Finding Boo Radley

As she poured the hot tea into my cup, the aroma of cinnamon reached my nose.  I breathed it in deep as I wiped another tear from my red, blotchy, swollen face.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, “you are just another Boo Radley.”  The words effortlessly rolled from her tongue in a reassuring manner meant to bring comfort and solace. 

I laughed, “Okay explain this analogy – I can’t wait to hear how my failing love life makes me like Boo Radley.”

I think to myself how fortunate I am to have this wonderful person as my dear friend.  As a literature aficionado, sometimes it seems like my entire life is like one big long extended metaphor; I see the layers upon layers of meaning in all that I do and all that I encounter.  I wonder if others do too or it is a gift or curse entrusted to just literary folks.  Apparently I am Boo Radley; this I can’t wait to hear.

“Don’t you remember what Miss Maudie said,” she reminded, “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy.  They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us.  That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

I was impressed, but not surprised that she remembered the exact quote from Harper Lee’s much beloved text.  It still remains my favorite book of all time and every Fall I renew my lifelong dream of marrying Atticus Finch. I wonder, where are men like that today?  Before I could escape too far into my daydream I was pulled back to reality by her explanation.

“Well,” she began, “you are like a mockingbird in that you don’t impose upon others; you give and give and give to those around you just to make them happy.  You are one of the most giving people I know.  Yet, like Boo, your quiet reclusive mysterious nature keeps others from really knowing you.  And like Boo Radley’s attempt at friendship when he stashed all the gifts for Jem and Scout into the knothole of the tree, your generosity and kindness is so often misunderstood.” 

“Hmm…You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” I smiled even more grateful for such a caring friend.

“Well,” she smiled, “I just finished the book last week; it’s still fresh,” trying to minimize her spot on insight. “But make no mistake – you are Boo Radley, sweet, shy, sensitive Boo.”

I thought long and hard about what she said and it did resonate a bit, perhaps a bit too much.  I sipped my tea and let my thoughts drift back to Atticus (INFJ) and wondered when I would find another like him.  

Blame it on the Moon – the Heart Wants What the Heart Wants

One glance into a clear night sky displaying a brilliant powerful seductively mysterious moon sometimes can have an overwhelming effect and impact your very soul. 

It did for me in the wee hours this morning.

Feeling restless and unable to sleep, I arose from the comfort of my bed, slipped on some flip flops and ventured outside to the landing in front of my apartment and sat down.  I kicked off my flip flops and walked around in the grass barefoot.  It felt cool against the soles of my feet.  I find that when I need quiet to reflect and be alone with my thoughts communing with nature can often help get me to the place mentally when I need to ruminate with the deepest part of my soul in search of answers that elude me during the day and the noise of everyday life.  This restlessness has been plaguing me for me awhile.  My question continued to swirl around my head as I gazed into the clear late summer night sky.  What I saw took my breath away and I think it was an example of one of life’s true miracles – I saw one of the most beautiful moons I have ever seen in all of my 53 years.  I gasped at the sight of it; it was as if God put that moon in the sky just for me on just this night to show me or lead me to the answer I sought to my burning question.  He does that often; He shows me the answer through nature and lets me uncover it for myself.  We have just that kind of trusting relationship.

The sky was a soft bluish gray peppered with pillows of fluffy white clouds and stars danced and twinkled as if they were performing in a perfectly executed rendition of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.”  The moon in her soft quiet strength shone brightly illuminating the night sky.  The mystifying allure she had drew me in as she seemingly whispered my name beckoning my soul to her embrace.  I did not resist; I willingly submitted to her wisdom and intoxicating pull.  I closed my eyes and just listened with a quiet curious heart and pondered the most important question I had. 

My question was uncomplicated – why do logic, common sense and all rational thought abandon me when deciding matters of the heart?  Why does my brain fail me at a time when I need it the most?  She laughed, drew my troubled spirit close to her bosom and comforted me like a lost child being reassured by a loving understanding mother.  Tucked safely within her soothing embrace, her gentle voice whispered to me the answer to my question. 

I freely share what I learned from her; it is quite simple really – the heart wants what the heart wants and we can blame it on the moon.  It is, has been and always will be this way – the heart is not logical; nor is it rational.  It isn’t meant to be.  Love is supposed to be mysterious, sometimes elusive, always powerful and one can only respond with complete utter surrender to its beauty, its promise and its magic. 

If you need further proof of this phenomenon look at history throughout the ages.

Legend maintains that people may act a little strange during times of a full moon; that is not an accident.  The moon is believed to have an almost mystic power over our emotions.  In fact, that power is celebrated and revered everywhere.  A quick Google search produced the following list with representations of “moon goddesses” from various cultures throughout the world tracing all the way back to antiquity.  The list, which by all means is not exhaustive, is a decent jumping off point for any formal inquiry nonetheless; it revealed the following avenues for further exploration: Aega, Alcmene, Andromeda,  Anunit,  Arianhod, Arma, Artemis, Ayla, Aysel, Aysu, Badriyah, Bendis, Budur, Candra, Coyolzauhqui, Dae-Soon, Diana, Hakidonmuya, Hala, Hectate, Heng – O, Hilargi, Hina Hine, Indu, Io, Ishtar, Isis, Ix Chel, Izanami, Jaci, Jezanna, Jyotsna, Kamaria, Komorkis, Lucine, Luna, Maha, Mahina, Mama Quilla, Marama, Mawu, Migina, Mizuki, Monday, Nguyet, Nuray, Ooljee, Pamuya, Pen-Chan, Pensri, Purnima, Qiuyue, Rhiannon, Rishima, Sadarnuna, Selena, Taigi, Taini, Teczistecatl, Tsukiko, Xochhiquetzal and Yolkai Estsan.

