The Fight

Fights are a common feature of my life. I came from a large and argumentative family. My father gains the advantage by shouting, my mother digs her heels in patient defiance, and my quarrelsome siblings and I were always fighting for rank. Former friends would wear me down with their passive-aggressive tendencies and ex-boyfriends would expect me to bow to their demands without compromise. And I with my strong personality have never been one to let others walk over me.

But you fight like no one else I have ever met.

You text messaged me to cancel the day we had planned. You had just started your shift at work and I was curled up in my sheets trying to sleep in on my precious day off. Never mind that it was five in the morning. I looked at your message with a sleepy broken-heartedness. I felt like our day together was ruined before it even started. I put the phone back down without responding. I didn't want to deal with you. 

A few hours went by and my silence was making you uneasy. You sent another message offering to make other plans but I refused. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the let down but I couldn't hide my anger any more. I finally responded. 

"To be perfectly honest I feel like I started my one day off arguing with you and I am in such a shitty mood already. I don't want to hang out with you today and it kills me to say that."

As soon as I sent the text I burst into tears. This is the part where I speak my mind and brace for the retaliation. I didn't have to wait long for a response but it was not what I expected. 

"I'm going to call you after I get off work, will you answer?"
I started at the message with a weary smile. I knew you were trying and I felt disarmed.
Without hesitating I wrote back. "Yes, I will answer."

You see, I have been told many times about how unpleasant I am to deal with in a fight. I just wanted to be understood. Anger is just the last resort after being polite has failed. Most people go through life trying to hide their feelings to save friendships. But I was more afraid of the relationships I would have if I didn't fight. I wasn't going to pretend that you didn't break my heart. 

In the past when this happened with others they would storm off and call me names. They would arrogantly wait for me to cool down until I was rational again in their eyes. But you are nothing like them. You jumped right into the fire. 

You didn't do it out of fear and you didn't do it because you thought it would appease me. You did it because you cared enough about us to make sure we were still okay. I am not used to this kind of sincerity on bad days and for that you have earned my loyalty. I am a sucker for someone who keeps trying out of the goodness of their own heart. 

You called me when you got out of work and I did answer the phone. What struck me was that the first breaths out of both our mouths were apologies. Our instinct to take care of each other overrides any pain we may have caused. 

After a brief pause you heard me sniffle and wipe some tears from my eyes. 

"Do you want me to come over?" you asked

"Yes, please" 

You were at my apartment moments later and we embraced in the doorway. We sat and talked for hours. We talked until we were both okay again. It was never about what we were going to do that day, only that we spent the time together. It was not the day at the beach I had so badly wanted, but something about sitting across from you in that tiny kitchen in my pajamas with tear soaked cheeks reminded me that our love is one of the most honest and beautiful things I've been a part of. What a treasure it is to be in the company of someone who fights as hard as I do and for the right reasons. 

The following day we found ourselves at your place. After lunch you brought out your guitar, something you are normally very shy about. You played new songs for me until we were sleepy and sinking into the couch cushions. As I laid there with heavy eyes I watched you strum to the sound of the rain falling on the grass. I know my tempestuous heart is safe in your anxious hands, and what a perfectly unique fit it is.

Rise Phoenix

I am in charge of doing several of the hiring interviews for my job. Right from the start his resume stood out. And the more resumes I read, the more I kept going back to his. The initial phone interview went well and called him again to set a time for him to come in and begin working.

When I tried to confirm a time he snapped at me.

"I CAN'T MAKE IT ON WEDNESDAY AND I DOUBT I CAN DO THURSDAY."

Needless to say I was taken aback. I ended the conversation abruptly and starred quizzically and my phone.

"Wow" I thought "I guess I'm not going to be calling him back."

Surprisingly he actually called me back later that night but I didn't listen to his voicemail until the following day.

He apologized and explained that he was having a bad day. I was touched by the sincerity in his voice. I called him back to offer him a second chance.

I got to work early with Liz to help set up. We were outside on a break and I told her the new guy was coming today. I told her that I had this inexplicable feeling that he was going to be a smoker and that he was going to be covered in tattoos.

Almost on cue a man walked up to the building. I looked at Liz and said "I'll bet that's him."

"No way" she laughed, "he's not supposed to be here for another three hours".

The man approached and asked if either one of us was named Melissa. I told him that I was.

