cold thoughts about warm dreams

I sat cold,
watching her approach with a smile
like a dreamless sleep.
Beautiful and pure.
The lightest touch on the knee
and me in my best shirt.
Her, a nativity scene
and my hibernating soul
awoke to discover its host,
merging to completion.
Solitude is a blessing
when you are not alone.
When there are two souls,
one with a darkly framed face,
soft hair begging a soft hand,
and the other waiting to discover
who he is.

Part VII...

He walked for a little while, coming to a small group of trees. He was almost certain that the shore lay beyond the trees and entered the small forest. It was dark and the smooth trunks of the trees were a deep red, almost black. As he passed, each tree would brighten for a moment with a pulse of brighter red that lit the area around him for a moment. Jonah wondered if somehow the trees knew he was there as a he walked.
He continued to walk until he began to see the tree line clear somewhere up ahead. He was almost to the shore he realized, and walked faster. As he neared the edge, he began to hear a strange humming around him, followed by short chirps and snickers. He froze and remembered his friends warning about the voices. They seemed to be growing louder around him and when he looked, he could see other trees around him in the distance, pulsing with the strange red light. He knew something was out there, probably following him. Maybe the saw my bed fall from the sky, he thought, and began to run.

He ran and ran, the humming and chattering growing louder and louder behind him and around him until, finally, he reached the edge of the trees and darted out onto the black sand of the beach. He stopped then and looked behind him. The line of trees stood silent, but the humming continued and between the pulsing trees he glimpsed dark shadows moving. He looked at the sea. It was dark and calm, the sand soft under his feet. He turned, the water on his right, and walked north, remembering that as long as sand was beneath his feet, he would be safe.
The beach continued for what seemed like miles, further and further north. From time to time, Jonah would glance to his left and whenever he did, he saw the trees pulsing and the shadows moving. They were following him, but they would not leave the trees so he continued walking. Finally, after a long while, the beach began to slope upwards, and here and there patches of grass grew through the sand. The more he walked, the more the grass replaced the sand and Jonah worried that perhaps the shadows that followed him would begin to emerge. The stars however had told him not to worry, so he forced himself to be brave, though with each hum and chirp that he heard it became more and more difficult.

When Jonah reached the top of the hill, he looked to his right at the cliff, dropping straight and severe into the black depth of the ocean. To his left, sure enough, the tree that the stars had told him about, stood tall above the rest. It was much closer than Jonah had thought it would be. The sky had brightened a great deal while Jonah had been walking, although it was gradual and he didn’t notice until he had reached the top of the hill. The strange thing was that the light was very obviously coming from the direction of the tree. In fact the tree stood silhouetted by an orange and red, pulsing glow.
It was the only tree glowing though, and Jonah took that as a good sign. The shadows had stopped following him and it seemed safe to go back into the woods. So he walked to the trees and entered again, following the glow that he supposed came from the orb.

I'm reading about shit...

I’m reading about shit in a book of prose poetry. Scat. Scatological. My uncle asked me once if I knew what that word meant and I said yes, that it always reminded me of my grandma and the habit she had of examining the piles of animal feces we would find on our walks through the New Mexico desert. Chimney rock and it’s surrounding canyons and cliffs. Chimney rock was this beautiful sculpture of red stratified rock with a sort of mesa at the top and then a little pillar of rock barely connected that stood like a chimney. I used to speculate whether a climber could jump from the mesa to the chimney and make a camp on top. I concluded that nobody had ever tried because of its obvious danger. My grandma and I would walk with my mother and sister, sometimes Jim Hall or my aunt. My mom had an eye for arrowheads and spent some time as an amateur archeologist. My grandma’s uncanny gift was being able to deduce any number of things about the environment and nature simply by examining the excrement of the areas numerous animals. I always thought it was weird. Now I see the strange beauty in what she was doing. Immersing herself in every part of the natural world. Appreciating every piece of matter and mud and rock and chlorophyll. Appreciating the beauty and, in so doing, joining the community of seekers who can find deep spiritual truths and lessons by entering into natural creation. There was a rock climber that my grandmother knew who, in my mind, always appeared as one of these people. I would picture him climbing a rock sheer, his hands on the stone, feeling and listening to God through that rock and learning his purpose and his passion. He fell from one of those walls and broke his back. By the time anybody realized that he was gone, he had died. Somebody carved a bear out of soapstone and it sat for years where his body had lain. My grandma would sometimes take us to that spot and I would stare at the bear in awe and respect of the man that it memorialized. To me he was the epitome of adventure and an example of one who sought peace and found it amid rocks and sage. The fact that he died doing what he loved only reinforced my idealistic image of him. It’s funny that now I can’t even remember his name but I can picture the little smooth black bear surrounded by rough sandstone and dust.