The appearance of these cultural representatives of the moon is not an accident; the ancients knew what we have forgotten.  I think instead it is a reminder that we are here in this world on this planet to serve a more noble purpose.  That purpose is love – not only the type of love concerned with our own emotional comfort and needs, but a larger communal love that serves the evolution of humanity.  I think the key to solving the world’s ills lies in understanding and espousing this encompassing kind of love.  Although virtuous in its intent, it is necessary for the future of our humanity because it realigns and rejoins the basic masculine and feminine elements of our collective psyche.  Love’s mystery promises that survival of the physical can be guaranteed when the spiritual union with the heart is complete, when reason (masculine) and heart (feminine) are once again complemented in perfect balance as is our destiny, singularly and collectively.  Our existence hinges on love; without it we are doomed.

The moon understands what few others do.  

Healing

We are not alone in our anguish
Many have traveled the same lonely path
Many more still to come
Retreat to the deep part of our souls 
where heartbreak cannot follow
embrace the solitude
breathe, slowly purposefully,
until the pain dissipates
then reappear stronger, wiser, intact
ready to try again,
that's how we know we are alive
we keep trying
we search only for ourselves

Naked and Fearful

Naked her soul trembles before you

Possessing compassion and unmatched gentleness,

Yet fearful of her own inadequacy.

Her kindness, mistaken by others as weakness,

Hides the strength that furnish her determined steady resolve,

Naked her soul trembles before you.

In her heart she carries those she loves

And protects them with the ferocity of a tigress,

Carefully hiding her own inadequacy.

Her existence, though wrought with struggles

Triumphs over adversity, her constant companion,

Hopeful her soul trembles before you.

Her spirit, not embittered, but affable

Determined to see only the goodness in all

Overcoming her own inadequacy.

She dances passionately with allies destiny and blind faith

In her quest to find her heart’s desire

Naked her soul trembles before you

Yet fearful of her own inadequacy.

Falling Leaves and Letting Go

As I was parking the car upon my return from my evening visit to the health club, I noticed a gentle wind rustling the leaves on a curbside tree.  The change of season is definitely on the horizon I mused to myself noting the cooler crisp air upon exiting my car; it felt refreshingly welcome and pleasant as it teased my warmed skin.  My spirits always feel revived after a workout; for some reason this focused expenditure of energy brings a relaxed calmness and serenity to my soul.

One single solitary leaf was shaken from its place on the outstretched branch and tumbled slowly gracefully toward the ground; the breeze coaxed the fallen leaf directly into my path as a walked down the sidewalk toward my apartment door.  I stooped over to pick up the discarded leaf; its texture wasn’t withered and worn; surprisingly, it still felt supple and giving.  I held it gingerly in my hand and stood motionless for an instant and traced the midrib and net like veins of the leaf with my finger.  A profound sensation of sadness washed over me and I could feel the tears forming and within seconds they began to spill effortlessly down my cheeks.  I hurried up the stairs with the leaf still in my clenched hand hoping none of my neighbors saw me crying over a fallen leaf.  

Once inside I dumped my bag on the chair and sat down at the kitchen table and focused intently on the leaf. “Okay universe,” I said audibly, “what are you trying to tell me?’  For some reason, not entirely evident, this leaf was supposed to present an opportunity for me to recognize something, maybe something I wasn’t able to grasp prior to this moment.  What was it, I continued to question?  Why now?  Answers were not immediately forthcoming, so I busied myself with other evening routines, but I knew something was stirring.  The anxiety was palpable.  Perhaps it just needed to simmer a bit.

I stood at the sink and finished washing the few dishes, glass, cup and my extra-large travel coffee mug from the day.  Before I sat down I opened the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water when I saw the half-empty gallon of Arizona Green Tea still sitting on the shelf left from his visit not too long ago.  It was then suddenly as soon as that connection entered my mind, the “simmer” boiled over as my thoughts carried me straight back to him.

With the changing of the seasons, trees let go of their leaves just as he had “let go” of me.  No amount of unwavering optimism, wishful thinking, or profound yearning was going to change this indisputable fact.  Oh and I had such hope, such wonderful buoyant hope for him, for me, for us.  I sat down at the kitchen table and examined the once supple life affirming leaf.  Clarity reminded me as each tear cascaded down my cheek that the desire of the heart and the cold harshness of reality are not always harmonious, but at some point they will unavoidably collide and then despite your best-intentioned endeavors you, like the leaf, are inescapably shed.  

Holding On

Sometimes the capacity to imagine a future that has yet to become reality is both a blessing and a curse.  Nonetheless I am glad that my personality is hard-wired with such a skill.  I came across the picture below and was left spellbound by the inherent message contained in it.

