  Take me to Guanajuato.  Take me far away from here.  Take me where they talk back.  Where there are others around me.  Where people remember me.  They know me.  I don't want to be popular; I just want to be known.  I want to share this life.  Life by myself seems so faded.  My talents seem like they are being wasted.  I will be held accountable.

I write to get these feelings out.
I write because inside sometimes I shout.
My words don't always do me justice.
I may be worse off than those who need me
but we're all in dire straights in this symphony.

Don't play me.
I'll tell you everything
and you don't want to hear me.
You'll listen, but with one ear.
The other is running
quickly.

"How did I get here?"
So I'll leave you alone
to leave me alone.
Leave me here
just a step above unknown.