Boy's story part VI...

Jonah spun and spun, quickly at first, towards the large planet, but gradually he slowed and neared its orbit. The red star was huge and bright on his right, pulsing slowly, its colors blending and swirling from ruby to maroon to crimson and blood red. His bed shuddered for a moment and made one last rotation before the sight of the red star. Jonah worried that it was no longer the force of Tristan and Madeline that moved him as he watched the frightening star.
He was still floating towards the planet however, and that reassured him. He floated closer until he was caught in its orbit. The planet’s gravity was strong and pulled Jonah’s bed through its atmosphere. He thought for a moment that maybe he wouldn’t land where they said he would and what would he do then?
Jonah forced these thoughts out of his head and watched as he sailed through the planet’s cloudy atmosphere. It was strangely dark and he passed through dense smoky clouds that he thought should make him cough until he remembered that he no longer needed to breathe.
After a minute or two he broke through the clouds and the vast landscape of Jude’s planet was laid out before him. It was spotted with tall mountains of red rock surrounded by orange-leafed trees and plains of yellow grass. He watched and saw that he was indeed headed for a clearing near the shore of a huge black sea. He wondered what color the water was during the day, if it every turned to day. The sea seemed to cover half the planet as Jonah rushed to a landing.
The shore and the land grew faster and faster before Jonah’s eyes until, finally, his bed thumped to a somewhat gentle stop in the middle of one of the yellow grass fields. He looked around him, making sure he knew which direction the shore lay. The stars had told him to find the shore. He decided that it was definitely to his right and, mustering his courage, Jonah pulled aside his blankets and slid barefoot off of his bed…

Boy's story part V...

Jonah’s bed traveled faster than ever. Through galaxies and constellations and gaseous planets and planet’s rings. Through meteor fields, comet fields, around moons and through suns. Tristan spoke and said, “Listen.” Madeline spoke and said, “This is important.” And Jonah listened while the two stars, his new friends, told him what he must do.

“When you land,” they said, “it will be cold and dark. You will hear strange voices that you will not understand. Don’t try to listen to them. Just walk. Walk until you reach the sea. It won’t be far. Once you reach the shore you must walk North, so that the water is on your right. Walk and keep walking. It will be very far but you will not grow weary. If you hear voices to the left of you do not be afraid. There are creatures in the trees and behind the rocks that will mean you harm but as long as you stay on the shore, on the sand, you will be safe.” Tristan and Madeline were speaking at the same time, their voices mingling with one another to form a sort of music and Jonah listened, the sound filling him with peace and courage and goodness.

“When do I stop walking?” he asked.

“Listen and we will tell you,” they said to him. “As you walk through the night you will see a light ahead of you as if a great sun is rising to the North. The light will grow and grow and it will become brighter, but not bright like the day. It will be a reddish light. The light comes from a crystal, which is set in a great tree. This crystal’s light is the bad will of Jude, the red star. He is the rebel and the deceiver and is slowly killing those that live on his planet.”

As the stars told Jonah this, he saw a small red speck far, far in the distance, directly ahead of him. He knew that the speck was Jude and he began to be afraid for the first time since his journey began.