It looks as if the tree with its overstretched limbs will give way at any moment and the tree will perish as it crashes to the rocks below.  No one could argue with that assessment; the picture clearly shows the stress and the exposed roots dangling beneath the tree with nowhere to go and nothing to hold on to.

Look closer – only the roots hanging from the bottom of the tree are withered and fading.  The roots hanging on, even if only by a thread, are darker and alive.  The tree has green leaves and its bark is still dark too.  Only the lower right part of the root system is decayed.

I see hope; I see healing; I see life.  I see a chance to survive.  This photograph says Hold On.

Ignited

Sometimes I find the most compelling truth in the lines of random text:

“One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die.  However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find––is they are not always with whom we spend our lives.”

I suppose the mistake I made was assuming that one with such a profound influence on me would remain present for awhile and continue to fan this wondrous flame that he ignited.  Unfortunately it turns out that this was not the case.  At first, his disappearance was painful and I felt it all the way down to my bones.  I ached from the relentless, deep, dark, dampening pain.  But when the disorienting fog of rejection finally dissipated the warmth from the flame remained.

I was stunned to find the fire he started was still there.  The flames weren't the same life-affirming spectacular flames that danced across my path as before, but were more like flickering embers that tiptoed in my shadow whispering, "I'm still here." Those flickering embers were here to stay; their soothing comfort provided a steady tender quiet glow.
     
Maybe my path was not meant to be illuminated by the unending flash of intense fire; perhaps the momentary blaze was meant as just a match to stir the embers, clear away the suffocating ash and stoke the fire that was already there.  

Blame it on the Music

Two

It took her a moment to rebound from the soul shaking surprise of seeing him again.  “Oh, it’s been a couple of years now, I think,” she muttered casually.

He placed his hand around her arm, steered her toward the bar and murmured, “I think I need to get you another glass of wine.”  Unable to get any sound to come from her lips, she smiled coyly and nodded.  She wondered if he could sense the excitement she was so expertly trying to conceal. After all this time he still looks so damn good she noted silently relishing each stolen glance at him as he navigated through the crowd toward the bar.

He handed her a glass of red wine and motioned to an empty table, "Let’s go grab that one.” She nodded as they made their way to the table along the fence.

“This looks like a cozy spot and the breeze feels nice” she observed.

He smiled as he brushed the windswept hair from her eye, “So tell me; what are you up to, still teaching? You still have a few weeks of summer break, yes?”

She savored his touch and hoped her reaction could keep that delicious secret.  Nodding, as she sipped her wine, “Right, I have 5 more weeks yet.  What about you?  Are you staying out of trouble?” she teased.

“Hehe, mostly. Work keeps me busy and I try to get out on the bike whenever I can.”

“You know, you have not taken me for a ride like you said you would,” she challenged brazenly.

His steely blue eyes peered directly into hers and he trumped her challenge, “Well this is your lucky day; I’m on the bike tonight.  Drink up and I’ll take you right now.”

She swallowed what was left in her glass in one gulp and upped the ante, "Come on, let’s go then.”

He laughed, grabbed her by the hand and walked briskly toward the lot behind the park.  As they reached the bike, he took her purse and placed it in the side bag. He asked, “Do you have anything to tie your hair back?”  She shook her head no.  He reached into the side bag and pulled out a bandana.  He instructed her to lift up her hair as he tied the bandana loosely around her neck and then pulled it up like a headband making sure her long blond tresses were tucked behind.  “Is that, tight enough?” he questioned. “You should put on some sunglasses too, if you have them.”

She put on her sunglasses making sure that the temple tips were tucked securely under the bandana.  “I’m all set,” she replied eagerly.  He extended his arm for her to hold onto while she mounted the bike.  Once she was seated, without warning he grasped her face with both of his hands and kissed her unsuspecting lips firmly.  “You better hold on tight,” he admonished teasingly. Still breathless from that stolen but delicious kiss, all she could do was nod.

It was hard for her to resist him even though she knew she should.  The allure of his kiss, his very touch sent her into a place where logic, common sense and rational thought wouldn’t follow.  Every moment with him was like being suspended where time ceased to exist and only unbridled raw emotion and passion reigned.  He was so dangerous to her and she knew it.  As he revved the engine he glanced back at her and smiled; she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Blame it on the Music

One

“I want you to want me; I need you to need me; I’d love you to need me; I’m begging you to beg me,” she belted out as she finished curling her long honey blond tresses.  She hadn’t been to the music festival for the last two seasons and she was long overdue for some enjoyment.  It had been a hectic few months at work and she was mentally and physically drained.  It was time to unplug.  Cheap Trick, a group that was popular in her youth, was headlining and she was excited for the chance to hear some good music. She had some of their top hits playing while she was getting dressed for her evening out.

Her sing-a-long “Feeling all alone without a friend, you know you feel like d-“ was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. It was Kira.

“I’m almost ready,” she answered.  “I’ll be leaving in 5 minutes; are you ready?”

“That’s why I’m calling; I have to cancel,” Kira responded. “I’m still in Indy at the competition; we advanced to semi-finals.”

