Ice Wine

A slow leak at first as you leaned on the door.

Opening out into a stark new world.....

These mountains unfamiliar, the feeling is strange,

Someone take me into a safe place.....

So the story goes,

like starlit ambrosia

sweet ice wine

in the comfort of your walls

you will be just fine

you will be just fine…..

You left me alone in a house by the river

It was cold up there, my life was a shiver

I brought open heart, and you took it, your toll

Now I know, baby,

how cold….

how cold....

how cold those northern winds blow.

Across frozen tarmac, I boarded the plane,

turmoil inside guided steady gate,

The only way to walk and not to shake,

Was to breath, following thought, following grace, grant me grace!

Sorrow; it raked its claws thru my life

And I took flight, into the unknown night.

Why we chose what was chosen, I’ll never know

Sometimes this is just the way that we grow...

So the story goes,

like starlit ambrosia

sweet ice wine

in the comfort of your walls

you will be just fine

you will be just fine…..

so now, two people, and two dirty cups,

wash it out, and fill it up,

I'll toast to the passing!

drink it down as you pass it round,

the sweetness is gone from the grapes this year....

bitter brew brewing in this town,

just who is doing what has yet to go down...

bitter brews, drunken late with haste,

stumbling home waste, I can see your face in all my emptyness...

wet morning dew

I can't, but remember that I miss you....

bitter, it destroys the taste, but cuts the mind

clearing up thoughts to be undermined, combined, intertwined.

If we kept at it, we'd be doing just fine...

But anyways,

If you keep at it, you'll do just fine....

just keep in mind...

too hot, too long, runs out of steam

an empty kettle awaiting a scream

so the story goes,

like starlit ambrosia

sweet ice wine

in the comfort of your walls

you will be just fine

you will be just fine

I wished you here,

and you wished me well

the truth in those words

and down love fell

down, down, down, love fell,

down, down, down love fell.

Letters

i have written you many,

at night,

dim light,

light of the moon,

not hurried, not sullen,

contemplative,

i swoon.

i write them in pencil,

in case i mistake.

i write them in sweet,

i write them in gray.

a silhouette of all that i feel

i yield,

and let it become real...

i move it thru my hand....

a scratch on the pad,

a memory, a vision,

a thought that i had

and then like an itch

in one foul stroke

i crumble it up,

all that i wrote

i wanted to tell you

about the wind,

and the way it caresses

so many things....

and it reminds me of a way late, late at night

before the dew cracks

and thoughts of night,

to run my hands down the small of your back....

alas....

my hand stops on the page...

and crumbles it up,

to send it away...

each scribbled word,

each uttered ideal.

each shattered world,

each humble appeal.

and lights it on fire,

like a pine-bough in the night,

all faces revealed,

in the flaring of light.

un-uttered, un-heard.

i lost every word,

with the light of a match...

everything i said, burned...

each fumbled sentence revealing a sweetness;

i could not let you catch.

cause i never could send

a thing that i wrote.

so i set them on fire.

each individual note.

Impact

Love hurts.

creating imbalance slowly

the wind shifts

and separation catches my jacket

pulling me back like a heavy gust

i scream, and nothing

comes out

drowned by the wind

i can only see your back

as you disappear into the storm.

on a shallow bank of a river

i sit, poking my stick at the tendrils of grass underneath the moving water

i have been sad for weeks now

thinking about the cut of your shoulders

as you walked away

what did you mean, wearing that worn, brown jacket?

now, the sadness has turned to a dull ache

something deep underneath the ground

buried, but occasionally like a geyser

spitting out things

that are surprising

in their explosiveness

the horizon steals my breath

i watch the lightning

screaming at the clouds

turbulent air clears my head

as i press my back against the warm boulder

the air is growing cooler now

as the pressure drops and the storm rolls in

many small toads are in the grasses

and i must be careful not to step on their delicate bodies

in this moment i think of you and wonder what you are seeing

the longing stays even into this thunderous moment...

a long highway presses the car seat into my back

like fog the night rolls on across this nevada highway

there are no lights

no music

the tires speed across bumps and pockmarks

my right arm on the wheel as i lean against the car door going 80

in my own spaceship of metal, plastic and glass

thinking about nothing, everything

the meaning of stars,

alone,

with all that space pressing down on them...

do they long for impact?

or do they know somehow that it is inevitable that they will run into another star someday exploding across time, and lives, fucking up universes in passionate delight as they merge effortlessly with their destinies....

and at the end of this thought i miss you.

like the sun misses the inevitable.

Sputter, Go getter

Your shadow like a gutter,

I tripped and stuttered,

and there we were, fallen in somethin'

obscured by each other.

I heard you sputter, but it was poison for another lover,

So we fell, and maybe love hovered,

but it wasn't love, lover.

It was something more deranged and grey,

a little thicker, and sicker

like corn syrup on cold pancakes,

awakes the pain, like a stain in every single ex-change.

Blame the blame, like cotton in the rain

like cold in pain, a bomb on the plane,

enough to make the whole fuckin' world go insane.

Pouring sand thru hands that had other plans, man.

Face fading, time evading, something caving in, and

We were naive to even begin, and

to thinks its a thing when it ain't no thing, man.

Embraced disgrace, misplaced the way you play the game,

but it's all really the same game played, stalemate,

Sometimes two people can never see each other's real face...

Forever, never knowing better,

I know you woulda let her

you've always been a go getter...

F-16 fighter pilot, Chicken Hawk talks about Wet Republic, Maxim, and Hitting Your Target! Bam!