As if the stars knew what he was feeling they said, in unison, “Jonah, everything will be fine. You have a strength in you that you do not yet see.” And the fear in Jonah shrunk until it was merely a tiny thing in the back of the young boy’s mind.

The two stars went on: “The shore will take you up a large hill and the ground will begin to drop off to your right. The hill will become very steep and, once you reach the top, you will be at the edge of a cliff to your right, a forest to your left. There will be a tree in that forest that is so large it can be seen rising above all the other trees. You will see it from the cliff. It holds the crystal and that is where you must go next.”

Jonah watched as the red speck in the distance grew and grew while the stars spoke and filled him with their strength and direction. “When you reach the cliff Jonah, you must wait and make sure no voices can be heard. If there are no voices it means that it is safe to enter the forest. You must walk to the tree, find the crystal, and destroy it.”

“How do I destroy it?” Jonah asked, the red star had grown large in front of him and he was afraid that he was almost there.

“We cannot tell you that Jonah because we haven’t been told. You must trust that you will find a way. You are almost at your journey’s end Jonah and we must stop speaking. We have carried you far, through many eons and many ages, but now it is up to you.”

“Have courage,” Tristan said in his strong, sad voice.

“You have strength,” said Madeline in her sweet, musical voice.

And, with that said, they gave him one last push and he was flung, alone and spinning into Jude’s domain.

Some thoughts before part V....

I am a raven. Am I a raven? No. A hawk? No, too noble. A sparrow maybe. I don’t scavenge or hunt, I wander and hope to not be devoured. I hope to find somewhere safe to lay my head under my wings, folded back in peace. Peace is such a word. So hopeful. Unrealistic? A dark wind carries me to places I don’t want to be or places that I hoped would be different and I chase this idea of fulfillment, of love perhaps.
Or just peace.
I feel like that boy sometimes, whose bed carried him through space. Carried him into some strange and turbulent conflict. His future looked hopeful. It looked as though he were to play some noble part in the action of the cosmos. Maybe he will yet. Maybe that’s why the story was never finished. I don’t know how to write an ending to something that I am still in the midst of.
I know the ending I hope to see though. A happy one that ends in a sweet death which is really just the beginning to something even more beautiful. Are happy endings just hopeful creations by people who believe that there should be something better to this world, to this life? God, I hope not. At least I have comfort though. Some don’t even have that. The discomfort I feel at times is my own fault and I’m too self centered to see the bigger picture. That my life is easy because I have more good days than bad. That, and food on my plate every night.
It feels like the dark corners of the earth are sometimes growing towards each other. Or the darkness is growing outward so that it is no longer restricted to the corners, but the middle places as well.
I awoke one morning with a weight moving across my legs. It traveled up my body to hold to me to my bed, under my blankets. I struggled, but it felt as though I were struggling against my own body…struggling to free myself from the strange grip and utter some phrase that would free me. And then a warm breath spoke dark things into my ear, telling me that I would never make it out of this, that I would never be more than this. “Always remember that,” it said. God help me. Help me move, I thought to myself and slowly I was able to open my eyes and shake myself free.
How often are dark things whispered to me in my sleep? Things meant to destroy any sense of peace and hope that I hold. How often do I listen to them? What else is out there that I don’t see? Things that hold me and chain me to my darker thoughts and sinking feelings. How do I fight against them? What causes a child to watch helpless as dark figures enter his room and cover his face with their hands, or gives him nightmares of cities turning to ash and rubble as other men stare hatefully at each other?
I wish I were a sparrow...

Part IV...

"I would like to stay Tristan, but how can I help? I'm just a boy..."

Tristan answered, "You just need to be willing. We the stars will help you on the way."

Jonah through again and looked around him; at the stars in the background, the planets behind him. "Where is the bad star, Tristan?"