“Wow, that’s great news, congrats to you and the team.  You’ve worked really hard for this,” she enthused.

“Yes we did and I am excited, but bummed too,” Kira explained.  “I was looking forward to our girls’ night out. I’m sorry, but I promise we’ll make up for it next weekend. I gotta scoot; the next round starts in a bit.”

“Sure we will catch up next weekend and celebrate your victory too.  Good luck,” she wished as the call ended.  As she grabbed her small bag, keys and cell phone and headed out the door she mused; it may be fun to fly solo for the night. 

The crowd was already growing as she wandered toward the beer tent to grab a glass of wine.  She positioned herself at the farthest end of the beer tent closest to the stage.  She couldn’t help noticing the sunset filling the sky with strokes of rose, violet and coral.  The cool gentle breeze felt good against her warm skin.  Soon the band took the stage and started out with a rousing performance of Hello There to a roaring crowd.  She continued to sing along to the songs she remembered as did the audience members around her.  She smiled when the couple next to her commented how their generation was the last one with great rock bands.  She nodded and raised her glass to them. The first set concluded with Ain’t That a Shame when she wandered to the bar for another glass of wine.  Just as she took a sip, someone bumped her elbow and sent her glass plummeting toward the ground.  She lifted her leg at the knee to shake the red wine from her foot.  Teetering on one leg, she recoiled when a man grabbed her arm and muttered, “Careful there, so sorry – let me get you another glass. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s okay, it was an accident, no harm done.  My foot will dry,” she laughed and glanced up to acknowledge him.  She gasped her voice catching in her throat, “YOU, it’s YOU!”

Jolted by her response, he looked directly into her blue eyes as his mouth formed into a big smile, “Oh my god, how long as it been?” 

Patiently Waiting for One Green Boot

https://vimeo.com/112947154

It’s ironic how sometimes you stumble upon the answers to life’s most perplexing problems in highly unlikely places.  I had just such an enlightening moment after reading the children’s story The Blue Shoe by Peter Reynolds.

Children’s stories are like that; they teach us simple life lessons in an uncomplicated straightforward manner.  I think as adults we unwittingly make things more difficult than they need to be.  Now normally I don’t pick up children’s books, even award-winning celebrated ones like this one to read for my own pleasure. I’d like to think my reading tastes are a bit more advanced.  However on this occasion I was looking at various children’s stories for inspiration for the young students in my writing classes.  For my innocent exuberant audience I wanted something short, simple containing some sort of lesson, something with a universal moral similar to Aesop Fables.  I fondly remember as a kid I just loved those stories.  The premise of The Blue Shoe is quite simple – a shoe is looking for its “sole” mate.

After reviewing the story, I immediately saw its uncanny relevance to my own life.  In fact I laughed out loud and continued laughing so heartily that tears spilled down my cheeks.  Like the blue shoe, I too am progressing through my solitary journey looking for my own soul mate.  I know that my journey would be much more delightful with an amiable companion, perhaps another blue shoe thus creating the perfect pair.  In fact, I've been searching high and low for just the right match.  Oh how misguided I am!  Maybe it’s not a blue shoe at all that will make my soul sing; apparently it’s a green boot. 

I suppose the universe is serendipitous that way and provides you the answers you seek in the most unexpected places. It’s not quite the match I envisioned, but as my journey continues I’ll be sure to be on the lookout for a marvelous green boot.

Cue the swell of romantic music and the sunset….while I'm waiting, a cup of tea sounds lovely.

Wind Chill Advisory and Unexpected Detours

We are currently under a wind chill advisory until tomorrow morning and school was cancelled due to the dangerously low temperatures.  So I am home - cold, alone and thinking.  The cold can be easily remedied by putting on my favorite cozy comfy blue sweater and thick woolly socks. The alone and thinking part may be not as easily remedied. When I find myself teetering at the ledge of that emotional precipice - I write.

I rather enjoy sitting here in the quiet alone with my thoughts.  In a little more than a month I'll turn 52 and I can honestly say I am not where I thought I would be at this stage of my life.  Being alone in my middle years wasn't exactly part of my plan; it's been an unexpected detour to say the least. While some parts of my life are absolutely wonderful - I have an incredibly exquisite grown daughter who amazes me everyday with her compassion, intellect and zest for life.  I consider myself so fortunate to be her mother.  I am blessed to work in a career that brings me untold joy and I feel like I am making a difference in this world - at least I hope I am to my students. I am lucky to have amazing caring friends who surround me with their love and support at every juncture of my life.  The only area that falls short is my romantic life or should I say my lack of one.  It's not for lack of trying either.  Since I rejoined the dating pool less than two short years ago I have met and enjoyed dates with some very interesting wonderful gentlemen.  But there is only ONE who I cannot seem to forget.  For reasons I do not fully understand our time together was cut short.

Like an inquisitive scientist I have dissected and analyzed every moment trying to understand and unravel the mystery of the undeniable pull he had over me. Was it the timing of our encounter and the emotional need he filled for me at that particular moment?  Or was it his amazing wit, intellect and his ability to make me laugh?  Or was it the immediate comfort I felt whenever he was close and the feeling of being safe?  Or was it his inner "brokenness" I was able to intuit because it was hauntingly similar to the telltale scars born from my own pain?