Tonight, I sat down with F-16 fighter pilot, Brett Rawald aka ChickenHawk, to discuss his epic adventures in Vegas with Maxim Models and How to Hit a Target with a well aimed Missile...

Here is the Video :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAcuRtzBygg

Rarrrrr!!!!

Like Bliss

I lay in bed

drifting to sleep,

dream of your hands

caressing me.

You lay behind,

my soft curves,

a gentle kiss,

like bliss, slips into this....




The night grows long, slow and deep

some how we do not manage sleep,

window's open, fresh sea air.....

breathing life without a care,

I whisper something in your ear,

you reach out and draw me near....

the whole caress begins again,

from passion to dreams, to succulent screams

forget the now, the how,

live the when this feeling begins...

instead of chasing futures round the bend,

you find desire within two hands,

a man of men, knows the place,

where ecstasy and beauty embrace,

and decides just where to bury his face...

oh pass the glass, lover dear

fill it with wine, or if out, with beer!

i'll share with you, and we will drink it clear,

until i'm done blushing,

and whisper...

"oh lover boy, come over here...."

Now it's my turn to raise the tides,

the current swirls and passion's high,

a lovely whirlpool gives swift rise,

to my lover's delight
and it's his turn to call out to the night...

an echo across the sea, sweet moonlight

something is feeling more than right...

rise and swell,

ring your bell,

tell your tale,

of two young lovers on the sea at night.

enjoying every lovers delight,

free to drift in ecstasy,

oh rising waves, carry me....

The Sea is Calling the New Day!!

The morning wakes me from painful visions,

Of a time, and a way that still haunts my mind,

when my dreams relax and let the things in the corners crawl out.

He was like a spider, and still the web pulls on me every now and again.

But on my horizon is a different ship,

Zen lightness meets intricate curiosity,

and I tell the script writer to send me something epic this time

Someone who melts the sunlight in his hand and offers a diamond,

Delightful!

Who plays with rainbows just to see what they are made of...

Who cuts you off at the pass to share a great story and sweet wine

Someone who seizes time, by will of mind, shares the dance and dances the sea,

and swiftly sails away with me...

and laughs all the while I set myself free!!!

The Muse's Passing

The muse,

runs and stumbles,

as I overtake her,

I find that she has sunken into the ground,

death has stolen her light,

and empty fallen eye sockets

stare back.

I remember how she danced in me;

carrying my feet,

the full spirited thrusts of passionate movement,

all living within,

a fire burned.

daring the world to think that it could steal that light away...

daring everything with the vibrancy of soul shining...

and now I sigh,

and check my pocketbook,

wondering if today has been a good day.

so she lies there, a limp, dead, rag-doll,

resting on cold, dry ground.

waiting for me to exhale my passion,

into her dry-ing and broken shell

but, I have nothing.

I lack even the desire to be carried by such waves

moved to such heights,

and plunged to such deep, cold valleys.

I have been exhausted.

I have been exploited.

I have been embraced, carried so high

and dropped so swiftly

that I became that empty rag-doll-of-death-eye-sockets-staring.

tired, letting the earth carry me,

eat me, I do not care;

for the spirit has gone out of me for so long...

that the only art

that comes to me

speaks of the muse's passing.

of her absence

of the resounding emptiness left after she held residence here for so damn long.

the silence echoes off of the inside of my head,

a spider web,

that every thought presses against in the dark,

like a thread in the night on a naked leg, I cringe

remembering what this mind used to be like,

when passion was a warm cushion for each inspired thought,

that bounced around,

and leaped into flight,

soft young wings meeting the cool blue night.

now it is just broken cobwebs and silence.

Many Shadows of Ourselves...

This is from www.zaporacle.com, written by Jonathan Zap :

Aspects of the Self

text and photo © Jonathan Zap 355 We tend to think of ourselves as a single coherent personality, and expect the other to be a single coherent personality as well. But a single human being can support many personalities. The dramatic example is Multiple Personality Disorder, which is extremely rare. The familiar example, which is anything but rare, is how different we or the other can think, feel or act based on different moods and outer circumstances. A human being is almost always an aggregate of subpersonalities, and each of these personalities calls themselves "I" when they take over. One of the principle goals of individuation is to build up a central witness personality that is aware of the subpersonalities, that communicates and empathizes with all of them but doesn't allow any of them to rule unnoticed. A powerful way to build up the witness and reduce fragmentation is to listen attentively to the various voices that speak in your head. Silent meditation is one way to sharpen awareness of the inner voices, but even more effective is mindfulness throughout your day on the revolving cast of inner voices/subpersonalities. Throughout the day there is an almost continual soundtrack, a voiceover monologue (to use a movie analogy), and the voiceover is usually in your native language. If you're honest with yourself you'll notice that the voiceover monologue is not controlled by a single personality. Listen to both the content of what the inner voices say and also the tone in which they speak. I might, for example, hear a needy, childish voice in my head say, "I want that!" Another voice that sounds like an anxious and irritated parent says,"You know you're not supposed to have that." Another voice sounds like a gruff pirate and says, "Aaargh, what the hell, just grab for it!" Still another voice has a wheedling tone and says,"I really shouldn't, but just this once, and starting tomorrow I won't ever again," and so forth. Similarly, different drives within us can personify into inner characters that become the voices of those drives.At first glance the shadows in the photograph look like two different people, but actually they are shadows of a single mannequin created by two track lights pointed at different angles. One of the essential purposes of an oracle is to act as a mirror of the psyche and confront the inquirer with various aspects of themselves. It takes a great deal of moral courage to be willing to face the multiplicity of selves operating within us. Depending on the position of this card, it could mean that this is a propitious time to strengthen your central witness personality and/or a need to be more aware of the many sides of others. A good rule of thumb with relationships is to realize that if you don't know someone's shadow side, then you don't know the person. Idealization is a state of dangerous blindness that purposefully overlooks various subpersonalities in the other to form a unified but false picture of them. For example, a romantically infatuated person thinks of the beloved as an angel, or a guru-worshiping person thinks of the guru as a god. Such idealizations are likely to turn into equal and opposite states of bitter disillusionment as they inevitably discover that the idol has feet of clay. Be wary about listening to (or becoming) inner voices that are not calm and compassionate. The same holds true interpersonally. You may have to listen to voices that are carping, anxious, wheedling, self-pitying, angry and so forth, but listen to them with calm, compassionate understanding. This empathy may gain you influence over the subpersonality (or the outer person) and it will certainly limit how much those uncentered voices can influence you. Thomas Jefferson said, "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance." The real freedom is free will, and free will requires eternal vigilance with our inner process.

