A Late Latte Afternoon

A simmering coffee house

brimming with living noise.

Amidst an aroma of comfort, 

quietly he yearns to be held

crackers clutched in small 

hands, bright eyes on a distant

Cheerio. She’s young, safe

to share love, secure to share 

life. A mother, and still, a lover.  

Serene, soft eyes and subtle 

smile, breathes in the moment,

acknowledges the gift.

Gracious caresses rain on 

the little darling, squirming,

then submitting to the warmth

of touch unconditioned.

A forgotten Cheerio, a father’s 

gift, a late latte afternoon. 

Slow Moving

  Today I found myself laying unusually late on my living room floor, looking up at the skylight, the sun streaming in, the buzzing of a lost wasp filled the room.  As I laid there, I asked myself where am I going?  And there was no reply, just the sound of a frustrated wasp attempting to penetrate the plexiglass skylight.  I used to have long conversations with myself, I would ask questions and receive answers, lately though, there is nothing answering back, it appears as though I've abandoned myself.  I suppose I have no other option but to forge forward alone.

  So, I laid there for a few minutes more, patiently waiting, curiously wondering, subtly hoping, if a reply would come forward, still nothing.  I turned my attention to the wasp, he would smack himself against the skylight, fall a few feet then recover mid-air and give it another go.  I watched this futile process repeat itself.  Other than the plexiglass, what was going through the wasp's head?  I'm not a fan of wasps, and I really don't think anyone is, so it crossed my mind to grab a broom and put an end to his life, alternately I though perhaps I should be benevolent and help him out a window.

  Then I looked at the wasp, and reflected on my understanding of how the world works, got up and started my studying.  Perhaps he'll die there in my living room and wind up a dry carcass on a windowsill, perhaps he'll be lying in wait and give me a bite at some point tonight and die at my hand, perhaps he'll escape the house and have a story to share with his fellow wasps about how he, without any assistance, was able to free himself from what appeared to be an invisible barrier.

A Return?

  After a long pause...

  The years have been rich with life.  I have learned much of myself, and this world we share.  When I started this blog, I was a young man searching for himself.  Maintaining relationships, making a living, and navigating life appeared to be difficult enough, without having to figure myself out in the process.  At the time I was devoted to being a better man, and making myself worthy of walking this earth. I did this because as a youngster, I was made to feel unwelcome as I was. This sentiment was ingrained in me, and tainted every decision, every choice, every goal, every aspiration I made. Years upon years I spent trying to hide faults or improve my character, trying to be more, yet never feeling completely at home, never feeling completely accepted.  More often than not I found myself finding comfort with a subtle discomfort.

  More recently, I recognized the idiocy of it all.  I saw clearly the young boy in me desperately trying to find approval from those I wrongfully elevated as gatekeepers of worth.   And that's all it took. But where has it left me?  Every goal, every aspiration was based on that lie. Now what?  What motivation remains, if it isn't what it has been my whole life.  Where is the guiding force that I relied on to overcome all the obstacles, achieve all the goals, gain the skills and develop my abilities?

  Is this a depression I have found myself in? A depression, not of sadness, melancholy, or grief, but of sheer emptiness.  The only reprieve I find from this emptyness comes when I am engaged in a task, but as soon as I still my body, the emptiness becomes apparent.  I've sat for hours looking into it, listening, all while the ticking of my wall clock passing through me.  What has happened?