Perhaps our incredible "moment" was only meant to be fleeting, yet his presence has never left me despite my best and most focused efforts to move forward on my journey.  I don't know what to do with these lingering thoughts of him and the brief magical moments we shared.  Fate is a cruel master - she shows you a glimpse of bliss and just as quickly snatches it away from you and then taunts you teasingly reminding you of the promise of what could have been.  I suppose that's the funny thing about journeys - even armed with the most thoroughly planned itinerary - life presents a detour.

Still  hopeful, we are left with only one promise about life - it goes on.      

"The Promise" by Tracy Chapman

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXpwd38W1Lk

Witness

I heard the most profound dialogue in a movie a few days ago.
She asked, "Why do people get married?"
He offered, "Passion?"
She countered, "We need a witness to our lives.  There's a billion people on the planet....I mean, what does any one life really mean?  But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything - the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things - all of it, all the time, everyday.  You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it.  Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness.'''

For some reason this exchange between the characters resonated on a deep level; it has stayed with me even days later.  Is this desire to have a "witness" to our lives what causes such restlessness?  Is this what creates the emptiness that plagues the deepest recesses of our soul when we lack that one other person to "witness" the carefully choreographed routine that has become our life?

I think it may be.  Some mistake this yearning as lack of a physical connection with another, but find that when morning comes and your lover is gone and the wonderful after glow has faded - the restlessness inevitably returns.  Essentially we may be answering the immediate physical need, but we are cheating our deep soulful need - the need to have our own witness.  Not just any witness will do either; it has to be the one who will stand by you during the good times, the bad times, the terrible times, the mundane times and every time.

Relevance Our Quest to Matter

Is our journey to find love an attempt to be relevant?  Is it a thinly veiled endeavor to matter, even if only to one other person?  Do we seek this endorsement from another to know that our very existence does have meaning, purpose, and relevance?  Why does our quest to matter seem to govern so much of our existence? 

As an educator I am reasonably sure and can assert that I matter; I matter to the many students who cross the doorway into my classroom every year.  My existence matters in the respective lives they will go on to lead for I helped shape their growth.  Doctors matter to their patients who may succumb to life threatening illnesses without their help.  The doctor knows that often the quality of his patients' lives is improved by their association with him.  Business owners matter to all their employees who may be jobless otherwise.  The business owner knows that many lives depend upon him and the success or failure of his business.  His economic impact is further felt by the surrounding community.  Parents matter to their children for without them (biologically) the child would not exist.  Parents continue to matter as bonds of family and connection continue to form and cement throughout all of their lives.  Churchgoers and the multitude of the faithful know that they matter, because God’s word tells them that they do.  His word reminds them of His infinite love for them.  It seems that our relevance matters only when examined in conjunction with another.

What does that simple utterance imply?

Does it mean that our own relevance is only measured by the lives of others that we touch through the course of ours?  Does it mean that if one is alone he is irrelevant?

I find that hard to believe.  I think each and everyone of us matter and while it may be nice to matter immensely to one other person, we are in our single solitary existence relevant in this big cold and sometimes impersonal world.

Longing

Being alone with my thoughts in the quiet of the night may not always be such a good thing.  I find that my thoughts drift to what I yearn for….it is that intense longing that I think we all feel at one point or another.  It is the insatiable hunger for our lover’s touch found deep within our soul that defies reason or understanding.  It is that thirst for another that is unquenchable, yet our body craves it and we are certain we will perish without it.  Who among us has not felt this type of incredible, inexpressible longing for another?

Sometimes it feels as if our heart is sending out a barely discernible signal to that other heart that is meant to join with ours and we search until we find this elusive union regardless of how long, how far or how many lifetimes we must traverse through until that love only our heart will recognize is finally requited.  From the heavens Plato is nodding happily that someone understands or laughing and nudging Aristotle saying, “See, I told you they would believe it!  Silly humans believe anything when it comes to love.”

This longing I speak of can come in different forms.  For some, it may just be the idea of the other; one who you have yet to meet, but you have the vision of him (or her) in your heart and no one can compare or at least that is the message your heart sends out to you each and every time you meet someone.  Your unconscious mind measures that person against the ideal contained within the deepest recesses of your heart found only at the most soulful level.  It is like missing someone you do not even know.  Yet you will recognize in an instant once he (or she) does cross your path.  Could this be why so many believe in love-at-first-sight?  Does our heart instinctively know what we do not? 

For others, it may be someone you already know or knew, maybe briefly, or intimately, and that love was left unfinished for some reason.  And it still has a powerful magical hold over you, an uncontrollable desire that can even make the sanest person appear mad.  For reasons beyond mere mortal comprehension you were fortunate enough to cross paths with this person, yet fear, misunderstanding, or uncertainty plagued the union and it slipped away to leave your soul crushed and full of despair.  This type may be even more perilous than the first; your spirit has already tasted the sweet ambrosia of bliss and the powerful, painful, bitter aftertaste of longing can consume your soul if you do not taste it again or at least that is the truth your heart recognizes.