Turns out he was the man I had interview over the phone. And he was three hours early. Both of his arms were covered in tattoos and he reached into his pockets to find a lighter for his cigarette.

I turned to Liz and smiled "I knew it."

He handled the job very well. At first he was very quiet but I began to realize that he wasn't used to having fun at work. We broke him in with jokes and water balloon fights. We began to laugh about that time I almost didn't call him back.

The truth was his apology showed me that he had character and I was happy to have him be part of the team. His appearance suggested at someone who partied and drank a great deal, but his energy hinted at a powerful transition. He had one foot in his party life that he wasn't quite ready to let go off, and another foot ready to take the leap into establishing a powerful career. I always had the sense that he would do great thing.

One day I was walking behind him when one his tattoos caught my eye. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.

"This one is your most recent one, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is."

It was a large tattoo taking up all the space from his elbow to his wrist. It was of a Phoenix rising up from its own skeleton in a fiery blaze.

"Do you know anything about the Phoenix mythology?" I asked
"Not really" he admitted "I picked it because it looked cool."

I looked at him in shock.

"I can't believe you don't know anything about it. The Phoenix is a mythological creature that rises up from its own ashes to be born again stronger and more powerful than before. You are Phoenix."

It wasn't until after that conversation that I learned more about him. His rocky childhood, his parents divorce, and the years of wild partying and drug abuse. He was even in a coma for several days as a child because he had been hit by a car going 70 miles an hour. His doctors tried to get his parents to pull the plug on him because they were that certain that he wasn't going to make it.

Yet the man I saw before me was so different from his past. Still a product of it, he was moving in direction that would take him to such great things. You could tell he was a man who wasn't going to let his past define him.

We would always spend a little time each day talking about his life goals and what he wanted to accomplish. He had great instincts but struggled a little bit when it came to leaving some elements of his past behind. He didn't seem to get too much support from friends and family.

"I think this is why I am supposed to know you" I said to him one day. "So I can be that voice OUTSIDE your head that lets you know you are doing the right thing. You are smart, you are a hard worker, and you have the ambition that can take you anywhere in life. Sometimes you just got to shake that dust and know what's right for yourself."

He nodded.
"I hope I know you for a long time" I added, " You will go on to do so many great things."

One day I happened to be driving past his apartment on the way to work and I called to offer him a ride.

"Actually I need to talk to you" he said. "My friend got me a job where he works and I start training tonight. I don't think I can work with you anymore."

My stunned silence was taking up all the space between us. If I have to be honest with myself I knew this day would come but I didn't think it be so abrupt.

"It's nothing personal" he tried to reassure me. "I just need the money."

He was used to seeing me handle any crisis with grace and fortitude, but this time was different. This time I let the struggle show.

"How could you have so little respect for me and Liz that you would do this?" Tears welled in my eyes. "The worst part is I feel like I'm losing a friend. I've lost a lot of friends over the years but this is the first time I've lost a friend to money and that is an awful feeling. I don't think you realize how many people you beat to get this job and how highly you were respected."

He started to realize what he had done and offered to move his training back. I said no. I could tell his heart was no longer with us.

"I doubt I'm ever going to see you again and it kills me to think that this might be the last conversation I may have with you. I never wanted this to be on bad terms. I've so much respect for you and this hurts."

"I'm sorry" he said. There was a definite sadness to his voice. He wasn't expecting me to cry. I knew he wanted to say something more comforting but he couldn't find the words.

I took a deep breath. "I hope you are happy at your new job".

I was stuck in traffic for over an hour. I was still wiping tears from my face when Liz came out to greet me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed.

"I am so sorry" she said
"Me too."

My Phoenix, you are such a powerful creature. You are tougher than you realize and more loved that you will ever know. It is much harder to rise from the ashes of a fire that you started yourself, but I will always encourage you to rise. Some bridges are going to burn but that's why it's so important that you learn to fly.

Someday I want to met you again. I want you to look me in the eye and say with pride, "Look at all the things I have done."

And I smile at you and say "I know."

Love Letter for a Friend

Maybe you were the wrong person to talk with about relationships. There is nothing worse than getting served life advice from someone who has never had a problem.

Some of us gave love our all only to have our hearts stomped on in front of us. Grateful to get even a little piece back. But you were lucky. Prince Charming proposed to you in the wedding section of a bookstore. After all – what could be more charming than a cliché?

