The measure of a man, or woman in my case, comes down to one brief moment: the moment that would determine whether or not I would, or even could, swallow the pills I had counted out. To take them or not to take them was in my court, and even though I held the ball, I was quickly losing the game.

A remnant of a dream I once had when I was a little girl briefly fluttered through my disassociated mind. I was once a child with dreams and aspirations; I wasn’t always this hopeless woman who had lost faith in everything, including those in the helping profession. This is help? This was what they had to offer me? This is the treatment plan? A therapist who seemed to no longer care, one psychiatrist who diagnosed me with an ‘anxiety disorder’ and prescribed tranquilizers (for which, at this moment, I was grateful as I was about the take them all), another doctor who had no idea how to treat me, and changed my medication 10 times, causing unbearable side effects, but never able to find a combination of meds that ‘worked’ for me. Never finding a medication that would take away the intrusive memories, the thoughts, the nightmares, the voices inside my head that would not stop the nightly mantra of:* “you’re bad”, “you don’t deserve help”, “you don’t even deserve to live”. I had evidence of the days when I felt competent, sane, and level-headed. And yet, here I was, forced with the choice of taking all of these pills, or continuing to live in the unbearable turmoil that had now become my life. Surely somewhere inside this girl, this woman with the heart of a child, was a person that craved so much more than this, deserved so much more than to find herself standing alone in an empty house with a bottle of ***** and a combination of tranquilizers and sleeping pills neatly organized on the kitchen counter. And yet, in the chaos of my mind, the internal voices continued to try and convince me otherwise.

It had been a bad day, a really bad day, but then again, it had been a really bad year, and I had finally acknowledged that my reality now was too much for me to emotionally accept. After all, women are expected to stay strong in the midst of any crisis, even if they have to ‘fake’ it. I had become such a great actress, trained by many years of abuse, that I was an expert at wearing masks and pretending everything was wonderful in my life. The thoughts I didn’t want to have, I would gently push out of my mind, and become so busy that I didn’t have time to stop and think. But now things had changed and I had lost the power of pushing the thoughts out of my head; they had taken over and now I, the reasonable, sane, one had been pushed out. But I was not allowed to fall apart under the pressures of life when there are children to feed and bills to pay, laundry to do, a house that needed to be Martha Stewart clean, a husband who expected to be taken care of, and the never ending politics and pressure of my work environment.

And let me not forget to add ***, and having to live up to the expectation that every man alive believes every other man is getting it at least twice as much as they are, and well, they shouldn’t be expected to settle for a woman who had ‘let herself go’ and was no longer the same woman he married. And, of course we are expected to have our legs shaved, our hair stylish, our make-up perfect, and our body in comparable form to what society had become accustomed to, which is the air brushed women in beauty magazines. And don’t forget to smile… frowning and acting depressed shows lack of confidence and weakness; both very unattractive traits. Of course now I realize my mind was taking a road trip, and these expectations had nothing to do with my husband, but were the expectations of the condescending voice in my head that continued to tell me that I would never be the woman he, and everyone else, expected me to be.

How would this play out, how does one do this, what are the ‘rules’ for this game? If I take them all at once, I may just drop to the floor, so that didn’t seem like a viable option. Maybe taking a few at a time would work better….consensus from the group of voices now living inside of my mind? I picked up 5 pills and held them in my hand. They were small, white, pills…taking 5 at a time is definitely an option. My reason mind would make brief appearances and ask questions like, “How long after I take the 5 should I wait before taking 5 more?” And then as quickly as reason appeared it was pushed away. I was too far gone, I had no control over me and I no longer cared. At this point, nothing could penetrate the voices or convince me that I did have something to live for. Dear therapist and a few close friends knew that I was teetering on the edge of life and death, and told me many times, “What about your children?” I had really just become more of a burden to my husband and children, they would be better off without me.