Then in attempts to bury the pain you divert your attention to another or put all your energies into other singularly driven pursuits that take you further and further away from your bliss, further away from the divine communion with your beloved, the one who sees your genuine essence without judgment and responds with complete acceptance and adoration.

  

Perhaps the great 13^th century Persian poet and mystic, Rumi captured it so succinctly when he wrote of surrendering to the power of love to realize the state of infinite bliss:

“There is some kiss we want our whole lives, the touch of the spirit on the body.  Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell, and the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling!  At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine.  Breathe into me.  Close the language door and open the lover’s window.  The moon won’t use the door, only the window.”

Like Pandora, the mortal who unwittingly unleashed countless ills and evils upon humanity, we have one remedy remaining in our cache – we have hope.

White Water Rafting and Falling in Love

If anyone had warned me of the emotional energy necessary to navigate through this journey to find love again, I am not so sure I would have suited up for the challenge.  Perhaps a better approach would be to sit silently on the dock and just dip a toe in a bit to test the waters or secure myself into a tranquil stream with few waves or at least obstacles that are easily avoided without discernible threat, perhaps rapids rated as Class 1 or 2.  But no, I threw caution to the wind and I jumped in feet first, while still buckling up and WOW what a rush!  I’ve never been one to do anything half-way, so I guess it is not that much of a surprise.  Now that I am in, I better get my game on. 

This quest to find love again is like being in white water rapids at least in waters rated at a level of Class 3.  This is the level where experienced paddling skills are absolutely necessary.  There is plenty of excitement and the ride presents significant maneuvering, but not really all that dangerous even though some risk is involved.  It’s fun and enjoyable.  Moderate skills are needed to evade obstacles, but survival is reasonably certain for most while some swimmers may need assistance.

I’m discovering that every now and then you will come across the potential suitor who requires a more advanced white water rapid skill level, perhaps those for Class 4 waters.  This requires more skills and often sharp maneuvers are necessary; be certain that manageable danger will be encountered.  In fact swimmers will face risks and need assistance should they tumble headlong into the rapids.   

It is unfathomable to think what on earth you would do when you run across the guy that demands a skill level necessary to confidently navigate Class 5 rapids; the one who requires your utmost attention and skill because success and survival of the journey depend upon your proper execution of those skills.  This is the one you better be paying attention and not slack for a moment, because if a wave knocks you out on this one, it is going to hurt.  You can be assured damage will occur; knowledgeable rescue crews may not even be able to help you.  It will stretch and push you to your absolute limits of capability and then push harder.

If given the choice which waterway would you choose to traverse on the journey to find love?  Will you choose the safer route and stick with a Class 3 or under?  Or would you choose the more challenging Class 4 waterway, or not for the faint at heart, would you be bold, daring and maybe even a little crazy, and choose the ultimate challenge to life, limb and mind and choose Class 5?

In matters of the heart, where choice often is not based on logic or rational thought, I think you would be surprised to see how many would say that they would choose Class 5 waterway for love's quest.  We often say we want the passion, “the can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even function until your heart is enjoined with his” kind of love.  This type of love is the one of legends; it is the volatile passion that transcends our physicality and vibrates on a deeper more soulful level.  It’s the one that we see in Hollywood movies with the big grand swell of music at the end; the one, where when all hope is dashed, the hero emerges to claim his frightened but ever so hopeful lover. 

It is a nice thought, but in reality I think we settle for so much less.  Why?

Not me, I am definitely going for the Class 5; I want the love that consumes my soul and every bit of me.  That’s how legends are made; those are the stories we remember.   

First Kiss

From outside the window he watched as she sat at a booth swirling the plastic straw in her glass mindlessly watching the chips of ice clang against one another.  Slowly and purposefully she placed her hands on the table and stretched her shoulders upward like a preening cat while she effortlessly glanced toward the door allowing her gaze to linger longer than just a moment masking her probing fleeting peek, as she awaited his arrival.

He paused, amused by her forced cool demeanor.  He could sense her restlessness; she fidgeted nervously.  He found it charming.  His eyes were drawn to her hair as it cascaded in soft and loose honey blonde curls playfully caressing the tops of her shoulders.  She softly brushed an errant bang from her right brow, thoughtlessly twirling another strand in her left hand.  She was biting the left bottom of her lip; he knew this to be a nervous habit.  He chuckled, mused to himself - she’s waiting for me.  Unable to tear himself away from his perfect voyeuristic vantage point, he watched as she picked up her phone to check the time.  He had spoken to her earlier that afternoon and could sense her anticipation.  She was thrilled to finally see him and told him as much.  Who was he kidding – he was just as eager to see her.  She gently placed her phone back on the table. 

   
 He walked into the bookstore and purposefully took the long way around so he could approach her from behind.  As he walked up behind her slowly, he watched her as she continued to fidget in her seat.  Although she couldn’t see him, he could see her reflection in the mirror that ran alongside of the booth.  His eyes were drawn immediately to her mouth.  For a moment he was lost in his own thoughts.  This mouth, her mouth is the one that he longed for and couldn’t wait to taste.  He imagined her kisses as soft and tender mirroring her demeanor perfectly. She was kind and gentle, perhaps even softer than anyone truly realized.  She possessed a veiled vulnerability carefully hidden from the world’s invasive view.  He knew it was there; perhaps he instinctively knew.  To him it was evident just from one look into her eyes.  In them he saw a glimpse of sadness and incredible tenderness and warmth; he wondered what pain lurked or was purposely buried deep from the surface.    

