The boy who spoke with the Ocean

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Once upon a time, there lived a boy.

He sometimes wished he could be like everyone else. He wished he could live an interesting life. Live in the moment, be wild, crazy and humorous. But he was none of those things, nothing close to it. He laid awake on countless nights wondering, why do he felt things so deeply? Why hold on, when others so easily let go. Why did he care so much?

“I’m not special, so why can’t I connect. Why can’t I find someone who understands. Someone who listens. Truly listens.” He thought quietly.

He would go from home to school and then back again, except on Sundays. On Sundays he would explore the forest behind the white picket fence, that ended the property his family owned. His family didn’t have a whole lot, but they were content. The boy on the other hand longed for more. He would spend much his Sundays wandering the forest, looking for answers to his questions. Only to hear nothing but, the forest’s silent reply. Everyone he had ever met always fell too short of what he needed. He went on through life hoping to have his questions answered. Only to find disappointment and vexation.

One day he decided to run far away from home. And he did, he ran pass the skyscrapers that the touched the sky, pass anyone he would ever recognize. Now nothing that surrounded him was familiar. Ahead there was a field of tall grass that led him straight to the ocean. He sat down in the sand looking straight ahead into the immense sea. “I’ve been everywhere, met what seems like everyone, but still my questions go unanswered. Why must it be this way?” He sighed. Looking down at his feet, he picked up a nearby seashell and toss it into the the water. “You’ve come for answers, and it is answers you shall receive.” The ocean whispered. “You have been searching your whole life for an explanation to why you are the way you are. So tell me child, have you found your answer while searching outwardly?” “Well no…” The boy replied.

“So tell me, why have you continued to search for something in the physical world. When the answer lies inside of you? No two people are alike. Some are more connected to purpose than others, but if you continue to try and find happiness and comfortability in others, you will always be displeased. So look deep into my current and learn from what it is you see. Love, evolve and grow. But do not expect others to come on this journey with you. Because this journey was crafted just for you. Human beings will always let you down, if you attach them to your happiness. So don’t expect more, just be more and the rest of the world will follow.” The ocean howled. The boy sat confused for a moment, but then stood up on his feet, stretching his arms to the sun. “Thank you, great mighty ocean. I should be heading home now. I’ve got a lot to discover!” The boy said with a grin. The ocean smiled back with a crashing wave. “The sun will set tonight, but it will rise again every morning. And so will you.”

wise man

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He closed his eyes & let go of his hatred.

He closed his mouth & listened to the quiet world, that surrounded him.

He opened his heart & took off his shoes.

That day, he walked the Earth with bare feet.

He stared upon the sky & earth, realizing that he & it were one.

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I’m slowly forgetting the sound of your voice, the curve of your lips. I’m slowly forgetting the feeling of your arm hair brushing just slightly against mine. And with it, all these small inconsequential memories. I’m slowly losing interest in everything. I don’t listen really, I don’t listen to anything or anyone. Nothing excites me anymore, no small sparks of passion to keep me on my feet throughout the day. I don’t even really enjoy music either, not like I once did. The sound of it leaves me feeling, a tad bit numb. All I can do is write words, words that when formed together aren’t even good enough to be typed onto a blank page. But that’s all that’s left, a vacant space, a hole. I often wonder why it has come to this. It’s no one’s fault, but my own really..Why did I allow myself to fall in? Why must all beautiful things end in tragedy? Why must they end at all? For what is a writer without beauty? For what is a poet without tragedy?

For a poet without a muse, no longer has a reason to write.

But write they must.

And I will,

even if it means, no longer writing for you.

There are no thunderstorms in California

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There are no thunderstorms in California.

Oh, how I adore the smell of the wet warm earth after a storm. How I would wait to hear thunderous crackle, to see the sparks forged from the sky. But nothing.

There are no thunderstorms in California.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine your sound. I imagine the raindrops that would gently kiss my skin, opening my pores in the most delightful way. I would jump, puddle to puddle racing through the tall grass. Just me and the elements. Once the lightning struck, I would then run into a small stone home. Where it would be warm inside from the fireplace, just in the living room. What a perfect mixture of smoked wood and petrichor. If you open all the windows, you could get a view of the long stretch of land, never ending. Silently, I would watch as the Heavens struck Earth.

There are no thunderstorms in California, but when I close my eyes anything is possible.

Dear Strangers

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I have had so many love affairs with my eyes.

Direct & enticing

Deliberate & sweet.

In this moment, you have somehow become mine.

Remove every layer of cloth, while I trace my fingers along your scars, down your spine.

Allow me to create art.

Paint your body with soft strokes of emotion.

Water your mind.

I’m sorry, you like many have become victim to my art.

My body is at standstill, air passes through the lungs.

No sound escapes, but be sure that if I have ever loved you in any type of way. 

Whether forever or just a day.

You may never hear it from my mouth, but only know it from the words I write.

These words are mine and in this moment, so are you.

Too many lovers & somehow, still too few.

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It’s the rain

It’s the sun

It’s my messy handwriting

It’s that never ending search for the one

It’s the plants, that hang down from the wall

It’s my favorite flower of the sun, she stands tall

It’s how badly I crave to find someone who will listen to it all

The good, the bad, the dark and ugly

The foolish nonsense that it involves

My mind, a terrible place, but once the pen starts, it doesn’t stop

One click of the key is all it takes

So it’ll be the rain and then the sun

It’ll be whatever it takes

To make sense, where there is none

Le but de l’âme

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I could easily be that woman.

The agreeable one, the one who smiles and laughs…even when I find remarks less than humorous.

I could get married and have children

Cook and clean.

Look nice and delicate.

Be nice and delicate.

Capture my beauty through photographs,

I take of myself.

Be in the moment, live for now.

Love in seasons.

I could be that woman and many would love her.

You see, there is nothing wrong with a woman like this.

If anything, I would prefer to be her.

But she is not me, no matter how earnest the attempt.

I am a thought, always evolving.

Never satisfied…

How could someone love a woman like this?

One who rarely smiles,

One who rarely understands herself, but is in constant search for more,

More of what she, herself does not know.

Strange, how there are so many books, testimonies and scriptures explaining what it is that wise men seek…

Even the Bible states that a man of wisdom seeks knowledge.

But what of my longing, what of my questions?

The abundance of my happiness must stem from what?

Marriage, love, fertility, material belongings? All beautiful things. All fleeting, fleeting as am I in this moment. Fleeting like the short span that is a lifetime, but never like my words.

The soul’s purpose.