I closed my eyes and I saw a small little girl, she was about 6 years old and she was wearing a tattered white dress. She was barefoot and her feet were *****, her knees scraped. She had tears in her eyes, a look of worry and fear on her face. She pleaded with me, begged me not to do it, “Please don’t **** us, I fought so hard all those years just to stay alive, to survive, to become you. Please don’t do it. I want to live, please just let us live. You can do this; you can fight harder now, just like I did then.” I didn’t really care about my own life at this point, but this little girl was obviously in a state of panic, desperate to save me, although I had no idea why. I wasn’t feeling panicky, and I told her to calm down; there was no reason to panic. But although I felt calm and surreal, she was obviously afraid and in turmoil over my decision.

The rebelliousness and willfulness inside me grew weary and began to empathize with the little girl’s panic, my plight for calmness and silence defeated, I submitted to her request. I put the pills away, fell to the floor and sobbed for what seemed like hours.

Ironically, my lifetime of people pleasing and striving for perfection, and the overwhelming feelings of failure that had led me to this attempt to end my own life, were also the traits that saved my life. My need to please that little girl, to stop her from crying and meet HER needs because she was counting on me, saved my life.

*But for many months after that day, the voices continued and my soul remained empty and void of meaning.

As we change ourselves,we waste time.
Never realizing,we are perfect by what we may become.
We are saturated with society's perspective.
Propaganda tells young girls to cover themselves,to become someone else.
It tells young boys to stop imagining about their visions.
Children are persuaded to be content.
They cannot be free until they can be themselves.
        Propaganda by a running chauvinist monarchy.
Eve was reluctant to taking the fruit,but she did what was right.
In the end,willfulness,saved us all.
Doing what we want and loving who we please.
Forced to hide everything.
A tiny brown box with latches,inside,we are stored.

I feel the urge to disappoint myself again.
Like conjuring up the dead.
There is a willfulness to open the box,
to play with the bones,
to say the words in the right order and make the right incantations.
I don't want to off myself.
I want to set to motion a series of events that spells out my own doom.
To be responsible for the end of my own world.
To set my own house on fire and warm myself, homeless, in the ashes caused by my own hands.
It's a sickness. An allure. Damage.
An unquenchable curiosity of what happens if I push the glass heirloom off the shelf.

No one is ever able to stop the teenagers from renting the beach house.
Let's get this horror show started.

The jig is up us, for us who know each dawn delivers
A renewed sense of dread, despair, disillusionment; another day in,
Day out slog, the persistent, insistent fear of, fill in the blank,
An absolute knowing in the end, nothing really matters.

A tranced-out going through the motions at a meaningless job,
The mechanical everything's fine exchange, the pasted on smiles,
The inevitable, "How ya doing, how's it going?",
Muttered absent mindedly on the work-a-day-rat-wheel.

One thought that saves the day; the ride home, the solace of
The burn of the *****, the quick numb out effect straight into the 
Blood brain barrier without a hitch, the fear lifting, down into the dark Chamber of no real care and slowly, surely, relief arrives.

And deep inside this numb town, a desperado appears, calls the shots, Schmoozes slyly, "Hey compadre, give me your fear, and
I give you my self-righteous willfulness in return, and best of all,
I’ll deliver you your very own smothering mother of oblivion."

Awakened, head pound, brain fog, dry as a desert, need water now, And Like clockwork, a barely audible patient inner voice asks,
“Is this the really the life you want?” and without hesitation,
The regular repetitive retort, “Yup, one more day at a time.”

Surely I would know it
If there were any truth to this
The senses, yet, are treacherous
And mostly so’s the wit

Truly I’ll believe it
When intuition strikes
The mirrors running liquid
Through my mind

Freely, I would will it
Convinced by logic’s myth
But ignorance is willfulness
And indifference is bliss

Clearly I can see it
Awoken from reality
Plugged into a conscience
That feeds on mere deceit

Naturally, I am it
The being and the time
Meddling in reality
Mistaking truth for mine

No subplot, no agenda, and no guile.
Yes, there are people who are naturally this way.
Blithe souls, who are confused by
subterfuge, willfulness and meanness.
It is not a lack of intelligence.
No, not at all.
Perhaps excessive empathy
and original innocence.
You may think them fools.
Perhaps they are, or maybe blind.
Or do they see too deeply?
Sometimes you'll see one as a child.
See them watching serenely
As the other children play.
But far from spectators, they
often excel at many things.
They see the pain suffered
And wonder why we hurt each other.
The more they see, the more
they are confused.
Still they watch, and try
to comfort and console.
They try to understand-
and never will.
This world is not their home.