I feel like I am the only person I know who never daydreamed about living behind a white picket fence because at the end of the day it is still a fence. I never wanted to be caged.

Now lets get one thing straight: I would settle down, but I sure as hell won’t settle for less.

I have always felt like I had a realistic concept of love. I expect there to be good days and bad days. Laughter and smiles as well as tears and fights. To me that’s just the life experience. A fight is just a mechanism for coming to a solution. The only reason two people argue is because they are both right. But you would be amazed at how many people see a fight as a purely destructive force as apposed to a means of rebirth.

Love isn’t about carelessly strolling thru some fairytale garden. It’s about walking through hell together. And when you make it to the other side you can look each other in the eye and say “I would’ve have rather gone through that with you than anyone else on earth. Thank you for not letting go.”

Maybe all my struggles look silly from your point of view. You got your Prince Charming but I want a warrior. A fighter – someone who believes in courage. Not just as an idea or suggestion, but as a way of life.

This world is full of weakness and so many people find their shelter behind their white picket fences.

You got upset with me because I don’t idolize your life. You think that if I made the same choices you did that perfection will just fall in my lap. But you didn’t create what you have it was just given to you. I’ve had to work for everything and carve out a life on my own. There is a reason I’m still an artist and you are not. I didn’t let the bastards grind me down. I listened to my instincts and took risks. I trust my gut and it has lead me to some beautiful things.

I feel like you gave up your instincts in favor of a perfect life. I hope that it is worth it and I do hope you are happy. But, honey, we all hear voices. Only some of us are brave enough to admit it. You father tells you he loves you every night before you fall asleep and every time you are having a bad day. He knows how strong you are and wants you to stay that way. I hope you hear him too.

Love was never about being perfect or coloring by number. It’s not some easy formula. It is more beautiful and heartbreaking than we all thought it could be. The biggest difference between you and I is that you are trying to tame it and I am trying to live with it. 

The Mirror Project

A contractor messed up the tiles in my new place so that ended up postponing my move about a week. My landlady and her boyfriend worked on the building themselves so that I could settle in as quickly as possible. She fussed over the details but in my eyes the apartment was beautiful. I appreciated that she took so much time to make the place look good. Little things like uneven tile and spots that needed touch ups of paint didn't really bother me. I finally had a place that I could truly call my own.

Everything was pretty much set. The only thing my landlady needed to get was a bathroom mirror to put over the sink. She was going to take her time and pick out a nice one for me. 

At first I was a little worried. No mirror in the bathroom - how was I supposed to put on lipstick? Fix my hair? Check for boogers? 

I dug around in my purse and found a long forgotten compact. When I opened it up I realized the glass was cracked. 

"Great" I thought. "I only have one tiny mirror and it's broken."

I placed it on the sink next to my toothbrush. I guess this will have to do for now. 

It was a little odd balancing the mirror in one hand and a toothbrush in the other. It was even trickier trying to brush my hair into a ponytail since I need two hands for that. Some days I would be rushing to get ready for work trying to put my lipstick on as smoothly as possible, but it was a little more difficult than I anticipated with the shards of broken glass. 

I got used to staring at the blank wall over the sink. I studied the texture like some topographic map. That was probably the strangest thing to adjust to. I realized that I had gone 29 years with a mirror in the bathroom. Now brushing my teeth wasn't as much fun without me making faces at myself. Funny those little things you take for granted. 

I remembered a while ago I overheard someone ask a hypothetical question to a group: What would the world be like if there were no mirrors?

Some people said very beautiful things like "We would all be reflections of each other" and "We would see what was on the inside". 

As for me, I actually got to live this out. And what I found for myself was that I got to feel again. Most of this past year had been very rough and I hadn't had much time for myself. I had gone almost three months without a single day off work between both of my jobs. I hadn't planned on making this move but a difficult roommate made it necessary. It actually ended up being one of the best things I could have done for myself. 

I finally had a place I could call my own. I was growing into myself more as an individual. I was making more time for myself and learning how to take deep breaths. I began to live more in the moment. 

About a month went by before my landlady installed the mirror, and I was surprised by how much things didn't change. But one major thing did. I could see myself in my apartment literally for the first time. I could see how happy I had become. My physical self didn't change but I could see myself in a whole new context. I am growing into the person I was always meant to be. 

