The Love of a Woman

Imagine for one minute you are sitting there completely devoid of feelings. You feel nothing, not contempt, not anger, not hate, not worry, not joy, not love.  You are still living, but you truly can't experience the life you are living because you are unable to feel it.  Think about it, if you could not feel the moments, would you actually be able to experience those moments?  Would they have any meaning?  If the answer is, as I suspect, a resounding "no", then it must be that feelings are not only the translation of life's experience into thought, but also the translation of thought into a life's experience.  They interact with one another, with one molding the other so completely as to change the fabric of reality within the artistry.  Both are that powerful and that necessary.

I was taught a lot about my feelings in the anger of a woman.  I was taught a lot about my feelings in the sexual deviance of a woman.  I was taught a lot about my vision of self in the pain of a woman. I was taught a lot about who I am in the rejection of a woman (in case you haven't guessed by "woman" I mean "women").  Yet despite all of these experiences and lessons, I learned the most about myself in the love of a woman.  Interestingly, I can no longer see these events as separate unto themselves.  Fear (anger, jealousy, hatred, contempt, etc.) is not a separate entity to love.  Rather, it is an opportunity for love to know itself, to express itself, to show itself and to understand.  Love is known because fear is known, fear is known because love expresses itself so perfectly that fear is allowed to be.  In fact, it must be.

It has been my life's experience that pain is no small substitute for love's understanding and that fear is not the absence of love as some may suggest.  I have looked at many moments of supposed lack, pain, anger, sorrow, etc. and can see the light of love beneath the basket of fear.  Love is like the tapestry to which fear is the seam, like a great masterpiece where love is the canvas and fear is the paint.  These things are not separate, they are one, unable to honestly exist without one another.  It is us who assigns "good" or "bad" to them, who separates one into the "good" pile and the other into the "bad" pile.  We create the idea of separation in order to feel special about ourselves when we spread love and demonize ourselves when we act in fear.  Yet, without this need for praise or rejection, love and fear operate within the same circle, allowing the expression of one through the experience of the other.  They are, in essence, perfect until we create them otherwise.

For me, I experienced fear most of my known life.  I was taught it from a young age and it was reinforced throughout most of my adult life.  I magnified the rejection of my peers in fear, the loneliness I experienced (often self-created) was enhanced by fear, I expressed fear in womanizing, in sexual deviance and in inflicting great pain on those who would dare get close to me.  I fought fear with violence, spread fear through anger, and basically created a universe of fear around me.  That was how I gave meaning to life.

Yet now, through the love of a woman, I experience love.  The sun has risen, the spring is upon me, and the thaw is creating vast rivers flooding my soul.  With no effort on my part, I magnify the acceptance of all things, feel equal completeness in being alone or in a crowd, express my love to all things and wish to be a vessel of warmth for anyone who would grace me with their presence.  I embrace love with open arms and allow it to spread around me in order to provide light, warmth and shelter wherever it is necessary.  Sometimes those things manifest themselves as a smile on the lips of a stranger, or an embrace of an old friend, or in one of a million ways love can show itself.  That is the goal and intention of each moment at least, the success of which I will leave to others who wish to do the separating.

And that is love, or at least the feeling of love expressed to me.  It speaks a word I cannot speak myself, describes a beauty that is indescribable, so therefore I realize I am probably not doing a very good job of describing what I feel.  Yet, I believe that once we experience love, we need not have it described to us...we can just allow it to be.  My goal here was not to describe love, but describe the perfection of fear as it relates to love.  I no longer hold the concept that they are different, or separate, or "good" versus "bad".  One is not perfect while the other imperfect; they are simply One perfect expression of the Whole, completely reliant on one another because they are not separate from each other.  At their quantum levels they are the same experience expressing itself differently or the same expression of a different experience.  The are the white light we can see as blue and red.

At the end of the day, I was shown fear by a woman and shown love by a woman.  Yet, the choice of which to express and experience resided solely with me.  In fact, the choice resides solely with each of us.  If we blame another for our actions, we fail to recognize that we solely made the choice of the expression.  We fail to realize the wholeness of the stimulus to the response and the fact the we alone are responsible for the choice of mindfulness or forgetfulness.  Which do YOU choose this very moment?  Of course that question's rhetorical, that answer is known long before you can express it.  Yet, if you can recognize that you are the soul Creator of the expression of who you are, you can become mindful of who you are.  It's not a trick, or a gimmick, it's a time-tested and verifiable way of expressing your Oneness regardless of the choice you make in how you experience the moment.

Enjoy in joy the moment, and your expression; and who you are.