THIS STORY IS FOR A STRANGER ABOUT A WOMAN

It's not exceptional nor is it extraordinary.
It just is...
A brief journey through a half life.
She was given home to be born into that was furnished with doubt and anticipation.
A surpirse gift.
She had parents who loved her and raised her.
An adventurous and curious child.
She made way into the territory of her youth that was sometimes dangerous and sometimes timid.
That didn't stop her from exploring and wondering.
Pushing bounderies of her own mind and the surrounding world.
She climbed the highest tree just to fall effortlessly onto the ground waiting for her.
What could of been an instant end resulted in a hospital visit.
Left to her was a concusion and a willfulness to conquer fear from then on.
She was learning but not alone.

Forward some years and the little girl becoming a woman.
Being of compassion and loyalty she was a good friend.
Maybe sometimes too good.
An irrational chain of events one night out of thousands more to come would test that girl.
A time where her will and mind had been altered irrevocably.
An innocence stolen.
Still she trudged ahead for there was still life to be lived.
Even though at times, she questioned if her's was worth it.
She was a fighter at the core.
Cause and effect may be taken into account at this point.
Things had changed for those around her as well.
Here she was unceremoniously given the duty of caring mother-like for a child sibling.
Thrusting through an abandonment of the other half of a two pillar support.
Naturally and with some rebellion she mustered up the task and did what she felt she had to.
It was not expected but necessary.
She was learning but not alone.

As time moved on she moved with it.
Experiencing love for the first time she lept into it with ferocious dedication.
Trying to use the knowledge she had witnessed and apply it to the grown up world.
In this endeavor, a garden to be planted where a flowerbed had stopped blooming.
From it a seed of life becoming and unbecoming before it's time.
A warning of maturity perhaps.
Then later a gift of responibility to come to fruition.
A living, breathing love.
Not without it's concequences though.
With this joy also came trepidation.
A new seed growing but with possibility of delays or death.
A birth defect, chromosome abnormality the doctors warned.
A lifetime of disability or a short lifetime resulting in eternal rest.
The girl knew that no matter what came about she would want to bring this life into the world.
It deserved a chance.
So with that a baby came immense joy.
And to this day no negative physical affects.
The gift she will be forever greatful for.
She was learning but not alone.

Years pass and memories are still being made.
People have been lost but not forgotten.
Now a woman, she masters her life with hopeful hands.
Her health was always a loose branch in the wind it seemed.
Sickness came in the form of kidney infection and dying organs.
Car accidents and permanent aches.
Feminine ****** duties being taken away.
Genetic self sabotage.
Mental illness and straining to swim above.
She was learning but not alone.

It was a long difficult road in a short expanse of time.
Her life that she was constantly improving and trying to understand.
Now brings us to the point of a recent harrowing situation...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2014
It's Christmas time last year and the snow is fickle.
Family is spread out and travel is a must for her little one to connect with everyone.
So she gets into her car to journey across the counties.
It's uneventful outside.
Work and bills and hobbies are what consume her daily life now.
But she is always focused on being a good mother.
So that's the reason for the ride, not the excuse.
Cruizing the same highway she's been down hundreds of times already,
She thinks nothing of it.
It's just what she has to do.
Traffic is sparse but other vehicles out now are semi trucks and hastily driving holiday commuters.
The radio is on and the child is in the back seat commenting on the passing scenery.
She is patiently answering questions and focusing on the road.
Up ahead of her some hundred feet on the snowless stretch she sees a car wiggle a bit.
Tightening her hands on the wheel she just knows this isn't right.
She can't move over to her left.
She slows down under the speed limit just in case.
But it's inevitable.
She's going over that samw spot in a few seconds.
Now as she does, her body suddenly kicks into instinctual safety mode.
The car doesn't wiggle.
It starts to fish-tail.
Hard.