"Far, far from here. When you are ready we will send you. It will be a longer journey than you have experienced so far but you will be able to hear Madeling and myself speaking to you along the way. And, if you look very closely, you'll be able to see us far in the distance. Even when you reach your destination Jonah. So there is no reason to be afraid."

"Will I be able to still hear you when I get there?"

"Not at the end of your journey Jonah, no, you will not be able to hear us. If you could, then the bad star would hear us too and if he knew we were speaking to you, he would look for you and it would be very dangerous. We can always hear you though Jonah. Let that bring you courage and comfort."

Jonah sat in his bed thinking until a sudden reckless excitement overcame him and he grinned. Tristan watching him and asked: "Are you ready now?"

"I think I am, Tristan."

"Then listen carefully while you travel. Madeline and I are going to give you instructions."

With that said, Jonah's bed sped away from Tristan the green star and once again into the black depth of space...

The Boy Part III

The next star Jonah met was a green one and, like Madeline, this one too shone with all shades of green. It was bigger than Madeline, perhaps older, and its planets were many. All covered with green growth and water. Jonah's bed sped to the star and began to orbit slowly. Again, Jonah could feel the star's presence and mind and warmth, and he knew that it too was watching him.

He orbited the star slowly, around and around. His bed turned over and under, each side facing the star as if he were being examined. When the bed finally stopped its movements, the planets were all behind him an dhe was again facing the star. Suddenly all the dark shades of green went to the edge of Jonah's view of the star and its center was a brilliant shade of emerald green. Jonah waited patiently for it to speak, propped up against his pillows.

When the star finally did speak, its voice was strange. It was a sort of masculine voice; strong but sorrowful, but with a hint of sympathy that sounded almost motherly...

"Hello Child, I am Tristan," the star said.
"Hello. My name is Jonah," he answered, "where am i now?"
"Many miles from home Jonah. I hope that doesn't frighten you. I have been told to answer your questions. Do you have any questions?" Tristan asked.
"What is happening to me? I know that my heart has stopped beating, but I don't feel like I have died" asked Jonah, a look of genuine concern on his face.
Tristan smiled. Or at least Jonah could sense him smiling, although the star had no face or mouth. "Your life as you know it has been put on hold while you are here visiting with us. Think of it more like a dream. Time has no meaning out here and, if you should choose to return home, you will be perfectly healthy."
"Why has this happened to me?" Jonah asked.
Tristan's light strobed from bright to dull rapidly. Jonah decided that he was laughing. "I am so very glad you asked that Jonah, it's what I really need to speak with you about. I have a favor to ask of you. A task and, if your brave enough to agree to it, you will be taken far from here."
"What is the task?"
"We need your help Jonah. Not all the stars you see around you are kind or benevolent. There are bad stars out there too. One of them has put many beings in danger and he must be stopped. That is why you have been brought here. The good stars feel that you can help us and we brought you here to ask if you would. It will be dangerous and very frightening but you will have our help and all the protection we can offer you Jonah."
Jonah sat in his bed, deep in thought. He still believed that he was probably dreaming, but it was the most vivid and best dream he had ever had and it made him sad to think that it might end.

to be continued...

The Boy continued...

The first of these minutes took the boy and his bed to a blue star and he watched it pulse with every shade of blue and violet and indigo imaginable, some that can't even be imagined. He watched the star bulge and shiver, it's blue gases burning and shifting. Suddenly and unexplainably, the star turned its countenance to the boy and watched him. There was no face, no eye, just the feeling that it was somehow looking at him. The boy was startled and if his heart was still beating, it would have skipped. He felt helpless and vulnerable, but looked back at the star and then his bed was pulled to the flaming ball, until he could see nothing before him but blue fire. He felt no heat though, just the warmth of his bed sheets, that and the sense of the star's life and mind, fixated on him.

They sat like that for another eternal minute until the star showed it's face, or a face. It appeared out of the shaped gas and it was a woman, a girl really. She looked at the boy and she smiled and he caught a glimpse of the star's warmth. "She's lovely," he though to himself, and the star smiled wider.

