The Spark

My landlady hired some people to fix up the staircase at my apartment. They had to work directly outside my window and when I opened the blinds to see what was going on I saw a flurry of sparks hitting the pavement. I did my best to take a photograph but unfortunately the best one only contained one minuscule spark.

At first I was disappointed but the more I looked at it the more I loved it. It was so tiny. Like the first droplet of rain before a storm. A perfect little explosion landing like lightning on my neighbors welcome mat. A little Big Bang right before my very eyes.

Searing and Steady: The Cosmic Love

Everyone seems to love a fire of passion, and who could blame them?

Few things compare to that measure of heat and consumption. Ripped apart in the best kind of way in the hopes of rising again like the Phoenix. A newer, more beautiful version of yourself that can only exist with the merging of two powerful souls. Everyone loves a fire of passion.

Everyone loves a fire of passion; until they have to deal with the aftermath.

I have been burned so many times I don't recognize my own skin. I still have wings. Still a Phoenix but of a very different kind. Not born of fire, but simply of the refusal to die.

They tell me that the meek will inherit the earth, and that is fine. I always wanted the sky anyway.
I'd like to think that I am not looking down to the best I will ever have but looking up to all I could ever be.

I gaze up at the night sky and vast expanse of stars. From earth it looks so serene. The truth is this universe is chaotic, volatile, and extreme. A dangerous place for sure, but that is because we view it from this fragile perspective. If you were designed to live out there you would view it as home - not uncharted waters.

Everyone tells you to reach for the stars but no one really understood how difficult the journey would be. Maybe that is why we have only been to the moon. It doesn't make the journey impossible - just more worthwhile.

If love must be modeled after a fire then let it not be a flame; instead let it be a star.
Even a smoldering flame from a cosmic perspective is gone in an instant. But the stars do not measure in time. The stars measure in energy and light.

I want to bond with someone like Hydrogen and Helium. Pervasive and weightless - the essence of inconsequential; but with enough attraction we can light our corner with a heat that doesn't know how to quit. Of course it takes time, but it is hard to measure time here. Besides, the time it takes to create this brilliance is nothing compared to how long it will last.

Of course nothing lasts forever and all things must transition through the way they exist. Supernovas, planetary nebulas, black holes, neutron stars, and white dwarfs; even in a colossal death the gifts are many. Take the heavy elements of our endeavors and scatter them far and wide so that others may benefit from our love long after the light has dispersed.

I have been burned many times but I still refuse to die. Take me down to the molecular level. Tear me apart to make me stronger; more complete. We can bond with enough attraction to light our corner for ourselves as well as others who can not do the same. We can be the shining beacon, a reminder that passion doesn't have to be short-lived. Searing, steady and powerful in all our forms. Let us reinvent the Cosmic Love.

The Golden Bee

I was running into a store to grab a few items for work. I was in a rush but as I shut my car door I turned to the car next to me to find a bee.

His golden abdomen and translucent wings stand out against the simmering flecks of paint on the car. The blazing sunlight reflects off the metal. As far as I could tell he was pretty far away from any flowers. The parking lot was nothing but sizzling metal and asphalt. Yet the golden color of the bee against the warm sheen of the car reminded me of his link to the sun and how everything he does is guided by our burning star. He worships the sun just like our ancestors before us. 

Sun-Soaked Obelisk

On my way to Starbucks I happened to glance up at the church across the street. At 7:30 in the morning  the sun was beginning to rise above the tree line and was casting the most beautiful beam of light on the church steeple.

It reminded me of those dramatic pictures of obelisks in Egypt. Nothing but sky, stone and man trying to bridge the gap. The creamy sunlight caught by the monolith finds its way back down to earth. I wait for it to reach me as I stand on the corner on this unusually cold Florida morning. Wrapped up in my jacket, I let this sunrise take me to another time and place. My morning awakens with a daydream. 

Jon Carlo

I met my friend Jon at Starbucks. He worked at another Starbucks location and picked up a few shifts at our store. We hit it off right away, instinctively knowing how to tease and joke with each other. We were fast friends but his need to move on to new things lead him away from the coffee shop.

However, we still remained close and I enjoyed hanging out with him. One day he invited be over to his new place to do some creative brain storming. We picked up a pack of Yuengling and talked about how he wanted to set up his studio. We discussed models and ideas for upcoming photos shoots. Later his brother and partner arrived and we called out for pizza.

It was one of the best times I have had hanging out with friends. We filled each others minds with silly conversations and the creative energy. The small, impromptu gathering which started in the afternoon rolled on into the evening.

It was towards the end of the night that I was struck by the mannequin against the wall wrapped up in jade cellophane. It was still covered from the recent move but to me it looked like the rough draft of a beautiful dress. I wanted to get a photograph of it but I couldn't help but include Jon.

I love the way the photo captures his cool demeanor and intense eyes that always seem to be reflecting inward on some creative inspiration. I was lucky to get this shot - he never stays still for long.

My Love Wears Pajamas

Remember when you were a kid on a sleepover? Remember how much fun you had with your friends staying up way later than you should have? Those were some of my favorite memories from childhood.

Once we get older we get dressed up. We get dressed up to go to work, we get dressed up to go out on dates. We get dressed up because we want to project the best version of ourselves. Yet even as an adult I have come to realize that some of the most meaningful moments of my life have been spent in my pajamas.

I had an awful day at work and my best friend offered to hang out with me. It was finals week and he was in the middle of taking tests and writing papers. The only time he had available was late at night. I had to be back at work before the sun came up but I still wanted him to come over. When he came to the door I was already wearing my pajamas. A bright pink top with dark blue mismatching bottoms that are much too long for my height. We each grab a beer from the fridge, sat at the table, and unleashed conversation.