Splotchy recollection takes over here.
From that exact moment, it could of been only a few minutes but it felt limitless.
As the car started to take a life of it's own she heard the voice of her daughter in the background.
A mantra of 'It's okay, we're okay" flooded out of her mouth automatically.
She tried to right the car but her hands could have been invisible at this point.
Half rotations from left to right eventually lead to doing a 180 degree motion.
Stopping the swivel just before the car impacted the dividing medium on the highway.
At unaided 55 miles an hour she was now looking into the windsheild of another car in the other lane.
The momentum pushing the slippery cage of metal backwards now.
She was a dichotomous fog of confusion and awareness.
Only lasting a few more seconds the car wipped it's way back East.
Sliding back into the lane it was originally in, it kept going.
She now could see the edge of the ravine getting closer.
Where the highway ended and darkness started.
A 20 foot drop if you fell sideways.
Scared chatter from the backseat.
Radio on.
And then suddenly nothing.
Like catching a glass from falling off the table the vehicle just stopped.
Everything turned off.
It was over.
Just sitting alone on the road.
No horns were honked and no one was hurt.
Her breathing was the loudest thing to be heard.
After looking back quickly to make sure her little girl was alright,
she closed her eyes for the first time since this all began.
That's when she felt it.
Something she has felt before but only faintly throughout her life.
When things were wonderful and when they spiriled down.
When she had felt great happiness and overcoming sorrow.
It was an electricity that bloomed in her belly and down her back simultaneously.
It grounded.
It soothed.
It overtook.
She was learning but not alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could say it was a fluke or maybe luck.
For me it was something better, bigger.
As I continue on my life's path wherever it leads me, I just know.
I know that things happen for unknown reasons and we want to make sense of them.
Sometimes we can't.
All I can say is that by suffering through the pain and bad, we value and appreciate the good.
People have terrible situiations to live through but they live through them.
We find the meaning to our lives sometimes in mysterious ways.
Sometimes you have to attribute things to faith, undoubtedly.
And when it's not your time...
It's not your time.
I still survive.
What's your explanation of my story?
Something I haven't already thought of maybe?
When you can find another reason for it, let me know.
Until then I dare you...

Tell ME that GOD doesn't exist.


*©NDHK

Tender strength, sender's excuse
A sneeze to reach to tomorrow
Avid, we determine a silence was...
A house of compromise, sincerity, and willfulness, to borrow...

Burden yourself with a memory, some other dainty...
A question thought liberty, driven by the wind
Has visited me, in the couth of decency's charity
Simple lessons of anger, and the angel of succumbing kin...

Redoubt is my only defense...
Pied, or provided a callous soul, the taint?
I seek is a lip with no meaning, meant in the essence
We direct to such, a season of wishes, we compare to ain't...

Anarchy in love, the thought to reason
Anarchy in though, the times found me a shown few
Anarchy in decision's, a guarantee of blinder moments
Anarchy in ascertainment, a host of wisdom to look at you

A yawn with no future...?
As shrewd as furious days make a prayer, a seclusion
Catching mine, in measure and deliberate other, is a cure
Forces in voices, and the rationality of mercy; loves only intrusion?

Psyche
Can I have my weight in gold, a tarter heaven?
So wished for, so washed of another fight...
With heaven, to remember succor in forms of resolve to come by, loving...

Our blissful rapture's
open to desire
as you consummate
with in me your love.

In this sultry sequel,

romanticism's left speechless

as you smother me to
your smoldering body,

Rocking hard then softly

Again thrusting  with in me

You whisper passionate words
of rapture.

You've explored my mystical
bond's of sensuality,

taking me higher then any other

while singing my praise of beauty.

Just the two of us you proclaimed
your ultimate love for me.

There's nothing better
or anything close to this-
between harmonious lovers.

Rocking swiftly  but
as gentle as a breeze.

Torment me and make me succumb
to your awaking desire
left hardly spent as you
beg me to release my
over flowing stream.

Eenveloped by the alluring rapture you've
brought out in this lovers bed,
has me reeling my head back

crying out while handful of sheets mingled
in sweat cause me to forget past or present.

Enticing adventurous lover take me
again and again,
swim with in my honey milked pool ,

Dance deep within my utopia.

In every tender word you whisper
expectation builds within my desire

to submit again and again to your
willfulness,
to your powerful ******.