A Blossom

soft flowers,

gently yield a fragrance of delicacy

when i walk into the slightly too warm room

i remember

how they came to be

in the desert heat, a blossom

it reminds me of the heart

opening;

yielding to it's nature

an embrace,

a petal,

my smile.

Sweet Fruits

He had come to her again, bringing strawberries and mangoes. So sweet on your tongue, he said, if you will just try, you will see.

She held up her hand impatiently, her other hand holding the phone to her ear. Couldn't he understand that she was busy? There was so many things this week pressing on her. A deal had gone bad, equipment needed to be sold, employees reprimanded. She had no time for fruit!!

He stood there watching her, swirling around her center, caught in the whirlwind. Not seeing, he thought. She doesn't see. She is looking for the water while running circles around the pool.

All he wanted to do was throw her in. Toss her in the cool water, and see her wake up to her life, wake up and breath and taste the sweet fruits. It really troubled him, as he saw her struggle so. Every little thing and big thing she encountered, she identified her whole sense of self to the outcome. Every win, her sense of self soared, every loose, she fell.

She was chasing herself around and around. But she hadn't always done that. He remembered days, the best days they had ever had, where she had allowed herself to just be present, engaged with the moment, alive. She often spoke of these moments, moments when two people became more alive by merging their universes, sharing by being present, enjoying the simplicity of holding hands.

For her, it had been an accidental stumble into the world of tantric practices. For him, he had been gently guiding her there. He wanted to feel her feeling the sun on her face. He knew when she tuned in, he could sense when she arrived. She noticed it too, but her vision of it was with hindsight. She would notice, as one looking over her shoulder at a magnificent palace, that something amazing had happened behind her. She would remark about it, not realizing that this very moment awaited them, this very moment embraced them. Embrace it back, baby!! He wanted to yell to her!! Join me, yield your grasping, my love! But she thought somehow, that to yield your grasping would be to yield her success. And her pursuits would carry her mind tumbling forward, and she would be lost to him again.

So he came by her office today. A simple gesture. He wanted to say, take a moment with me, it is only one moment. Be still, eat these fruits, and remember yourself. Just be. The world will be there waiting for you. Instead, he just smiled, and said, I brought you these.

I already ate, and I have deadlines, deadlines, deadlines, and a meeting in an hour. You enjoy them for me, she said over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

He sat down in her office. All of a sudden it was very cool, and empty. Her heard the hum of the flourescent lighting, the soft whir of slightly aged computers as they stumble thru information. The stillness left in her absence.

He wondered why he tried with this one so much. He sat down in her chair, and leaned back, closing his eyes, and looking for answers. Why this one woman? There were so many others, but he wanted this one to find a way thru it all. He knew she could find herself, he knew she was capable. She had felt it, in those moments when their worlds touched. Nervous systems aligned, they had become more than themselves at times. She was so hard, coming so close, and always turning at the last minute.

Baby girl, he would say. Just pause. Stop. You are missing your life.

I know I am missing my life she said, I have all this work to do, and then I will be free to enjoy things.

He thought to tell her that now was the only moment you could be free, but he knew she would interpret that wrong, as if being free meant shirking your duties, not working.

What he meant to tell her, was that being free, being present, finding truth in every moment was a beautiful dance. He wanted to tell her to let the weight of the world be looser on her shoulders. Be in the world, but not of it. See yourself in your life as you would watch an actor moving across a movie screen. Remove your identification of yourself, to yourself. But these were only words indicating something, and could not replace understanding.

He thought she wouldn't hear him, and if she did hear him, she would misunderstand.

So he leaned back further in her big chair, and tried to see the world thru her eyes. They had decided to stop dating before he could begin instructing her in tantra. But he had channeled it into their lives together whenever he could. He knew she felt it, the way the world, this life is a living breathing form where everything is possible.

I can't deal with everything at once, she exploded the other day. It's too much!! I am backed into a corner.

He wanted to tell her how to shift her awareness, how to move the walls of that room she was in, how to tear them down. It was a subtle kind of letting go, the very opposite of throwing everything away. But he could only remain silent, because he had once been there.

The dark night of the soul was setting in in her life. And that was what it felt like.