The first thing I did was make faces at myself. 

Red

Red is a notoriously tricky color. You never want to be "in the red" when it comes to financial matters.
Red pens are never used for writing, only correcting your mistakes. If you dye your hair red it will fade away faster than any other color. Stop signs and other warnings come in red, making sure you stay alert and keep your distance. And if you want to get a tattoo with red ink, you had better do your research. It is the most likely color to cause an allergic reaction once it is under your skin. It creates painful scabs and takes much longer to heal than any other color. And blood, which runs blue in your body turns red when it hits the oxygen in the air. And that is when you know something has gone wrong.

And yet no one can deny its magnetic power. Red grabs your attention like nothing else.

All the other girls at my job wear makeup around their eyes. Between all my fumbling with glasses and contacts I always felt like my eyes were a difficult spot to emphasize. I love my bright green eyes but I'd rather make sure I can see clearly out of them instead of covering them with itchy eye shadow.

That was when I decided to wear lipstick. But not just any color. I wanted to wear red.

Originally, most of my friends thought it was an odd choice. I rarely wear anything even as simple as foundation. My nonchalant attitude towards makeup is most often summed up as an odd combination of laziness and confidence. I am too lazy to spend much time on it but I am also lucky enough to feel confident without it. I just never felt like I had to "put on a face" in any sense.

Besides, I love the way the sun and breeze feel against my skin. Makeup makes most girls feel pretty but I just want to feel. Nothing is more beautiful than that.

But red lipstick is different. I never felt like it made me more beautiful. It was more like it was harnessing a power that was already there. I've got a strong voice and I love to talk. It just seemed natural to emphasize my mouth. That deep red slides across my lips and I press them together as I look into the mirror. This was the way it was meant to be.

When I go swing dancing I get all dressed up but never wear any makeup except the red lipstick. I like to dance fast, feel the pace of the music, and just let my body work. By the end of the night I am breathing heavy and sweating, reminding me that my body is a beautiful machine. If I had worn makeup it would be gone by now anyway. But the red remains.

I like the way red lipstick reminds me of pin up girls. That voluptuous kind of sexy that held it's own as a woman and knew that was more than enough. The kind of sexy that is synonymous with curves and attitude. The kind of sexy that retains a strong mind and power of will. Confidence has a color and that color is red.

One day at work a group of rowdy young men came in. One asked me for a cup of coffee and smirked at me as he said "I like your lipstick, it's very sassy."
I turned around and smirked right back at him. "It's not lipstick, it is the blood of my enemies."

Red is a color you don't mess with unless you know how to handle it. I'm tougher than most, but most like to learn that the hard way.

I move fast, always busy and burning with determination. I have to change and create. A primal force of nature that gives as much as it consumes. This fire runs hot but I have always been comfortable being in the red.

Soul Mate

Before I turned 29 I had the misfortune of knowing three people who assumed that they would spend the rest of their lives with me. This is a bit of a persona poem about my least favorite word and how it has been used against me.

This poem is called "Soul Mate". 

Even though I talk about what a good provider I want to be, I’ll never look for a job. I know you’ll understand because you’re my soul mate.

I want to introduce you to every woman I’ve ever slept with and still have feelings for. How could that possibly hurt your feelings? I’m just being honest, soul mate.

I will interrupt and talk over you every chance I get because my thoughts are more important than yours, soul mate.

I will pick fights with you just so I can feel like a bigger man. Seeing you cry and knowing I’m responsible makes us feel like equals again, soul mate.

I know I said I’d never do drugs, but I only meant when things were going good. Besides, I’ve got you to put me back together, soul mate.

I have never, and will never, ask you about what you think or feel. I don’t have to learn anything new about you. All I need to know is that you are my soul mate.

Of course I will continue to sleep with other women. I will never be satisfied, but you are the one who loves me best. That must make you my soul mate.

I would rather hold a grudge against you then work through my problems, because love is forever, soul mate.

No matter how hard you try to help me I will only add to these walls I build and insist you break them down for me. I don’t have to be a better man now that I’ve found you, soul mate.

I can insult you as much as I want as long as I use the word soul mate every now and then. If I keep repeating it maybe you’ll believe it, soul mate.