Our bodies entwined re rewind
and repeat the dance steps again.

I moan,
You cry out,
I scratch,
You hold tight, I open,
You fill,
until it's like a dream so unreal.

In this soft bed of wild inspiration,
I loose all control,
loose my self with in you.

We've became one, so engrossed with
one another it's  hard to tell
where you stop and I began.

I willed this moment!
I will'd  time for just a little longer,
day becomes night
and night becomes day,

we've lost all track of time.

Lost all perceptions
of what was meant to be,

Finally it's time for us
to reclaim our soul.

To break down the walls that
keeps us separated for so long.


No longer will I yearn for you
and you for me,
even if all we have to

give is this and this moment.

(For now sweet Lover!)


Always Me Ayeshah

Run,
free men,
run

by train
by car
by plane
by horse

depart from this
stagnating and dying
place, free men,
you must

you will be the first to go,
then the strong,
then the smart,
then the talented,
then the great,
until finally
only the meek
are left
and the world
will fall to ruin
in their hands

you must run,
free men,
you must seek
a new earth

you,
the ones
with dreams in your eyes
and love in your hands

you,
the men and women,
who hold the greatest
above the rest

you,
the people
who live despite
our culture of
death

run,
free men,
run

you,
free men,
must

free men,
run,
I beg of you

run,
escape,
I pray

I ask of you one thing,
free men and women
of the world:

do not look back
do not wonder what becomes
of your mothers and fathers
and brothers

we are lost
we are slaves
to our own
fortunes
and
we are not you,
you, free men

we are what you could’ve been
so learn form that

do not be us,
run from us,
part from us
without guilt,
we are jealous
of your truth

take this chance
free men,
use your willfulness,
your youth,
and
run

let this dying world
be dying

let our histories
be histories

let the past
be the past

let yourselves be
yourselves

run,
free men,
run

this earth will be here
for you to, one day,
reclaim

I'm learning to respect my strength
I used to be spiteful of it
As a woman, I am expected to be feminine, distressed, graceful, always right
I am not sure how it came to be but I have not respected the order of things
I have not seen that in this spiteful way I have regarded my willfulness
It has also become my saving grace in times of malcontent
My truth is clear
I am not strong because I am
I am strong because I was made by strong stuff
My mother stubborn, smart, sensual
My father intellect, humor, heart
God
I am not credited for anything that I am
But I am graced with the empowerment of women
That would not be difficult today
I cannot stop fighting even if it's easily given
Because it is a battle not a gift

Many would say
Bravery
Takes a risk

A brush with death

No fear
A sharp eye
Quick wit
Many would say
Bravery
It takes harsh
Reality

I say
To be brave
Takes a stand
It takes faith
A strong heart
And courage
A silent prayer

Or many

A heart full of love
A willfulness
Walking a path
On your own
Without it ever being
Known

Bravery cries
Silent tears
No listening ear
Ever hears
Only
To get back up
With eager
persistence

To be brave
Is many things
It's strong
It's loyal
It's resilient
But most of all
To be brave
truly takes endurance

My days are long and lonely
For fault is all my own
My cloudy eyes and judgement
Have broken every tone

O willfulness bemoans me
Hard headed through and through
I’ve thrown it all away for pride
And now I long for you

If only I foresaw my heart
And felt this pain forecast
These cloudy days would be no more
But sunshine everlast

I hang with slightest bit of hope
That she may be my grace
Deserved surely not at all but mercy is thy race

If only I could be my best when she deserved it most
My selfish ways and hurtful mode are all I have to boast

These words are insufficient
If only for myself
But hope persist
And life reborn
When dispensation endowed

My heart is fleeting with my seed
All that I’ve loved is gone
O sacramental faith prevail
Be portent willing One
I seek your greatest intercession,
To make my family one!