Then he heard her voice in his mind and she asked him, "What is your name?"
"Jonah," he answered.
"Pleased to meet you," said the star. Jonah smiled and sat up straighter in his bed. It shifted under him to accomodate the new position.
"Do you want to go home Jonah?" the star asked and her flames and gases shifted to form an image of Jonah's home, and his empty room. His parents were sleeping, as was his sister. The star showed him all this and his street at night, but Jonah did not want to return.
"I don't want to go home yet," he said, because he was alive and wanted to see more of space and meet new stars and see new worlds Anything his bed or the mind guiding it wished to show him.
"Fine," the star said, smiling, "but be careful because not everyone you meet will be glad to see you."
"What do you mean?" asked Jonah.
"You'll see," she answered, "if you ever need help just call my name Jonah."
"What is your name?"
"Call me Madeline. I hope we meet again Jonah."

And then Jonah and his bed soared away from Madeline the blue star and through space. Jonah began to motice other specific stars of different colors, but no matter how far his bed took him he found he could always look and see Madeline shining blue and bright somewhere in the great map of twinkling space laid out before him....

The boy.

There was a boy once who would lay in bed and watch light move across his walls and ceiling as cars passed by on the street outside. One night while doing this, his bed began to spin, turning left and right and upside down, but all the while the boy remained firmly tucked under his sheets. His heart beat faster and faster as his bed spun around and around.
And then his heart stopped and time began. The world around him turned to stars and space and his bed transported him through galaxies and dimensions, planets and worlds. And he lay there, smiling as he watched the universe take shape before his eyes. He took no breaths because he didn't need to. He could stare forever without blinking. Hours went by and he did not grow hungry or tired. And as he stared through creation and the heavens, alone but not lonely, calm but not sad, joyful but not happy, he realized that he was now truly alive. And he loved every endless minute of his life....

to be continued?

More thoughts...

I’m a sucker for the romantic and the idealistic and everything that brings light and goodness into this world. I say a ‘sucker’ because it’s not the trendy or normal way of poetry these days. It seems that way to me at least when so much of the art I witness in the dark rooms below coffee shops is so broken and twisted…hurtful.
I saw a lady at work today who was young and pregnant and wearing a little red jumpsuit. She came in with her mother I guess and described, with the brightest face, how they were together to paint her coming baby’s room. I shared in her excitement and imagined the joy that she must be bringing her husband.
It’s a theme that’s been coming up a lot with me lately. Pregnancy, and the absolute ecstasy it must bring. I thought again about my youth and my parents and how happy I remember everyone being.
I told my dad for the first time in I don’t know how long that I admired him. I talked with friends about it the other night and how my friend, at 22 years old, should never have had to stand up to his dad almost to the point of blows. Over the way his father was treating his mother. I have my own demons of that sort but not to that extent. We talked about it and my friend sat there with this look of detachment. As if he was tired of being ashamed of his dad and tired of being hurt by it.
I understood him that night better than I had before and we talked about who we were because of these experiences and how they’ve caused us to grow so much more completely than we would have otherwise. After a while I just smiled about it all because it’s alright now…completely alright, and it has been so only by the complete grace of God. I love my father very much. And I love his wife who kissed me affectionately for the first time since I met her.
I’m going to hurt someone and disappoint them too some day. It’s a part of life and, in some ways, a beautiful part because I’m a broken person too. An imperfect person who is unstable at times and doesn’t do things the right way. I don’t do the things that are expected of me and usually have very little desire to.
I’m walking my own road, as cliché as that sounds, and I’m learning and becoming who I think God wants me to be. I drink too much and smoke too much sometimes for example, but I’ve seen the most beautiful moments between friends come at those same times and I wonder at how God uses the broken and the confusing moments of life to reveal truth and goodness to the point that sometimes I don’t see how it could be otherwise.
I slept poorly last night and woke up sensitive and frustrated and shed a tear over a movie that I had seen a number of times before. I was discontent and far from feeling the peace I always desire. But seeing that lady today with her swollen stomach and shining smile put things into perspective again. Life is good and always will be.

awaking to a dream...