       
He quietly approached and stood just behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and bent down to whisper in her ear “I’m here; have you been waiting long?” 

         
As he watched her reaction from the mirror, he saw her eyes close as she leaned back into the booth.  She raised her hand to touch his; a smile formed on her lips and she shook her head no to indicate that she hadn’t been waiting long. His hand still resting on her shoulder, he felt her back tighten up and her shoulders shiver.  Surprised by her unexpected reaction, he turned his glance toward her face to see if he could read her expression when he noticed the goose bumps all up and down her arms.  He smiled and slid into the booth next to her clasping his hand around hers. 

          
The time flew by as they spent the next couple of hours talking and laughing.  Her laugh was infectious and made him want to laugh too.  All the while they conversed he could not stop looking into her eyes.  When her gaze would meet his, her lips would part in a soft genuine smile and she would give his hand a gentle squeeze as she murmured something sweet and heartfelt, “I’m so glad you are here,” or “I could just spend the entire day talking with you,” or “I like holding your hand,” or another comment that clearly indicated her joy in being with him.

     
He then asked, “We’ve been here nearly 2 hours, would you like to go somewhere else and get a bite to eat?” 

      
She shrugged and nodded, asking “If that means I get to spend more time with you, I’d love to.”

       
They rose from the booth and she collected her purse and sweater, swiftly tossing them over her left shoulder and without missing a beat and turned toward the door.  Her haunting blue eyes twinkled with undeniable delight as her gaze met his.  She smiled at him biting her bottom lip as she coyly turned her eyes down; he turned with her to leave, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and steered her toward the door.  When they exited the interior door she stopped abruptly, turned to face him and with both hands took his face into her hands and kissed him longingly.  These were the same sweet lips he imagined; his body ached for the tenderness of her touch and his kiss divulged how much; her lips responded with sweet surrender.  It was right there, that exact moment; the spark ignited - the undeniable chemistry and inexplicable connection that each felt and both recognized in an instant and was revealed with just a kiss, just as she told him it would be.  As if he could read her thoughts and sense her emerging defenselessness, he instinctively turned her around and pressed her back to the adjacent wall of the entryway.  With their arms entwined and her head pressed against his chest, he anticipated and was ready when he felt her body begin to tremble as she nestled against him.  She was in that moment utterly powerless against him; her genuine expression of attraction was unmistakably sincere. 

         
Her voice was quivering as she gasped, “Oh my god, my legs are shaking; how did you do that?” 

         
Smiling, he pulled the body of this delightfully feminine, soft, irresistible woman closer to him and kissed her forehead as he folded his arms around her playfully reminding her, “Isn’t this the kiss you’ve been daydreaming about?”

         
She nodded and mischievously acknowledged, “You’re right, I did mention that.  Oh my, if you can do that to me with just a kiss, I think I may be in a bit of trouble here.  But just to be sure,” she teased, “You should kiss me again.” 

         
He rose to the task; if a passionate kiss was what she desired, a passionate kiss was what she would get he thought to himself.  He steadied her body against the wall and pressed his body firmly against hers.  With one hand around her waist pulling her body into his and the other above her shoulder braced on the wall he leaned his face toward hers.  His lips met hers with vitality, power and desire that she had never experienced before. 

         
Like a white water rafter struggling to stay afloat in gushing, spinning, twisting Class V waters, she felt the same rush of adrenaline flood through her body as he kissed her.  Head spinning, her thoughts raced, who is this intelligent, insanely sexy, driven man who can twist me up so with just a kiss and be victor over each and every one of my defenses; oh heaven help me, I cannot deny him anything he desires.  She quietly acknowledged, if only to herself, that she was his.  Sensing that her knees (and body) were about to give way, he eased the intensity of his kiss slowly and tenderly as he fulfilled her challenge.  He finished with a soft, light, feathery peck along her cheek. 

         
Smiling, he waited for her to finally open her eyes; as they fluttered open, he quizzed teasingly, “Was reality better than your daydream?”  Without waiting for a reply, he chuckled, pulled her hand and started down the sidewalk.  She followed willingly.

Why Do We Hide the Best Part of Ourselves?