to all women

your body is beautiful
your body is also your own
and no one has the right to tell you your personal preferences
you do not have to be skin and bones
you're allowed to have hair on your body
how did we get from loving ourselves to slightly mutilating the natural state of our bodies
in order to be deemed *acceptable
it's ridiculous
that us women are ashamed of our scars
we're meticulous
about our body hair and how much is too much
we're limitless
in how far we'll go to hide or cover up our stretch marks
our vigilance
of our acne and how each spot seems like a curse
our willfulness
to shut out mouths about what happens to our bodies every month
our diligence
in making our waist size smaller
our bodies are a landscape and whatever lies upon it is beautiful
our scars are stories that tell about our experiences
our body hair is natural so why should it matter if people are offended by it
our stretch marks are badges of honor saying look at how strong this body is
our acne isn't ugly or nasty, it's a sign that we're going through the normal phases of life
our periods are beautiful and are designed to help us bare children
our weight and body size do not make us ugly, they make us who we are
once we realize that our bodies are beautiful
and that it doesn't matter what people have to say about it
we can finally understand that we need to take care of our body
because it is our home and it's the only place we have to live
your body is beautiful
your body is also your own.

Alarm clock’s buzz
Yanked from one world to another
The first so real but fast fading
A mist in morning sun

What was it all about?
Clutching at straws
Blown by this wind of wakening

Think hard
Grasp the remnants with words
Write them on the beach
That bounds this ocean of unconsciousness

But the very act of naming
Is a wave of willfulness
Erasing the words
As soon as they are formed

As a girl, her hands traced it in the soft darkness of summer
And that was all it needed: the tips of 4 fingers to say, “I will consume you now,
I will overtake your everything, your you.”
She promised and she didn’t know, and it happily devoured her
She was happy, too

As a woman, her hands snapped it in the hidden places of night
And that was all it needed: the evidence of 1 act to say, “I might disappear now,
But I will continue to consume you.”
She felt her old promise, and it easily burned her
But she had been easy, too

It is a shower for one, a leftover shirt, a journal
It is loneliness, cluelessness, a hoping
It is a nightmare, a few blunt words, a knot
It is reconnection, thankfulness, a knowing

It was a day, a smell, a letter, a clover
It was joy, a warm bed, it was a kiss and a day made
It was a basement, a taste, a song, a child lost
It was pain, it was bareness, it was a declaration and tears

It can be 6 years of life and it can be a home
It can be 2,190 days drugged and it can be a prison
It can be willfulness
It can be contract

Yet it remains a system of organs, of muscles, of bones
It is held together with smoke-roasted skin

It remains a collection of memories, of touch, of letters
It is held together with never-ending care

Your left knee is arthritic,
Your spine is warping too
Your reactions aren’t so quick
And you’re often in the loo,
But we cannot help you
Your time is simply due.
It’s normal for your age.

Your skin’s become quite dry
As well as your nether parts
Your outfit isn’t fly
And you’re far more prone to farts
But it’s been written in the cards
It’s been sung by many bards
It’s normal for your age.

You tell me it’s an illness
And you want it treated fast
I’m afraid it’s your willfulness
You weren’t designed to last
The diagnosis is that your youth is in the past
We won’t treat your condition; the die’s already cast.
It’s normal for your age.

There is a part of my psychology
I have absent mindedly
Spawned
a breed of prominently distressing insolence
As ology glides through my teeth I claw
clash combative willfulness
I radiate influence and malicious vigilance
But O,
The very void I dug I’ve grown pertinent to the roots I once
solicited slaughter to
I am twisted within the roots knotted to an impractical degree
contradicting the objective to make myself stronger the
roots remain tenacious
I persist beneath the tranquil surface
Of any other I lean stray and descend into a canyon,
A burden to the clock a
Balancing act I refuse to live a thief,
gaining profit of this
Life I have manufactured into a
circus of deceit
and as dirt clots at the peak
of my hands I ingest the debris of heedless weight
the sunlight will in time caress my face as
I can only
dig way complementary to the strength of my nail beds
so very frail
they plead for a sponge to
tend to the condition I have let them rot, decay
to their own dismay
this sponge
like my brain has
trouble absorbing substance.