He remembered how it went for him. He felt like he was sitting on the edge the universe, swaying in the darkness as waves of pain and confusion washed over him. Everything that had brought him solace and respite had been made dirty, unclean, and repulsive. He could no longer hold onto anything. The light had been obscured, the world no longer had order, no longer made sense. He was blind, he had no meaning, nothing drove him forward, everything he tried to grasp, to identify with, slipped away. He was nothing, he was no one. He had been there for eternity.

Struggling with every demon, every thing he had ever thought to be true, every person he had spoken to in untruth, unclarity, arrogance, deceit. It was all there, washing over him in inescapable waves.

Then one day, it had stopped. He was clean. He recognized one tiny thing about the world, his toes sinking into soft grass, sunlight graced his cheeks. His inner world was silent. Something new had taken root in his soul. Something that would continue to grow until the end of his life.

Amazing grace,

How sweet the sound,

that saves a wretch like me.

I once was lost

and now am found

I was blind

but now I see.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iT88jBAoVIM

He hoped one day she would join him, when they still had some life to live together, before it was too late, before the world tore them apart for not seizing this precious opportunity. Our lives are so short, so short. Each moment yet eternity held.

He placed the fruits on her desk, knowing they would make the room fragrant, and maybe she would eat them.

He hoped they wouldn't just end up in the trash.

So it goes.

Angel Piss

love was an angel pissing on my tongue

sweet, but still angel piss i guess.

i constantly found myself wondering if love was a good thing.

is angel piss good?

a broken shadow, hovering inside yourself

in spite of all your delusion

a little bit of the light was beginning to peak thru the cracks

and you were tentatively liking this...

but what would you do with this brave new world?

would you let it blossom inside you?

or would it be like a shattered mirror?

little cracked pieces of fractured self reflection?

i listened and moved on,

finding my groove to the tap, tap, tap of startled rooftops,

here san francisco rained as i tossed on my bed and thought

of the undoing

how things come apart

a badly woven tapestry of misunderstanding

and soaring devotion that just looked sickly

hanging there on a wall of accusations.

hey, do you remember me?

i'm the one who didn't kick you when you were down

i'm the one who picked you up, and dusted off your corduroy teddy bear

making sure you had a friend even though you didn't know it

so why do you cut and run ?

why do you always choose to leave me before the most important conversation that could change everything?

dust devils and sand castles swirl you away.

chasing, chasing, chasing.

running, running, running,

when it had already been found.

Miseducation and the Desire for Majesty....

Listen to this as you read, please : "Forgive Them Father" Lauren Hill

Another round we go...

Another hand clasped, and then let go.

So many times in this life, I have found myself looking for reciprocity in the wrong places. I find someone I believe I have a connection with, and see them as having qualities that I desire them to have. How misleading our ideas can be.

This is projection. The beam of our conciousness, focus and release thru our system of ideas. I take my vision of the world and superimpose it on the screen of the lives of people I meet. I want to see a certain kind of movie, so in the case of friendship, or other relationship, I will often project onto the other person's actions, seeking the virtues I wish to see. Becoming immersed in the idea of a perfect friendship, or the idea that this is "the one."

Bullshit. It is projection, in all its delight, dedication, notion, and upheaval. Simple, add some chemistry, and *look* isn't he dreamy? I imagine he is Wesley from the Princess Bride.

But, alas, be is a common sinner. Some friends are normal, fearful humans, not the brave archers, poets, scholars I wish them to be. They exist as a pool of well meaning, ranting drunkards, who piece together stories, interwoven with morals and drugs and somehow, at a younger age, I could almost see them as great men.

No longer it sticks. I can't buy the lie, the illusion, the story. No longer is my breath taken away by whispers of promises. I have heard too much, watched it unfold into nothing but bitterness and broken hope.

So we come back to my step by step, the learning of how to deal with those who would use my love and compassion as a tool to gain what they want from me.

So far, I have just been fantasizing, but soon this fails me.....

The next step in this story is the one where I go wrong.

Invariably, the other's actions or words fall out of alignment with how a person of virtue should act.

And what do I do?

I smooth it over in my mind, wrecked and exasperated by my need to see goodness in those around me. This pattern continues until the universe brings me, in no uncertain terms, to the realization that it was all my mind's projection onto the other, and had nothing to do with that person.

What is this?

What I perceived had nothing to do with the actuality of that individual. It had everything to do with my own need to see what I wish to see, to feel beauty inside me, to experience majesty in my relationships....

You see, I really want to be surrounded by brave, kind and intelligent humans. As much as I do not want to face this fact, most people are cowards by nature, ruthlessly going after what, I do not know, but they are convinced it is worth their very souls. They will do anything to save face, hiding their shadows, lying to themselves, and the world around them. But what do they gain?

Hungry ghosts, mouths small, bellies big, never fulfilled, always searching, never realizing that their choices only take them further, and further from the very thing that could feed their souls.

The question I always wonder, is can they ever see the inner truth? Can they ever see past the web of inner lies and justification that they have built around them? I know not. I have never seen it. Maybe someday. Maybe a liar will burst free of the web of lies. But only thru the practice of inner virtue, and righteous action.

I have never understood what the point of this charade is. Why carry on so?

True conciousness exists as a running dialog between you, and creator. Other people are here to take part in this creation.

So why live lies? Why breath lies?

Why not learn to love? Be truly free, in heart and mind, and learn to embrace the kindness, virtue, passion, and depth that is only available to those who embrace life. Those who embrace their true inner nature.

Who do you think you are fooling?

A wonderful woman has graced us with some insight :

Lauren Hill said it best, in the Miseducation of Lauren Hill, the song "Forgive Them Father"

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us
Although them again we will never, never, never trust...