I dreamt about a cellar door cracked open and a dim light shining into a dark hallway. I opened the door and I walked down the stairs. Old bare wood stairs, I could feel the grain with my bare feet. I was wearing old jeans and a white t-shirt and I was young. I realized it then as I walked. I realized also that the light drawing me at the bottom was flickering. A candle was burning in the cellar and it's shadows were many and motioned me forward.
I reached the bottom and there, among the cans of paint and nails, the old radio and typewriter, various tools, there sat a small table. The candle was in a dish on that table and my grandfather, whom I hadn't seen in many years, sat in a chair next to it. Rocking back and forth, he wore slippers and a gray robe imported from some asian country. He was eating grapes and offered me one. I took it and put it in my mouth, feeling it's smooth round shape before splitting it in half with my teeth, lengthwise. I savored the soft meat and sweet juice.
Then I smiled at him and he smiled back. "What are you doing here grandpa?" I asked, 'it's cold."
"I was waiting for you," he answered and I realized that I hadn't thought about him for a long time. I looked at his hair, thin and gray and parted at the side. His shoulders, broad and uneven. He seemed thicker than I remembered him being. Maybe younger perhaps as well, but death does that to people.
"You've been waiting a long time haven't you," I said. He nodded, smiling. I said, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," he said. I stood there in the cellar looking at him and felt sad. All the things he didn't see and wouldn't see. I wanted to thank him for everything he said to me and every wet kiss he gave me and the trains and breakfasts. I wanted to tell him that he was the reason for my passions in many ways and that I wanted nothing more than to read every word he ever wrote. I wanted to tell him how many lives I realized he touched and how I wanted to touch people that way. I looked at him and he looked at me and then he spoke: "I am proud of you Pieter. You wondered once to yourself if I would be proud of who you have become, and I am. I wanted to tell you that."
And then he was gone. I stood in the dark cellar by myself and I heard what sounded like raindrops. I looked out the small windows near the ceiling and realized that the world outside was on fire.

What if...

"I hear the divine"
August 2004

I hear the divine.
His raspy cough.
Emphysema, leukemia, and who knows what else.
I touch the divine.
His wrinkles and stretched skin.
Oily hair.
I see the divine.
The stains on the knees of his trousers.
The big toe poking out his torn sneakers.
The lice infested hair.
I smell the divine.
Piss and wine and rotting teeth.
The perfume of countless dumpsters.
I taste the divine.
The warm saliva that seeps out the glands in my mouth.
I breathe deeply off to the side.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Not the threat of tears but the threat of vomit.

"Life Passes"

"Life Passes"
September 2004

If you turn your head fast enough
the passing cars seem to
hold still for a moment
in suspended movement.
A boy discovers this and plays games;
traces the outlines of passing hills
with his fingertip,
left eye closed.
The world is outlines and images.
Shapes.
Movements frozen between periods
of thoughtless involvement in things not understood.
Not needing to be.
His father drives;
watches the lane dividers,
road signs, brake lights.
Life passes one mile marker at a time
and he wonders into the rearview mirror
when life stopped carrying him,
as he watches his son
squint out the window,
his finger slowly rising and falling.

Train rides....