She indulges joy of movement o'er
Fields of rye that sway below her
breast, as billows roll beneath
inhaling summer's heat

At dawn she sweeps a mirrored lake
Whose surface shudders, now awake
No rest--move on--no time for doubt--
Not prone to be discrete

Savannas bow beneath her gaze
A stand of willows in the haze
Proud trees submit, turn inside out
Deprived of all conceit

Dispersing clouds she leaves a pattern
Of curls and swirls and ions scattered
Defiant crow is tossed about
Concedes a rare defeat

A pause in beauty's wingless pace
Her mood and willfulness displaced
Perhaps caprice, or just blown out
Now calm--she'll soon repeat

Being alone with myself is tricky because my mind constantly looks for trouble, a something waiting around the next corner, a shameful memory goblin ready to pounce and at times my scrutiny is so intense I'm practically blinded, set out on a wobbly tightrope, with no safety net while below a granite slab awaits.

And I wonder is anyone else out there familiar with this cold, damp, mind tunnel or is it only a certain few of us who sense some stuff is best keep hidden away, an ancient wrong, an awfulness never to be faced and freed from the darkness, a nowhere place where very few actually survive.

This remote black hole of my unholy secrets live, thrive, out of sight, out of mind, certainly God knows my cloak and dagger self yet God never interferes or removes the sticky fear I've created to block all forward progress, at least not until I'm willing to turn my willfulness over, release my need to be in control, my strong addiction to keep myself safe from life.

So here I sit, tired as hell, afraid of life, no sense of direction, just an ingrained habit to get busy, distracted, while inside a burning desire awaits, longs to live life, to face and be rid of fear, to trust an unknowable Source continues to wait patiently, to make all things new, the very moment I trust the Light at the end of the tunnel.

Lady Wind Visits

She indulges joy of movement o'er
Fields of rye that sway below her
breast, as billows roll beneath
inhaling summer's heat

At dawn she sweeps a mirrored lake
Whose surface shudders, now awake
No rest--move on--no time for doubt--
Not prone to be discrete

Savannas bow beneath her gaze
A stand of willows in the haze
Proud trees submit, turn inside out
Deprived of all conceit

Dispersing clouds she leaves a pattern
Of curls and swirls and ions scattered
Defiant crow is tossed about
Concedes a rare defeat

A pause in beauty's wingless pace
Her mood and willfulness displaced
Perhaps caprice, or just blown out
Now calm--she'll soon repeat

There is an empty space
Inside us
And no matter what we do,
No matter how glorious our achievements
Or how full our love
Or how deep our intelligence
Or how strong our bravery and willfulness,
The awareness of that empty space
Always returns,
eventually.
Some fight it off with happiness,
Some with success -
Which most of the time means status in money -
Some with devotion to family,
Some with simplicity of heart,
Some with indulgent misery,
Some with laughing nights at popular bars or clubs that hopefully end in *** -
Men tend to, at times of pride, feel further away from the empty space the higher their numbers get -
Some with violence or criminal lifestyles,
Some with blind addiction,
Some with righteousness or with God,
But we always go back
To that empty space.
If that’s how it is then I think
Why not?
If that’s the core of us
Why not learn to be calm in a place
Like that.
Whenever we return there after a long run
The terror is so overwhelming
That we think the only solution is to escape it.
But why not learn to live
With it?
I sit there
Day in and day out
And it’s ok.
Sometimes I’ll leave it alone there
For awhile when there is some excitement,
Something new,
Or when something is so sad
I could weep,
But I never go too far
For fear of fooling myself
With one of the many
Hopeful delusions
That claim to fill it forever.
Yes, I sit there
And wait
For something amazing
In a small world full of little that is
Amazing.

(conceived while in utero
which loosely summarization in toto
of this ordinary Joe Schmoe,
who did wade nine months for a roe
at mercy of obstetricians status quo,

giving me a jump start to blend pro
pen city utilizing both a very small oboe,
and combination cross bow
either plucking or shooting from off
umbilical cord mocks nocks notched arrow.
          