Siren

I was driving from Orlando to Tampa to visit my family. My nerves were shaky as they usually are on the drive west. Ricocheting between my optimism and my anxiety to get back to my life in Orlando, I am usually blind-sided by the turbulent nature of the home I grew out of.

I focus my eyes on the road as my speedometer reads close to 80 mph and I try to navigate the screen of my iPod by touch alone. I usually prefer to drive at night. I'm not used to all this traffic and sunlight blaring through my windshield. My nervous energy is in full force as I keep hitting the "Next" button on my iPod. I don't even know what I'm in the mood to listen to. I try to subdue my fears about the rough waters ahead.

Then I hear the soft melody of his guitar and my hand finds its rightful resting place across my lap. I can feel my back roll into the drivers seat as I take a long, deep breath.

I have many of his songs but the one that came up that day was his version of "I'm on Fire". Although he lacks the gruff vocals of The Boss I have to admit that I always liked his version better. He has the capacity to be innocent, aware, haunting, and vulnerable all in the same breath. I surrender all control of my environment with the exception of my hand on the wheel and let his voice nourish all the empty space in my car.

The endless fields of Florida brush start to resemble gentle ocean waves undulating in slow motion. Cotton clouds speckle the great blue expanse. As I stare ahead at the vanishing point of the highway in the horizon I realize this how ancient sailors must have felt. Lost in my travels, driven by the instinct to move, with a siren's song stuck in my ears. If I didn't know any better I could have sworn that the edge of the Earth was waiting for me just beyond my field of vision. Yet as I get closer and closer to the edge my fear becomes less and less. My Siren does not call me to my doom. His voice makes me feel like I can conquer all obstacles. His song is all the permission I need to center myself. Another deep breath and I regain tranquility.

I could sail off the edge of the map listening to a voice like that.

The Demon and the Demigod

This is a short story I wrote based on a dream that I had.

Trapped in a small cave-like room I pulled frantically at the large rusted metal clamp that had been placed around my left wrist. Every time I moved the clunky chain would drag across the arm of the wooden chair I was anchored in. On the other side of the table in front of me sat a Demon. He had placed the chain on me in an effort to claim me for himself. But despite all of his attempts to gain control, he was a rather weak creature. He was struggling with an illness that he was trying to hide from me. I could see from his thin arms and his fragile frame that this once fearsome beast was losing his own personal battle.

The chain around my wrist was meant to keep me seated but the table between us was meant to maintain distance. For all of his attempts to control, it was actually the Demon who was afraid of me. In my right hand I held a large steel spike; and he knew that if he got any closer I wouldn’t hesitate to drive it through his neck. So he felt confident in his distance while I held my spike close and began to search the room.

It was empty and dark, nothing much to look at. I could hear the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance. Then I noticed the Demigod seated at a few feet away to my left. Unlike the Demon and I in our wooden chairs, he was seated in a modest throne covered in dusty crushed velvet. It looked more like something you would find in an antique store than a throne. It was hardly fit for a ruler but you could tell the Demigod prized his modest throne by the way he arranged his body to take up as much space as possible.

The Demigod was strong and confident, much more powerful than the Demon. The Demigod wanted me to come to him. I pulled and twisted my arm to try and get free but I remained stuck. After several minutes of struggling my wrist became scraped and swollen. I raised my bleeding arm to show the Demigod and to ask for his help. To my surprise he looked down on me with eyes full of contempt. He could see the blood and he could chain but he thought my struggle was easy. And this Demigod, with all of his power, forgot his human nature. He sat unmoved and angry on his dusty throne.

If I am no damsel in distress, then he is no hero. We sit locked in our stalemate. The Demon smirks in my direction and casts possessive eyes upon me. The Demigod still looks upon me with disdain. I don’t care to be viewed upon by either set of eyes and so I turned away in defiance to face the wall. In all my time spent captive I never felt afraid, only held back.

And so I wait.

It doesn’t take long for the Demon and the Demigod to fall asleep in their chairs. By now the blood on my wrist has dried and the swelling has gone down. I slowly and steadily work the chain over my hand until it slides past my fingertips. Silent and weightless, I grab the spike and move like a breeze to the door behind me. I turned around to take one last look. The room is much darker now. I realized that it was my energy that was giving light to the cave. I think that was the reason they valued me. The same way the moon can only reflect the light given from the sun.