"Trains and Memories"
March 2004

Long train rides through new countries
with rivers and fields and gothic cathedrals
I fall asleep to the low metallic rumble
and awake to a sharp hiss as we
go through a tunnel and I look up
smiling silenty at the girl I think
I now love this red haired girl
with those sharp blue beautiful eyes and
that smooth and sensitive soft white skin I
think I'm still so childish but with her
I'm so much more and feel so much
more like I'm changing but I don't know
how completely but it's good and it's permanent
her friend and mind be default is still sleeping
so we're alone in this crowded train just
staring at eachother smiling until she looks away
and I knew when I loved her
in Ireland in that Irish rain
that I thought should be green
but wasn't as I smoked alone
on a bench while she slept inside and
I wonder what will happen when we get back
and we've had this great new experience
together as I talk and try to remember
this trip with other friends a month later
in a crowded room later with pictures
and laughs and drinks and stories
and I find her and she smiles at me
trying but all I remember is that
Irish rain and how her red hair
looked wet and felt beautiful as I
brushed it back to see once again
those sharp blue eyes
and we smile at eachother
alone in this crowded train.

-Pieter

....interesting how things change so much in a year....but i guess poetry is sometimes a record of a life, the good and the bad...and that makes it beautiful.

Another poem...

My favorite season...

"She is Autumn"
August 2004

In the last days of Autumn
my heart would swell
with a song, a shape
a laugh or a dance.
In the leaves like rain
the rain like leaves
in the sky I viewed
so happily gray.
Gray with the rain that washed
away so happily the world's dirt,
the world's sweat,
the world's hurt...
About what's to come,
what's been done
and I laughed.
I sat.
I walked in the rain.
Through the woods
the gardens, the roads,
because they were beautiful
and she was and she is.
Autumn...
her kiss is the flutter of leaves.
Autumn and her sharp
crisp change.
With her coming sister
she begins the end
of a year, an age,
a life and it's song.

Not sure about this one anymore....too cheezy?

You were lost, or I was...

Where have you been child? While I have been here, in this filthy city. I looked for you but could not find you. I walked and prayed for your return. I crossed an entire country because I thought that maybe I had left you behind somewhere far away. Maybe on some previous journey. Or maybe I felt that if I left my worries you would find me, and we could move on together. I didn't know what drove you away or if I even needed you still. Maybe this was just a part of life's process, but it all happened so suddenly and expectedly. I had no choice but to look.
I realized later that I didn't drive you off. Leaving wasn't even a choice you made. You just didn't recognize me anymore and became lost yourself. I wept once, picturing you wandering these dirty dark streets alone. Looking for me. Maybe you would even follow me at times, thinking I resembled that man that you wanted to be. The man who once guarded and grew your hopes and dreams. After a while I lost you completely though, and you lost me.
But someone watched over you while I was away and we were separated and I am grateful for that. And when I was at my worst. When I had been wounded the deepest and realized that you were what I was missing, we were reunited and I finally realized who you were and why I needed you. You were wounded too I think because you are quieter and somehow sad in your own way. But you're my anchor in this stirred sea. My compass in this wilderness and I know that I can do nothing good without you and that the closer I am to being you, the better we both are. We can become who we were meant to be. Who we both dreamed of being.

Night thoughts...

If I sit here long enough will I feel the earth spin, shifting under my body? Will I feel the branches of the trees outside my window blowing in this night's Autumn breeze? Will I understand that the breeze, smooth against my cheek, is the flutter of some faraway bird or a butterfly's wings? The breath of a crying baby or the sigh of it's mother perhaps. Will I hear a child's vespers, whispered into the twinkling evening?
How far have these words traveled, to be heard or felt by me? Alone in this room. Alone with the shadows that seem to me to be the shadows of all lights. Representations, somehow, of everything bright. If I listen hard enough, will I hear you? Will I find your voice, your sound, among the sounds in the night's wind? The night's traffic and trains that i try my best to ignore?
Maybe your sound is there too though. Carried by those trains. I listen for it every night because I feel that it will help me find you sooner. I feel that maybe if I could hear for a moment the sound of your voice or your laugh, your own prayer for me, I would know better where to look. Where to find you among this broken rubble of the world we share. The world that is now still spinning, carrying me on my knees through space or time. Spinning in the hand of God I guess.
I used to look rather than listen in these nights. Look at the lights spread outside a different window. I would guess at which one was your light. Imagine that it shone brighter than the rest. Like some beacon and, if I stepped barefoot into the night, I could walk to it and find you. Under the night sky where we could stand for a while, spinning together.
I started this evening thinking about the night and, like most of my nights, it turned into yet another searching. I feel another poet's reverence for the night. I guess because my life mostly takes place there. Where I can think and live freely. May my reflections and longings lead me home and to you some day.