"It took me a little while to discover
Wolves in sheep coats who pretend to be lovers
Men who lack conscience will even lie to themselves, to themselves
A friend once said, and I found to be true
That everyday people, they lie to God too
So what makes you think, that they won't lie to you"

to hear the song...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTQL42onK08

For full lyrics, go here...http://www.lyricstime.com/lauryn-hill-forgive-them-father-lyrics.html

And she spoke such truth. She was so young to realize so much.

How much do we want to believe these false stories, motivated by twisted desires? We imagine these liars to be imbued with all the things we hold dear, cherish and live for, and they use our kindness, our compassion, our love against us to gain what they want.

I am astounded at my lack of own judgement which is often overwhelmed by my desire to beleive, to see virtue and goodness in those that would use me and throw me away, fodder to cut their teeth on.

I pray, I pray, that I can see them before they get too close.

And I pray that every liar is found by the universe, bringing them exactly what they deserve, exposure, no respite, face to face with the truth that they think they can hide from.

May everyone of you be thrown into the purging fire that is the dark night of the soul.

So mote it be.

Swept Away....

i feel asleep with the light on,

i awoke and it was dark

but i knew something was amiss.

i could see the glow as you frantically checked your phone

and tried to hide the checking

how strange the things we try to hide end up revealing that there was something to hide.

how do you like that?

it was an unsung sunday

callous with misgivings

bringing information to a point of fulfillment

already fulfilled she said, over her shoulder as she turned away

so there is nothing more to do!

the garden moves on,

the season's change brings new seeds,

an empty husk that shakes in the wind

has no power

but to make noise,

like a death rattle,

after an entire season's turn,

and all that exists from such sweet blossoms

is the shaking of an empty husk.

how do you like that?

so we let go of that season,

proper endings

become welcome greetings, seeding, being,

and love lifts us round again like the hands of children swinging streamers round the may pole,

the woven garland around an upright shaft,

round, round, may this one fly and not hit the ground!!

ash to ash!

we all fall down.

so she listened as that one crow tried to clear his voice

he was calling to her, to the world

to the sway of the garden on this new day

all shall be swept away.... swept away

The Crossroads

She put her hand in her leather jacket pocket. There was sand inside the worn cloth, and tiny shells from the beach. The beach seemed like lifetimes ago. Another person, another woman, had lived that day. That woman had been carefree and tumbling forward towards something sweet and grand. She had been worried about the wind uncurling her sprayed hair, and the sun ruining her complexion.

She placed one foot in front of the other. It was a long road, thru fields of waving grass. Each blade shuddered as the wind tickled it, whispering in a soft and reedy voice.

How circumstance had changed everything.

Her ears were open now, and could hear this subtle chorus. Her soul had been ripped free of its own noise, and now that she was quiet inside, the world was loud and full of meaning.

What answers could I really hope for? Hope was something that other woman had entertained. Now, I just place one foot in front of the other, and listen to the prairie. The flat road crunched under her feet. Mostly she walked on fine dirt, the gravel having long since dissipated from the lack of upkeep. Very few people found themselves on this road. Most just trickled their lives away, trifling distractions leading them away from the finality of a true decision.

She could see the Crossroads ahead. Beyond it was a big storm, rolling low and slow down the prairie. She could smell the moisture, as it mixed with pressure, dust and ozone. The air crackled, the wind panted, slight gusts cutting into the moments of still, low hanging air.

She knew this meant that he was coming. The storm, the pressure, the tension she felt trying to grab hold of her. Her attention fell to the simple sound her body made as it moved forward, this step, then that step.

There is no right answer. Destiny meets free will, and choice spreads out in every direction. Choice meets you at the crossroads. She knew how the crossroads worked. Once you began approaching it, you had better look deep into your heart. There was only this one time to decide, and then life would move forward down its path, enveloping you in the chorus of your new life. But that new life would never hold these choices again.

So she listened to her heart. She let the little girl bubble up, a quick rapture of glee in the face of a cold, hard road. How we become fractured, she thought as she inhaled the heavy air. Different pieces of me, all there, but split apart, light thru a prism.

And then she thought of him. When it was simple, on that beach. It was a gentle laughter she remembered. A simple feeling. There was no choice, just a natural movement forward between them. He laughed, she laughed. And they ate, and drank, and looked forward to a naïve and bright future.

A sigh slipped out. For today was a different day. Time had passed, and things had been unveiled. No more was it simple and natural and obvious. Now life was heavy with decisions, skepticism, doubt, fear, self-loathing and a storm was coming.

She could see his silhouette walking ahead of the gathering storm. Dust devils swirled around him. He was wearing a trench coat, which seemed odd, out of place for some reason. She found herself wondering if this was the same man, or if he had hired someone to take his place.

It was a strange thought, and made no sense. Of course he had to come, himself. That was the way this always worked. Even if he was unaware, and didn’t see the crossroads, he still had to make his own choice.

Her stomach churned, she knew that the decision was his first, and she didn’t like that. She worried that he would make the wrong one, and this chance would slip away, down different paths, different lifetimes. Her choice would come after his.

It wasn’t very far now. The plains were flat, and distance was longer than it seemed, but she could see his shoulders shrugging forward in determination with each swinging stride. The lighting struck out at the clouds, sending fingers of electricity into the looming bellows.

She tried to stop walking, slowing her feet in smaller increments, a sad foreboding stalling her will. Time would not let her stop, and her feet had a momentum of their own. Get it over with, they seemed to say.

“But I feel like that storm, deep in my soul, roiling and tumbling towards oblivion!”