In the aftermath of an unrealized love affair when you are left standing in the midst of the wreckage, the first question we ask is how did this happen?  Like accident re-constructionists, we rebuild the crash scene piecing together what forensic evidence still remains and then we use that information to try to figure out what went wrong.  One has this limited opportunity, this small window of time to put the pieces together and question what could have produced a much desired different outcome.
What caused this new hope of yours to find love again crash before it had the chance to grow?  Were you careless?  Did you not take enough time and effort to build a solid base?  Was he not interested or perhaps distracted by another? A myriad of possible scenarios play through your head while you try to make sense out of it all.  The questions are endless, but the trouble is you may never fully understand why this happened or what went wrong.  Often the answers we seek will remain forever out of our reach.
It doesn't mean it is fair; sometimes that's just how the promise of new love goes. We possess incomplete information.  Try as we might to understand every nuance of all the moments shared, we only have part of the story - ours.  Maybe this incompleteness is because we approach the chance to find love so guarded. We know pain and the older we get the harder it is to bounce back after an emotional setback.  So we purposefully hold back, because the stakes are so much higher now and whether we admit it or not, we are quick to cut the cord early and minimize our losses.  Therein lies the problem.
We all remember what it is like to go on a job interview, especially if it is a job we really desire.  In our efforts to land the desired position we put our best foot forward and give 1000% and maybe even make a few concessions along the way if it is our dream job.
Unfortunately many of us do not approach our search for love in the same manner.  We hold back - often out of fear of being rejected or disappointed.  We reveal just enough of ourselves to capture someone's interest, but then hold back the best part of ourselves as we try to build and maintain interest and nurture it along while remaining guarded and safe.  How misguided we are!
All many of us ever search for is that deep soulful connection to that one person who will intimately know who we really are.  Like the song says - "I just want you to know who I am"
I think that's all we can ever really ask of another.

The Purpose of Tears

Often I used to be embarrassed by how easily I could be moved to tears, until now.
A very wise man once told me that "tears are the safety valve of the heart."  Yet I don't think I really understood the magnitude of the meaning of that simple phrase at the time the words were uttered.
Now I understand.
Rather than be embarrassed by my tears, I now see them as nature's healing tool that I have at my disposal anytime the need for them appears.  They are my heart's way of purging the sorrowful emotions from my being so that they can no longer torment and twist my soul into knots.
Very recently I had the occasion to put this wisdom into practice. 
An unrealized romantic hope with so much promise met with a quick and unexpected demise and I was certain my tattered heart was going to break; the pain was surreal producing this heavy lead-like feeling in the middle of your chest that makes even trying to catch your breath difficult.  Dread washes over you like a flash flood inducing downpour threatening to drown everything in its path. With few other options, I stopped resisting the pain and allowed it to envelop me - I let the tears fall.  These weren't silent tears that fall singularly down one or two at a time; these were the mascara smeared down your face drenching the collar of your blouse as you cough and choke on your own saliva kind of tears. The fluid continues to pour out of your eyes and nose and you catch random gulps of air through your mouth in between intermittent wails and sobs. It was not a pretty cry; it was the kind where your face is contorted revealing your pain to all. Yet this cry is rarely ever seen by others; it is the one unleashed when your torment can bear no witness.  It is an ugly soul pummeling cry that brings you to your knees.  
The remnants of an ugly cry like this linger even the next day.  Your face is still red and blotchy and in the place where your blue eyes normally shine through are merely swollen slits of puffed and swollen flesh hiding bloodshot tired eyes that oddly look a little bit brighter today. It's then when you notice; now that the tears have abated your pain has dissipated.  The loss is still felt, but the intensity has been reduced like a safety valve relieves undue pressure.  
The flood waters have receded and now the clean up efforts can commence.

Never Enough

Her smiles were all for others

She found strength and purpose in giving
Now she stands alone

No one to receive

Her smile unnoticed

Unneeded, discarded

As the Darkness envelops her

Ghosts of past wounds re-emerge

From the shadows

Teasing and taunting

Always lurking, waiting

Ready to dispense the crushing blow

Vulnerable with no defense

Her brokenness is no match

For the formidable foe

Spewing the vile evidence

You were NEVER ENOUGH

Turning to walk away
Tears cascade down her cheek

She laughs mockingly without dispute

When a Warrior Falls

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Plato

 “That which does not destroy, strengthens.” Nietzsche

A peek into the history books will undoubtedly show that many legendary warriors such as Leonidas of Sparta, Genghis Khan, William Wallace, Hannibal Barca, Alexander the Great, Napoleon and countless others share a similar attribute.  Some may argue that timing was on their side; still others may argue that the twisted hand of fate had a bigger stake in their countless victorious destinies.  Still I would have to argue that there was something else at work – it was their respective ability to face adversity and rise to fight again.  They were resilient. 

Who among us doesn’t know those who have had more than their share of upsets, tragedies and shattered dreams?  Not many, if any, of us have escaped a life peppered with such disappointments and setbacks from time to time.  No one ever promised life to be easy.  For some though, it seems as if the storm obliterated the life they fought so hard to build.  Yet for some unfathomable explanation, these tortured souls rise again and trudge forward much to the surprise of those around them.  They overcome economic uncertainty, endure setbacks thrust upon them by others, are forced to vanquish past demons and foes, plan for futures entrenched in ambiguity, and they do so often forced to carefully conceal what is the most noble part of their being – their hearts.  In its bruised and battered condition lies the genius of their unyielding power.    

When a warrior falls, she is not down for long.  To those with a discerning eye, they will see that she gets up and faces the seemingly relentless battle yet another day.  For her rebounding strength was not her birthright, rather her spirit is by nature tender and kind.  Fate determined her lot and labors.  Frightened, weary, and shaken from another disappointing setback, she pulls the torn cloak tightly around herself to shield her bloodied knees and the tattered remnants of her heart.  She clenches her fists, shakes them at the heavens and laughs at the Fates, shouting through her silent sobs,

“I AM HERCULES.”