As I stand at the other end of the room the light I radiate flickers over their faces like candlelight nearing the end of a wick. I clench the spike in my fist. It would be easy to finish off the Demon, but in his sleep I can see that he is struggling to breathe. I take the spike and place it gently on the ground next to my feet. His illness will take him soon and I leave him to fight his last battle alone.

The Demigod sleeps comfortably curled in his throne. He seems to thrive on the embrace of that dusty chair. He sleeps soundly and I dare not wake him. I cannot trade being the prisoner of one for being a slave to the other. And so I turn and slip out the door, taking only the light with me as I go.

The Drum Circle

I came to the drum circle not knowing what to expect.

As I moved timidly toward the lot I could hear the steady pace of the drums grow louder. They were calling me out of the dark and pulling me closer to common ground.

Light from the flames flashed across the faces and rhythmic hands of the drummers closest to the center. Belly dancers moved hypnotically; they struck lightning to the rolling thunder of the drums. The fire rose, a hungry demon to lick the night.

For a moment I sit back and watch; breathe deeply and take it all in. I wonder how many times throughout history have small groups gathered around fires. How much of our humanity is tied to moments like this?

I've seen anthropology exhibits before. I've walked through the hushed rooms and I have gazed upon the skulls. But history is not quiet. We are so much more than bones.

Before cities, before agriculture, before written language; what did we share? Lost in darkness surrounded by beasts we huddled together. We used our hands to pound out noise that would become our identity. This scene, so prevalent throughout our history, is something most of us do not experience today.

I sit on the edge of the Drum Circle. The dancers feed off the steady pulse that fills the air. I remember the tattoo on my back. Six hands representing my family resembling the handprints left on cave walls by our ancestors. Another reminder of how small gaps in time can be. Now those hands seem to push me forward. I can't stand still anymore. I move into the circle and begin to dance. I want to be part of history.

Ascent

Ascent
The moment we take off fog rushes over the wing;

As if we have somehow magically reached the clouds in an instant.

The dark landscape below is generously laden with gems of light;

Evoking memories of some glittering antique jewelry box.

The sparkling hills tilt and shift as we climb further into the mist.

The window across the isle is painted with soft blues and blazing oranges.

The sky ignites with morning as the sun races to catch us.

Roots

I went home to visit my family. The past few days had been dizzying and I was still trying to center myself. I grabbed a cup of tea and I made my way out to the backyard.

It was a very overcast day. My feet were cold but I didn't feel like putting my shoes on.  I sat down on one of the patio chairs, had a sip of tea, and took a long look around.

A few years ago I spent a great deal of time and effort trying to fix up the backyard. I had planted some jasmine along the beams holding up the patio, I cleaned up  and mulched the area around the pool, and I removed what felt like a thousand weeds.

Today, I sit with my tea and glance at a yard cast grey from the clouds. The jasmine was mowed down within days of planting it. The area around the pool has become a field of weeds that have withered from the recent cold weather. They have still managed to choke out the other plants I put there years earlier.

The orange tree that I used to love to climb as a child is slowly dying off. The swing set that my grandfather had given us has long been scrapped. The bird feeder used to attract several birds and squirrels but today a stillness swallows the yard. If my dog was still alive she would be outside with me, but today it is just me and my notebook.

There are three specks of paint on the patio from an art project I had done a while ago. I spent so much time in this backyard, yet those three specks of paint remain the only tangible proof I was ever here.

Every time I come home one of the first things I always do is go to the backyard. I think part of me expects it to look like the way I left it years ago. I know part of me still expects to see my dog out here. It is so easy to picture her in the patch of grass between the pool and the tree.

I've done so many amazing things with my life, but sometimes this backyard is a caustic reminder that the accomplishments I've made at home don't seem to be lasting ones. Sometimes you have to take your roots and plant them somewhere else.

I take a sip of my tea, which has by now gone cold. The wind picks up and rustles the leaves of the trees.  I hold my notebook against my lap and feel the cold from the ground coming up through my feet. Sometimes you outgrow the original pot you are planted in.

Waves

I went home to visit my family and came across a notebook of poetry I had written years ago. I took one of my favorite ones and decided to rework it a little bit.

