Silence in the Heart of the Night...

When the silence takes you, deep in the heart of night, thoughts must answer the call unyielding in the wake of sleep. Dawn offers no respite. Indeed, the sunrise only signifies the wasted hours of reflection that did not even seem meditation. Even the wolf that had nipped at your heels retreats into the comfort of its den, longing for a deep of dark within you. The emptiness within, the echoes without, they distort the hope within such hours... they ignore what should be.

Would that I breathe you in, the cool night air refreshing me in your movements, even if it might be a waning dream of pasts of a future's eve. Would I might sense your heart open into a place unbroken, a world unimagined, sensations of realms within a new heart. A heart only seen in the attempt at understanding the nature of our souls, the joy of love within it. I can... could attempt, maybe even have attempted... and I think my life would not be a waste in such understanding.

You are the moment, wherever you may be in this life... the moment remembers... days, years... centuries hence. Your breath exhales the memory of a consciousness I might never see yet always knew existed. Wiping away the ache, the regret, and most of all, the fear... 

It waits... barely out of reach, this gentleness of spirit awash in the truth of understanding, the truth in all of us. Tantalizing, tormenting, a reminder of our attempts at romantic and spiritual fulfillment. The true tree of knowledge of good and evil waits outstretched upon a shore we might be incapable of crossing, bearing the fruit of ultimate understanding. What must we leave behind... and what would we become in the process? 

In the end, I have no answers, only the questions that punctuate the silence in the heart of night...

C.

Apologies...

I suppose when you get older, you start to think about purpose in life. Well, we do when we are younger, sure, but I have started looking back more than forward, seeing what was lost, all that could have been gained, and the middle path: what actually happened. 

It is tough to love someone and they do not choose you, or life inevitably chooses something/someone else for them. If you have ever had to deal with this, I am sure you understand. And it can be hard to forgive that love and harder still to be forgiven for loving, for only being human. In the end, one must forgive one's self for this purpose as well. I wrote the following piece some years ago, since edited it here and there (as I always do), but... it was a start down the road of forgiveness of self through the window of time, of course. I do not know how much further I have come since then, only that I am older and doubtless not that much wiser. Still, I like the poem mostly because it takes me on the journeys I have loved most in this life... and that is well, too.


'Apologies'

I walked the shores of midnight seas,
Reveled in days that did not end,
Wandering ancient forests, 
Sleeping upon verdant fields
But a time, a soul would not wait,
And the longing could not fade.

Paths mattered little as I roamed
From city to town, hillside to beach,
Traversing storm-tossed crossings,
Metallic thunder racing the night
Yet a heart, a place could not wait,
And the yearning did not fade.

I sat watching the world amble onward,
Doing as it should to survive,
Embracing an enduring wonder, 
Reaching for unbridled joy...
But the heart and mind cannot wait;
For hope eventually wastes away.

It was not my wish,
But what happened remains;
And longing for yearning toward hopes of love,
Must like all things... 
Slip away.

C.

Purposes...

So, a year older... I wish I could say wiser, but no... even more foolish than before.

I glance back to the past year of my life, and really, this month was the beginning of so much that I could not anticipate, nor wanted to, ignorant in my perceived bliss.  While birthdays are anticipatory of the year ahead, they can be as much a reflection of days and years past.  I realize the waste of my life in years past, maybe to an extent some of this past year... I know I have more or less wasted the past couple of months, adrift in melancholy at times, hiding it as best I can.  I have done all I could to put my best foot forward, and it was never enough.  I ran away, seeking the solace of the other side of the world, and yet... respite is only fleeting in the face of sorrow.

I confess my thoughts might be maudlin, even a bit piteous, but I would like to think I am entitled to them.  Indeed, if you knew what I knew, what I have been told, what I have seen... you might understand.  I have done my best to give to you, dear readers, a glimpse of what I have seen.  Regrettably, my meager attempts at expression can only convey an inkling of the beauty I have experienced.  Alas, I seem to have expressed my sorrow with a greater degree of ease in this regard.  

I wonder at times as to a purpose, as I am one long lost... 

C.