“It won’t be as bad as it seems,” her feet whispered. “At the very least, this will all be over soon.”

These words did not help. The crossroads was a place for dead bodies, it seemed. This was the place they hung people, where you died for your sins. This was not a place of forgiveness, this was a place where life was forever altered, and everything could be lost.

With this thought, she could smell the sweet, sick odor of death. She knew the bodies of the unforgiven lay here, somewhere hidden in the thick prairie grasses. She knew their souls had been ripped from life, and sent down a new road. Bodies left behind.

Many people were nothing but ghosts after coming here. Anyone could become a corpse, leaving this moment separated from all that they were, and all that they had dreamed of being. Forever to wander a hungry ghost lost in this barren prairie.

Choices. Everything came down to that one moment.

Out of the sickness, and the death, the wind, and out of her fear, she stepped into the place where lines of life intersected.

He had arrived before her.

He stood in the crossroads, his trench coat snapping in gusts of air.

The world took a big inhale.

She tasted rust.

“So…?” she said looking into the shadows that were his face.

He looked at her; he seemed to be distilling every ounce of intensity he had into his words.

“You are an amazing person, profound, you have touched me in ways that no one has ever touched me.”

In the distance behind him she saw scenes of tenderness take shape out of the rolling storm clouds. The dark red-green hue of electrified water vapor formed a gentle caress. Yet, one had the feeling of a goodbye, of something growing distant and small. She felt a coldness begin to settle in her heart, a tightness, as if she was bracing herself. She let this pass, determined to form no resistance to the truth that came out here.

The shadows on his face took a deeper hue, and his eyes flashed, as if he was feeling the very apparition she saw in the turbulent storm front behind him.

“You know I didn’t come here for you to tell me what I am. I came here for you to tell me what is in your heart.” She took a deep inhale, and steadied her gaze on the shifting shadows that his face had become. She noticed the gusts of wind swirling around them, stealing the heat from against her body. Inside she felt a strange numbness, and waves of heat and nausea. Her body was affected by this interaction like a seasick person. She could already feel her spirit loosening and her body welcoming separation like a corpse lost at sea.

She quickened her resolve, and tasted the blood where she was biting her lip.

“We will always be friends. Right now I am overwhelmed with everything.”

When his words found her ears, her mind remembered every light hearted promise, suddenly knowing that hers had been real, and his had been nothing but utterances of passion, beautiful words with no real meaning. It is a pity, she thought, that people think pretty words are poetry. Only a true poet knows, that real poetry is soaked in meaning, sweet bread pudding made from the juicy flavor of sugar and spice. But flowery words cannot unlock the soul, if anything they do nothing but mislead the listener into confusion.

It was a strange thought, that hung in the air around her head, hung in between them like a veil. She noticed his lips were moving, and that he was saying something. She turned her attention to the jargon falling out of his mouth, already realizing the truth without needing to hear the confusion of his language.

She only needed one answer from the lips of this shadowed man. This man that had once been her lover, and her dream, what she thought was her destiny. She could see that he was so lost within his inner worlds of perceived pain, sorrow and distraction. She could not reach him thru his own shadow.

So it is I that must instigate the killing, it is I that must sacrifice this body at the Crossroads. Or he will continue to keep us in the murk of limbo and indecision.

So she drew back the arrow, and felt the string grow taunt in her bruised hands.

“Tell me one thing. Underneath all of your swirling pain and confusion, underneath all the stormy turbulence, the fear, the indecision, underneath all of your humanity, look to your heart, and tell me, are you in love with me?”

His face froze as if in shock, and the shadows drew back as one lone sunbeam landed on both of them. Illuminated, standing in the Crossroads, her hand poised for the execution.

The wind howled, all around them the grass trembled, but right where they stood, the air was still and dead. They were in the eye of the storm.

He looked at her, then his eyes fell to the ground, and he seemed surprised as the words tumbled from his mouth.

“No.”

She let the arrow fly, and it sunk deep into the chest, stilling the heart's last protest, ripping the veins open. The chest cavity filled with blood, and a corpse was born. A spirit set free.

The sunbeam hovered for just a moment longer, as the final breath was exhausted and a spirit began its ascent to the sky gods.

The two stood there, and looked at the dead body of what could have been. He was shaking slightly, and she realized he hadn’t fully understood what happened here at the Crossroads. She felt calm. Dead calm. Her response had been water running down hill, the natural movement of releasing her hand, and releasing the spirit from what had become a sick body.

He reached out to touch her hand, just as she leaned down to clean up the mess. She grabbed the corpse by the ankles and began dragging it towards the tall prairie grasses. The wind had kicked back up, the eye of the storm had moved on, and rain was beginning to fall. Now she understood why he had come wearing the trench coat. It was made of oilcloth.

The body was surprisingly light, now that it had been released of its burden of life. She easily tossed it into the grass, where it was swallowed up like a penny dropped into a mud puddle. She stood there as she watched it disappear, all her emotions receding. Rain ran down the back of her neck, underneath the collar of her jacket. She could taste the dirt mixing in her mouth with the blood from her lip. It was gritty, and flavored like rust.

She heard his footsteps approaching her, so she turned. The shadows no longer played on his face. She could see his tears had blended with the rain. Falling water.

“I must be going now. Look behind you.” She gestured to the castles rising up in the distance, great minarets lifting out of the dust and storm.

His attention was immediately pulled away, to the shining castles, to the promise of greatness, acquisition and power that they symbolized.He began walking without even noticing that he had forgotten to say whatever he had meant to say to her.