Biological copulation draws, etches, fashions
genesis hewing, inscribing jeweled kismet,
legislating miraculous novitiate officiating
poignant outcome quintessential reproduction
seminarians theological universal vocalization

whittling ** xy yearning zealously, zestfully
aggregating begotten cell diminutive elementary
fecund gametes glommed gooey honied
insulated joined kindled live miniscule netizen
outlook plenti qualified readied simulacrum

thrumming undifferentiated voiceless wisp,
xpert yin/yang zygote (adroit bitcoin currency)
describing extemporaneous fusion generates
hormonal influx juices kickstarting life

manifold natural occurrence pregnancy
quilts rudimentary secrete tapestry until vicar
wizard yields zealous adorable biological
concatenation, derivative extrapolated

filigreed ****** helped induce jointly
knotted linkedin minecraft nascent
ovulation presaging quintessential
reproduction, sharing trimesters, umbilical
venerated womb yearning Zen.

Amazing baby, credit deoxyribonucleic
acid, enigma fantastically grand husband
injected jetted klatch, leaving microscopic
nothings, opportunistically pierced quarters,
readied shutterfly trap, ****** vibrantly
welded x2c yoked Zapped.

A bun cooks definitive enchilada, formula
generations hardy induce jimmied kin,
labored maternal newborn, one pricked
queue, randiness spurred ****** ubiquitously,
voyaged whimpering xing yelper zings.

Adoration bequeathed commencing doting
eyeing, fondling, giving heartfelt infusion
joyus kindred living momentous novel
offspring perpetrate quickening rapport

subjected treatment unequivocally validates
wonderful Xit yolking bearable delivery
fostering  heavenly joy kneading,
legitimizing, masterminding nascent

ontogenesis pacifying quivering reverentially
terminating viability, where yips align  
crying embryo finis gestating heralding
jubilant loving natural parental reverence.

Reality inundates the full term offspring
embarks upon a lifelong journey (initially as  
foreigner sans in utero), but willfulness viz
life source secures survivor against pinging

peccadilloes learning by trial and error to iron
out kinks as one among the human league
since modus operandi transcend encumbrances
triggers built in impetus to traverse potential

pitfalls along the space/time continuum trajectory
which adversity only serves to net greater strength
since that instantaneous and spontaneous bitmap
encoded upon conception.

The delicate smell of marzipan wafts
through the room, as the nuns push
their specialty candy through an
ancient iron gate. I pass them
a handful of euros in exchange.

Inside the entrance to the cloister,
we move in slanted lines of shadow.
Outside, the sun, blindingly bright,
awakens the day to everything
but quiet and contemplation.

How sweet these primal gestalts
of darkness and light. Secular
and sacred. Prayerful and profane.
You cannot invent such memories;
they simply spill through the maker’s
hands – not like sand, but like clay
begging to be subtly shaped into
a figurine.

First the noses, then the arms break,
like fragments of an antique statue.
The pieces vanish, but you can retrieve
them, hold them spellbound, pull them
from the depths of forgetfulness.
The past does not exist; it’s true,
except in this powerful kind of willfulness
that holds on to brokenness no matter what.

Time moves like thoughts move,
unidentifiable in the body. Time moves
on its own, eternally trapped in the present.
Here, now, is all we can say.

We can resent time, mourn its passing,
but we can never stop it from moving.
The eternal now that moves like cattle
across a field, like clouds across the
lavender sky. Once we aim to taste
the marzipan again, it flees before our eyes.

Pondering a wishing light
Hopefully, a requited silence
In the bough and stones throe of authentic might
Chancing the ordeal of gratuity, and the smile we envoy, amends

Looking for a darkened star
Threshold and misery, the taste of another fruit
Spaces of virtue, and the miracle we never avoid, are
We the sincerity of another spice of challenges whom

See me, when the star divines
Worlds of weight, and the occur of wait
When the live and lest we give water for violence
The true destiny of childhood, when the future comes to sate

Save me from a notion so vile...
Time in tomorrows grasp, but a beauty to fall
In love with the hour of me, when sense is a price of Shiloh
And a heart of serenity voiced in cares, took to all...

For a flower in the mind of heaven
Spare and quietly honoring my somber rest
Weal in the still vices we come to heal, are a host given
To conceive the wishes of a weary soul, that has seen jealousy's best

Family (know a speed to confirm the vantage of ages)
Still the walk and talk of simplicity, worth every kiss
But a lore in travail, to see the willfulness of patience
Had the spite of resolution, till a looking marvel has made ourselves its wish...