Waves

I stand on the shore, waves roll over my feet

Help me forget, make me remember

Crash on the shore without a word

I hear everything I need to hear

Thundering waves pull my thoughts into focus

Wisdom is so accessible near the edge

Indian Cat Nap

It's around 4:30 in the afternoon. It is one of those endlessly beautiful fall days. The weather is perfect, the sun is drifting behind the trees, and I've got the window open. Once every so often the breeze flows through the window and over my skin. I'm laying on my bed drifting in and out of sleep. My cat lays next to me curled up in a ball. He sounds like a dove when he is in a deep sleep. I love our little cat naps together.

As I stare out the window my eyelids get heavier. The breeze rustles the leaves in the tree as the sun lights it from behind. A small insect flutters near my window. I am listening to a song called "Panther Panchali" by Ravi Shankar. There is such a magical quality to Indian music.

There is something so freeing and spiritually satisfying about a mid-afternoon nap paired with the ripples of the sitar and the echoes of the flute. The song gets intermittently faster and slower. I like letting myself become inwardly relaxed and energized by the music. Outwardly, the only movement I make is the steady undulating of my chest as I take deep breaths of the cool fall air.

I continue to watch the breeze playfully tussle the insects and the tree leaves. Even without my glasses on I feel like I can see so clearly in this moment. Not only see what is physically there, but also feel and participate in that moment.

My cat stretches and I throw my arms up over my head. I sink into my nest of pillows and blankets.

What a perfect fall day.

The Pond

The sky is a textured watercolor of blues, rosy purples, and dusty grays. I have my bath towel spread out over the grass and I lay on my stomach looking out over the pond. For some reason I like being out here at night. I can still see my apartment complex across the water. I can hear the faint whirls of the cars driving on the street behind me. But this patch of grass in the middle belongs to me.

The tall grass rocks back and forth in the breeze and some bats flutter across the sky. The frogs share their song with me. Most of the time I am giving and receiving information - constantly communicating and interacting. But in instances like these I can simply receive. I don't have to give anything back to enjoy this moment. All I have to do is just take it in.

I roll over on my back to face the sky. I place my right hand underneath my head and use my other hand to stroke some blades of grass. I can see four sparkling stars through the cotton sheet of clouds.

Sweet, self-indulgent solitude.

After a few moments I gather up my towel and make my way home in the dark. As I walk around the pond I pass a bush with a small green light on one of its leaves. I take a closer look. A tiny lightning bug grasps the edge of the leaf and flickers. He lights my way home.

Lake Eola

There aren't many places that calm my nerves, but Lake Eola is one of them. I keep finding myself here more and more frequently. The first time I was here I spent two hours wondering around enjoying the company of other people's dogs and the misguided birds who thought I had food. There was so much simple pleasure in having a few hours by myself to enjoy nature. Today a scheduling error has brought me to Lake Eola and I decided to make the best of it.

I went to grab a sub from the Publix supermarket across the street. I walked into the park to find a bench overlooking the lake. Paramedics were attending to a man who had collapsed in the park about 200 feet away from me. He seemed okay, but he still needed medical attention. I selected my bench and went about the business of eating my sandwich. The paramedics proceeded to load the man into the ambulance while several joggers made their laps around the park. Moments like these like these make me feel like I am in a big city. There is so much going on - all you have to do is sit back and watch the chaos of life unfold all around you.

The sun sets thru the trees to my left. Birds flock to the hedges in front of me. A pigeon snatches a chip I had dropped earlier. The other birds storm the pigeon and in a flurry of feathers, chirps and squawks, the chip disappears.

I look across the pond and I notice that the fountain is working again. It had been in disrepair for a few months. People always talk about the fountain as one of those icons of Orlando. It is beautiful but I've always felt that Orlando will be Orlando whether the fountain is working or not.

The city of Orlando has a strange skyline. We don't have many tall buildings and the ones we do have all possess unusual architecture and oddly shaped silhouettes. They are all interesting to look at, however, as a group they are somewhat disjointed.

I pause from my writing to brush an ant off my leg. The breeze feels good. We don't get a lot of this nice weather in August.

Birds land on top of the lighting post to complete the structure. A black swan in the distance reminds me of a miniature Loch Ness monster. The clouds that carried the ran earlier sink further into the distance. The sky opens up to blue for a few brief moments before changing again for sunset.

Sometimes scheduling errors are good for the soul.