Think of you whenever life gets me down..
Current mood: optimistic
I think of you whenever you are not around....
Why should you? There is not one thing, that tells you that you must. I await, that which will never arrive. Each time, I check, and recheck. Nothing, I find nothing. But, why should you, be obliged to fill up my need? There is not any known reason for it. And still, I wait. I check, and recheck, and still, nothing, there is not a single thing there.
It is time to sleep. It is time to give it up, and just sleep. I am tired, I must admit that is true. And yet, here, right here, I sit, waiting for you to arrive. I am like the man, in the middle of a vast jungle, waiting for his son. But, his son, is off at war. And this precious life, he will, or may not, see, ever again. I am like him. And I am nothing like him. I have no right to mourn. I have no right at all to say that I know how it is. I don't. I really do not.
Emotion, it is a funny thing. It takes us to places that we never dreamed we could go. We are along for the ride. Today, part of today, I was flying, flying, and not caring one wit, what anyone did or said. I did not care, because I carried you with me, I carried your heart, I carried it in my heart. It is so true, that the things that I do, are done by only you. Because I carry it with me, I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart. That allows me to see way beyond this, and the next moment. I see how we are all connected. I see how we are waiting for someone to care, someone to wake us up. I see how we all need to snap back in, to snap back into reality. There are so many, drones, waiting for their master. They wait, and wait, and wait some more. Meanwhile life, it goes by, it goes by at warp factor 24 speed. We wake, we slumber, we stumble, and hope. Then, like a shell upon a beach, we pick them. Like an apple on a tree, you picked me. I was difficult to reach, but, you picked me. Smiles, extend for miles. I bathe in a smile, I bask in the memory of moments, that were just moments ago. And yet, like fate, stretching out over all eternity, those not long ago moments, they seem like they have, and will, last forever now. In memory they will, they will never die. As long as I remember you, and this time together, it will, you will, never disappear. That is the law governing us all. Where there is memory, where there is love, where there is affection, where there have been moments, there it is, there is life.
I am missing you madly. Irrationally missing you madly. I want the chance, the ilk of hope. I want all that you are able, and willing to give. I am missing you madly in this moment. But, I will do nothing to comfort myself. I will go, peel back the covers, get in, close one eye, then the other, and then, I will wait. I will wait for sleep to come. May she be kind to me. May she understand that I need her now. It does not matter how many moments have passed since we last were in line of sight. All that matters, all that can, and will sustain, is the promise, the promise of possibility. The possibility that I will sleep, and the possibility that she can not. Almost slumber always does.
The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday, and if you can source your life on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon.
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Oriah, Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder
Lay your sleeping head, my love
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In thier ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainly, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry;
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
W. H. Auden
Current mood: optimistic
I think of you whenever you are not around....
Why should you? There is not one thing, that tells you that you must. I await, that which will never arrive. Each time, I check, and recheck. Nothing, I find nothing. But, why should you, be obliged to fill up my need? There is not any known reason for it. And still, I wait. I check, and recheck, and still, nothing, there is not a single thing there.
It is time to sleep. It is time to give it up, and just sleep. I am tired, I must admit that is true. And yet, here, right here, I sit, waiting for you to arrive. I am like the man, in the middle of a vast jungle, waiting for his son. But, his son, is off at war. And this precious life, he will, or may not, see, ever again. I am like him. And I am nothing like him. I have no right to mourn. I have no right at all to say that I know how it is. I don't. I really do not.
Emotion, it is a funny thing. It takes us to places that we never dreamed we could go. We are along for the ride. Today, part of today, I was flying, flying, and not caring one wit, what anyone did or said. I did not care, because I carried you with me, I carried your heart, I carried it in my heart. It is so true, that the things that I do, are done by only you. Because I carry it with me, I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart. That allows me to see way beyond this, and the next moment. I see how we are all connected. I see how we are waiting for someone to care, someone to wake us up. I see how we all need to snap back in, to snap back into reality. There are so many, drones, waiting for their master. They wait, and wait, and wait some more. Meanwhile life, it goes by, it goes by at warp factor 24 speed. We wake, we slumber, we stumble, and hope. Then, like a shell upon a beach, we pick them. Like an apple on a tree, you picked me. I was difficult to reach, but, you picked me. Smiles, extend for miles. I bathe in a smile, I bask in the memory of moments, that were just moments ago. And yet, like fate, stretching out over all eternity, those not long ago moments, they seem like they have, and will, last forever now. In memory they will, they will never die. As long as I remember you, and this time together, it will, you will, never disappear. That is the law governing us all. Where there is memory, where there is love, where there is affection, where there have been moments, there it is, there is life.
I am missing you madly. Irrationally missing you madly. I want the chance, the ilk of hope. I want all that you are able, and willing to give. I am missing you madly in this moment. But, I will do nothing to comfort myself. I will go, peel back the covers, get in, close one eye, then the other, and then, I will wait. I will wait for sleep to come. May she be kind to me. May she understand that I need her now. It does not matter how many moments have passed since we last were in line of sight. All that matters, all that can, and will sustain, is the promise, the promise of possibility. The possibility that I will sleep, and the possibility that she can not. Almost slumber always does.
The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday, and if you can source your life on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon.
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Oriah, Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder
Lay your sleeping head, my love
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In thier ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.
Certainly, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry;
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
W. H. Auden