So it goes.

She watch as his form walked away, the jaunty excited steps moving his shoulders up and down, wrapped in the oilcloth trench coat. She wondered if what he chased was real, or just a mirage that bubbled up out of the dust and confusion of life. For his sake she hoped he found something real.

It is what it is.

She chuckled as she remembered the day she had first heard that saying.

One foot in front of the other, she walked down the prairie road. The storm had stayed just ahead of him, and her direction was clear. The grasses were still, yet she could hear their slightest whispers, and it truly sounded like reedy bells ringing hallelujah.

A swallow dove in front of her, lifting her gaze with the arch of its swoop. Overhead was a beautiful rainbow sitting in the last shimmering air-born droplets. Lifted out of life as it is, unfolding out of the storm that was, and lighting her path as she walked alone thru the desolate prairie.

A Solitary Universe

Today slipped into yesterday in my mind. Outside, the world was in a slight haze, as light bounced around and off of the moisture in the air.

I longed for something I couldn't place. An intangible feeling that I was missing a key ingredient in my happiness. Had it slipped away and escaped even my memory?

What did I long for? I've learned that longing for the companionship of another was an empty road filled with the distractions of projections. How we box ourselves in, constraining what we would be for the subtle approval of our chosen mate. Only to find ourselves single again, and more confused about who we are, and who we want to be, confused by the voices of that other who we allowed so much power over our inner landscape.

sigh.

But those relationships did act as quite a catalyst for self revolution. The merging of two universes allowed for a fresh exchange that could only happen when the walls came down, the guards took a nap, and the reigning king and queen played like children in the streets of their combined, brave new world.

Truthfully, we never learn to stay away from this universe combining. We fortify our towers and walls with the best defenses and train our minds with the wisest strategy, and still the day comes when another human, a shining world of intrigue and virtue marches thru our walls.

And with beautiful voice, the correctly placed harmony to our own sound, this human would melt the battlements, waltzing inside and rearrange the furnishings, tapestries, and rugs usually unaware of how much effort we had invested in keeping our universe protected from such change.

And we love every moment of the imbalance that takes our world by storm. In little ways we concede and yield space, in little ways we change and worry about our looks and behavoir, about our virtue, what was once a solid surety becomes a subtle insecurity as we begin to care for the approval of this new being. Our sense of self becomes entangled in their sense of our self.

This is where the potential for inner devastation begins. Our center, our balance point, becomes pulled of center by the proximity of this other being, and strangely, it is this magnetic pull that keeps the world moving forward. The proximity of the earth, the moon and the sun to each other create orbits of influence, and a solar system is born.

So it goes.

We seemingly cannot escape recreating in our own lives the macrocosmic world we float around inside of, but what we can do is try to be aware of the virtue of the human that we may become entangled with in this cosmic dance.

And practice keeping our own gravitational center in alignment with our inner nature thru meditation and other self affirming practices.

The world outside my window is still hazy, and tranquil, and as usual, something is missing. Maybe I am craving the thrill of imbalance, the glory of the uphill ride as I am swept away, higher and higher in giggling exctasy, only to have everything fall out from under me as i sail towards the valley floor.

She

He slipped in the door, carefully, quietly turning the latch. His breath reeked of whiskey and those cheap, skinny cigars that men smoke when they don't want to commit the time and money to a real cigar.

It had been a long night. That one girl at the bar was smoking hot, even if she was a brunette. He liked the way her tribal tattoo crept out of her jeans. Her tight jeans.

He paced around the kitchen looking for something to eat before he took a shower and tried to creep into bed with her. He hoped she wouldn't be mad that he had stayed out all night. He worked like a dog all week, and he needed to blow off some steam with the boys. She certainly had no problem spending his money.

A few pieces of cereal found their way into his mouth, and onto the ground. He would swiffer tomorrow.

Boy, that girl was hot. He couldn't stop thinking about how she would taste. He was excited to meet her later that week. He would stop by her work during the day, pretending he was there on business. He was quite the business man, and he could help her out, he had a lot of opportunity. They would obviously have to meet for dinner and drinks to discuss it.

He rolled it around in his mind as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. Playing the tape forward, he knew he could easily charm her. When the mention of his relationship status came into play, he already knew he was the victim of that woman upstairs. He knew she must have some flings on the side. How could she not? He was always away, working, traveling. Ever since she had moved in, he didn't want her anymore. The thrill was gone. She was no longer something to be acquired, but something to be shelved.


Boys just want to have fun. Crunch. Crunch. Ha.

Lizza was her name, with her tattoo, and her tight jeans, and the way her lips wrapped around that shot glass, tongue flicking out to lick the last drops. Oh, he would have her. She wanted him. He was the biggest guy in that bar tonight, tall, successful, he knew his power. He felt drunk with it, with life, with his pursuits. Or maybe whiskey. He didn't care. He had kept buying her shots until she swayed into him on the dance floor, her hips pressed against his hand as she undulated.

He needed a cold shower. Just thinking about her, he wanted to explode. God, he loved that feeling. He pursued desire.

His plates were tossed in the dishwasher as he took his clothes off and headed towards the shower. She always complained if he got into bed smelling like a barroom floor. Soon, she would be dealt with....

The water felt amazing down his back, as he thought of Lizza, and massaged himself. He would have everything life had to offer, it was his right, his duty, to show the world what he could do.

He plunged himself over the edge, muscles clenching as he thought of this new woman.