"A devouring"

Here is a poem I have been working on. I would appreciate feedback from anyone who reads it. Posting it here is a lot easier than emailing to various friends and family members.

"A Devouring"
October 2004

1.
Is there a word
in this language we share
that I could speak and express in full
my desire for you?
'Inhale' comes to mind.
For the way I want to inhale
each and every one of your exhales
simply because
there is a part of you
in each of them.
'Drink,' perhaps,
for the way I want to drink
every idea or passion of yours.
Every single thought
about life or love
or eternity.

2.
I could spend and entire day
drawing you.
Every curve and pore and hair,
and my charcoal lines
would give shape to your thighs,
your shoulders, your collarbone.
I would trace your lips to your hips
with my pencil
or my fingertips.
And if I finished the portrait
I would set it on fire
and watch your entire body,
from your toes
to the hair framing your face,
turn to ash and dust.
And I would smile because
the picture,
no matter how beautiful,
would always exist
more perfectly in my mind.

3.
There was that time
on the pier one evening,
when I almost touched your hair.
Orange light stretched our shadows,
soaked into our skin,
and I imagined
that this was how i wanted you.
Soaking into my skin.
Seeping into my pores.
I wanted every word
that poured from your throat
like crisp liquid,
and the ponderings behind them,
to pour into mine.
Into me.
Become mine and become me.

4.
My history with you
has been a history of hunger.
A desire to consume
but not destroy.
A sort of merging
or intersecting maybe.
The way I would breathe you,
The way I would paint you,
Or swallow or swim
in you or with you,
is a type of devouring.
And love, I guess,
is a devouring.

-Pieter Lars

Hearts and Hands?

I have this image burned in my mind of this person, barely distinguishable as a woman, sitting on an empty doorstep in Berlin. She had bandages and cloths wrapped around her feet and her shins were bare. The skin covered in sores and blisters. Peeling and cracked. I thought for a moment as I stared that perhaps this was what leprosy looks like. She looked at me and said something (or wailed it really) in Turkish. I looked at her helplessly and shrugged because i couldn't think of a single think i could do for her. And i walked away.
After a few yards, I looked back and watched her as one person after another passed her. Those that noticed her recoiled as I did. My heart broke as i watched her wailing, holding out her hands. I don't know if she wanted money or healing or just a kind word. Her face was frozen in an expression of such complete sadness. As if she had wept for so many years that not only had her tears dried, but her face had taken that mournful shape permanently.
I figured she was born in the wrong time. A time when not only would the passing people be helpless to heal her, but wouldn't even care. Could I have sat with her and tried to pass some peace to her? A peace that I didn't fully feel myself even if i could have expressed it. I could have given her some change but it just seemed so trite and meaningless. I wondered how long she had sat there and if anybody even knew who she was. Sure my heart went out to her, but my hand didn't and that breaks me over and over.
This isn't some motivational blog to go out and help the homeless. I'd be the first to need it if it was. I guess I'm just trying to make sense of this strange incident that I cannot seem to forget. I wrestle with this feeling of complete helplessness but also the conviction that I should have done something for the poor lady. These sort of people were the exact people that Christ and his disciples healed and we're supposed to have that same kind of faith? Sounds all good in theory but, confronted with a living example of that kind of deep hurting, I shrank away like everyone else that passed her. Afraid i would contract the same disease she obviously had. Or maybe I just didn't want to smell her. I don't know. The point for me isn't what specifically stopped me from reaching out my hand. It's that I barely even considered stopping.
I'm wrestling with that part of me that is afraid of faith and stepping out. Hope this all makes sense.