We talked about the day and it was such a comfort to know one person who would put their busy life on hold to make me feel like a priority even if it was so late at night. It is hard to find time when we are both so busy but I cherish the fact that there is no time of day or night that we would not save for each other.

As the conversation began to wind down we glanced at the clock. It was 1:30 in the morning.

"Don't you have to be up for work soon?" he laughed.

"It was worth it" I smiled and I walked him to the door. The bottoms of my pajama pants sweeping the tile floor at my feet.

I let his empty beer bottle linger on my kitchen counter until the next morning. A reminder that the best company does not require getting dressed up. The best company shows up when you need it the most. 

Not long after that another best friend had to be hospitalized over the Thanksgiving holiday. She was sent home to tough out the remainder of her pain. She called me early that morning and asked if I would pick up her prescriptions.

"Of course" I said and I drove to her house. I didn't even think about getting dressed. I left the house in a pair of pajama shorts speckled with paint and a sweater that is becoming patterned with holes.

When I arrived with the medications I watched as she began to read the bottles trying to remember which one was the one that was making her nauseous. A sat with her as she called her mother to give her an update. Her dogs became the guardians at our feet while she talked about the future and how her current condition could affect her.

We talked until the medications began to make her sleepy again. We curled up on the couch under soft blankets and I watched as she began to doze off. Just when I was sure she was about to fall asleep she looked up at me and said "True love is being able to take a nap with someone." I couldn't agree more.

I have known her since high school and lived together for a total of five years. In the process of becoming best friends and my most beloved roommate we achieved a certain level of comfort. Although it may be fun to get dressed up I realize that my favorite people in this world are the ones you can be at ease with when you may feel that you are at your worst. 

This body composed of curves isn't made to fit into structured lines. I want a love that is beyond conventional. I want a love that is completely at peace. No need to look your best, just to be comfortable in being nothing but who you truly are.

Colorful, worn-in, and relaxing - My love wears pajamas.

The Survivor

Back in 2011 I visited my best friend who was living in Virginia at the time. We went to Washington D.C. and I was thrilled to see that the Natural History Museum had a featured exhibit on human evolution. I ended up coming across something that stuck with me for a long time. 

The hallways were filled with fascinating displays and I bounded from one glass case to the next. There were weapons and recreations of cave paintings. Colorful maps of how we spread across the Earth lined the walls.

Off-set in one of the smaller rooms was a modest yet profound gallery. It held mostly fragments of bone. It was a room dedicated to our ancestors who died by harsh means. It was meant to serve as a reminder that most of our history was a very real struggle between life and death. 

There was the small fossilized foot of a toddler with crocodile teeth marks torn all the way through. Grooves made by jaguar teeth decorate the skull of an adolescent. But the one I remember the most was the skull and arm bones of an adult male. 

Walking up to his display case my first assumption was that he died from the large dent left in his skull, but the huge difference in the size between his right and left arm raised my curiosity.

The explanation next to the bones reads as follows: Blow to the head - At young age this Neanderthal experienced a crushing blow to his head. It damaged the left eye socket and the brain area that controls the right side of the body, leading to a withered right arm. Nevertheless, he lived until 35-45 years of age. His group must have looked after him. 

As it turns out this individual suffered a blow to his head early in his life that not only crushed in part of his skull and left eye socket but it had also damaged the part of the brain that we now know controls the right side of the body. His right arm bone was far more slender and weaker than his apparently normal left arm.

What was so remarkable about his massive injuries was that based on the healing of the bones scientists were able to determine that this individual lived to be in his late thirties to early forties - which was about the average life expectancy.

How on earth could a man crippled physically - as well as possibly mentally and emotionally - survive so many years beyond the initial injury? What was even more astonishing was that he was not even a modern human. He was a Neanderthal.

Hundreds of thousands of years before modern medicine and what we would consider society, healthy males were needed to hunt. He, more than likely, would not have been able to participate in such rough and demanding physical activity. He would have been a burden. Yet his age and the healing of his bones tell an unexpectedly beautiful story: He was looked after.

He would never have been able to survive on his own after sustaining such a traumatic injury. But there were those who would not leave him behind. He was fed, clothed, and given shelter. He remained with his tribe and whatever burden he may have been, he was not abandoned.

We don't often think of Neanderthals in this way. They are presented to us as brutish, less intelligent versions of ourselves. They faded away and so we assumed dominance. But slowly it is beginning to emerge that this lost species had achieved a surprising amount of culture. The oldest known cave paintings and burial sites are thought to be Neanderthal. And when you are looking at the bones of a Neanderthal who could never have survived alone, it is impossible to see them without a culture. The level of compassion for this man must have been amazing.

It makes you wonder how he even got hurt in the first place. Who was the one who found him or was with him when it happened? How did they even treat his wounds at the time? Today we can see how the injury affected him physically but we can never know the full extent of the damage. Did the blow to his head hinder his eyesight? Did it affect his memory? Did he suffer from chronic headaches? Did it change his personality in some way? Did those who looked after him feel like they lost a part of him or were they relieved that they still had him around? How did he compensate for the lack of development on the right side of his body? How did he cope with knowing he would never be the same again?

Other visitors to the museum move past me, eager to see the next exhibit. I stand still looking down at his skull with my fingers pressed against the glass. It is a miracle that someone even found his remains. What are the odds that I'd be standing over a man that died so long ago and be able to know a little bit about his life? I have so many questions that I will never know the answers to. Sometimes all you can do is just let yourself feel. I am so moved by the life of this man and what he must have gone through. I am grateful for this touching window into the past and this profound example of humanity. My eyes tear up and I linger by his bones. For a moment the distance between our lives seems so small. The museum buzzes with movement around me but I remain still. I share a moment of silence with this survivor.