Engulfed in Ecstasy, fantasy, he never heard the soft the turning of the latch. The gushing water, and the rushing in his blood covered up the sound of the truck starting outside, and the loud bang of suitcases being tossed into the truck bed.

He got out of the shower, putting aftershave on his sensitive skin. He felt great, as a matter of fact, he felt like he could go again, and began humming a little song. He would take advantage of the woman that was sleeping soundly in the next room. She was a looker, and always complied with his advances. His new found excitement began to grow, and he strode down the hallway, into the dark bedroom, a sure swagger guiding his very being. He was a right man.

He slid his body under the covers, gently easing his weight onto the bed. His right hand drifted over towards her.

And his hand kept going. There was nothing but a warmth, as if she had suddenly disappeared.

His mind skipped, not understanding. Maybe she had gone downstairs for a snack. He lept out of bed, indignant at what he didn't know, but by the time he found her, he would have his reason.

At the bottom of the stairs he could see into the kitchen, and there was no light on. There was no movement. When he walked into the dimly lit room, he realized that everything was just as he had left it.

Except for one thing.

His keys were missing.

How It All Began, part 3 (see below for previous parts)

I was heading to Oregon for a festival. I hadn’t known that was my destination until I heard Lisa Love tell me about it. I met her under a sycamore tree, just west of Twin Falls, Idaho. Her dishwater colored bangs kept falling into her eyes. She had a glassy gaze and she hadn’t shaved her armpits in a long, long while. She was greasy, shiny, and mildly wholesome. Like mildewed wonder bread.

“You just left Ricci? You weren’t going anywhere, dude? Ya know, I can understand, sometimes you just hafta get out.”
“Yep. It seemed like the time to leave.”
“Well, we should gang up and travel together. Two girls have more fun, and get much better rides than one. Plus, its easier to deal with the creeps when we can play dumb and run together.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s so. Where are you heading?”
“To the rainbow gathering in eastern Oregon. It’s the best time ever. All these people get together in the forest and cook food and make love and smoke weed and talk about how we are gonna change the world. Its so much fun.”
“Well. I might as well try it out. The world seems like its changed too much already.”
“Ha Ha!! Your funny Ricci. I like the way you talk.”

I wasn’t joking. I was being serious. Why did everyone think I was sarcastic? I guess it was the easiest way to deal with what I had to say.
So we sat there eating our cheese and bread sandwiches, watching the traffic kick up the dust. The dried earth and roadside filth would fall down in powdery gusts that coated the highway grass, that coated our clothes, our faces, the food we were eating. The heat rose out of watery mirages off in the distance. The road shimmered, cooking its black tar fillings. I had a half empty gallon jug of warm water pressed against my side. I was free. This was my filthy, sweaty heaven.
After we had eaten our meager lunch and drank enough water to make us feel bloated and lazy, I told Lisa Love to wait while I handled our transportation marketing strategy. She gave me a blank and wide-eyed look in response. Funny hippy chick, I thought as I walked across the truck stop lot. She probably thought I was quite the piece of work as well. The sun was directly overhead and I could feel it burning my scalp thru my hair. I had little almost-sweat spots on my temples, but they kept drying and getting coated with dirt, so nothing really came of my body’s effort of water-cooling me.
I could see a fat housewife filling her beige minivan with gas. Three kids strapped to car seats were fighting over a bag of pretzels. As I approached the filling station she looked up, her too-close eyes measuring me with a stupid flat look, debating if she should be afraid of someone who was obviously different from her. She couldn’t figure it out, so her piggy eyes darted back and forth, revealing the confusion and fear in her heart. Revealing what she would protect and what she would compromise. Her kids, sensing her attention shift away from their constant chastisement, stopped fighting and looked up. The same quality of lazy cow-gaze already had taken root in their small, pale eyes.
I gave them a still appraisal, a look I was beginning to perfect. I imagined my eyes were a pond covered with a thin sheet of clear ice, and that the object of my gaze was falling down into its depth. It had a very disorienting effect on them, and they lowered their piggy eyes. I walked past them.
The truckstop dumpster was overflowing. It smelled terrible and had been cooking in the sun all morning, reaching an empowering noon ripeness. It drifted to my nose in waves of heat and smell. I shortened my breath and walked quicker. There was a big box to the side of the dumpster. I grabbed it and swiftly turned around. I headed back to the shade of the tree and Lisa Love. The minivan had pulled away into the infinity of the world.

“Hey Lisa, do you have a magic marker?”
“Yep. Ooo, lets make a sign. I have a couple different colors. The last ride I had gave me a blue and a green one. I have the big black one too, that is the best for making a sign real quick.”
“Cool. Lets just use the black one, I think we should try to get out there and catch a ride before these hicks call the police on us for loitering. Do you know what the laws are for hitchhiking in Idaho?”
I had learned in my brief time out here on the road that you had to find out if a state was an onramp state or a highway state. What that means to the thumb traveler is that in certain states you could hitch hike only on the onramp, and therefore you would only get seen by people who had excited that specific location. This often meant much more time sitting on the railing, waiting to get a ride.
Other states let you hitch hike directly on the highway. So highway states you are seen by a lot more traffic and most likely you would be picked up much quicker. People would stop because they were bored from hours driving by themselves, and wanted the company. Or they felt pity. Or they felt curiosity. Or as in the case of Frank, they were a creepy nut job.

“I have no idea about all the laws in Idaho, Ricci. But I haven’t seen a cop all day, so lets just see if we can get a ride from a trucker first, and then we’ll go to the highway.”
“Ok.”