Peace.


©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

A Reason to Live Today

I have found such a beautiful reason to live today.  It's not money, or success, or closing a deal, or my car, or my home, or "my family", or any other "impermanent" thing I could list as a cause.  In fact, the reason I found to live today is somewhat different than a thing, in fact it is nothing at all (yes, I seem to love that play on words).  Let me explain.

Today I had conversations with two old and dear friends.  I have not seen these friends in at least 15 years and although they weren't always on the tip of my tongue there were always within the soul that inspires it.  What I discovered in those conversations was that despite the gap of time that had elapsed since I last saw them the feeling they created in me had not dissipated at all.  The same smile crept up on my lips, the same laugh echoed from my throat, the same joy came crashing from my heart.  Certainly we had changed as years passed.  Certainly we had experienced life in many different ways, and those experiences had an influence on who we are and how we see the universe.  Surely we had all become byproducts of a life formula that is as individual as it is universal.  Despite all of that here I was, smiling, laughing, and taking great joy in the fact that these friends were in my present moment.

It came to me in an awesome wave of understanding that felt like the warmth of a fire on a frigid winter's morning.  Here was my beautiful reason for living.  It wasn't the conversation or the memories or the chance to connect with old friends.  It was the joy.  I felt as if the moment stood still, that any joy I was providing these people was being returned to me a hundred fold.  See, they let me in, and in doing so provided me with an eternal gift, a continuous wave of love and joy that is eternal even if it gets overshadowed from time to time.

I have come to what is, to me, a rather astounding revelation.  When I outstretch my hand to someone whether during a fire, or a rescue, or just on the street as another anonymous human Being my outstretched hand is not the gift.  No, the gift here is found in the acceptance of my hand.  What is the gift in this relationship is not the offer of love but the acceptance of it.  The giver of this gift offers me the joy of accepting it, and in that joy I have found an eternity that is indescribable and immutable.  The joy I felt in these old friends 15 years ago still existed today.  It wasn't new joy, it wasn't new love, it was the same as what as existed since the beginning.  The giver and the receiver are impermanent in the flesh but eternal in ripple or wave that we, in our limited ability to communicate, call "Love".

Today I feel inspired to not only accept the gifts of love and joy but to re-gift them to as many as possible in the time I am given.  I don't think anyone will mind...

Peace.

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

...

Sometimes I must just say to my self,
"Self, enjoy this moment and it will last forever,
find sadness now and suffer for eternity,
resist now and forever be resistant,
but love now and be awakened from the lie."

I talk to my self because I am the only one who will listen,
"You know you're being silly it's part of the game,
it's meaningless rejection given meaning by you,
You know it isn't real it's simple projection,
to dance in the fire is to prove you're alive."

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

I Have

I have but one wish,
And that is to die a happy man.
I have but one dream,
And that is to live as a happy man.
I have but one reality,
And that is that I can be a happy man.
I have but one thought,
And that is "I should be happy".
I have but one thing in my possession,
And that is my own joy.
I have but an answer to your question,
"I hope you find happiness".
I have but one mission,
And that is to discover the meaning of bliss.

I cannot understand the overwhelming sadness that washes over me.
I cannot compute the anger that I feel.
I cannot help the despair that drives me to complete numbness.
I cannot stop the voices that tell me what to think.
I cannot forget the memories that drive me to madness.
Yet I know that I can be happy if only to forgive
Because these things prove to me that such joy exists.
Although "I cannot" all of these things there can be bliss in spite of them,
I know that I can be an oasis of peace in a desert of war,
If only I would lay my sword to rest.

I have but one reality, and it is the one that I choose.
How you see me in my moment of despair is your reality,
A reality you choose as if it were a play not written to your liking
Or entertaining you beyond all measure.
I could come down from this cross or simply choose to embrace it,
But what would you have me do with yours?
I have no choice in your suffering,
I have no desire to see you in it,
Yet I have no ability to remove you from its grasp.
We know that love exists, yet we choose to run from it,
To seek out the nails that hold us to our suffering
And make them hold us fast to the pain we have chosen as our own.

I offer you my hand,
If not to hold yours in ecstasy than to endure the nail with you,
To suffer with you as you have suffered with me,
To beg of you to seek another way but to share with you the path you have chosen.
There are not options if you choose love's reality.
For I have seen the promise land,
In your eyes, in your arms, in the promise of tomorrow.
I have seen where my journey ends,
As surely as I know where it began.

See, if I have nothing else in this life I have a choice.
A choice to love or to fear,
To be or not to be.
To ask the question or live the answer,
To heal or to hurt, to caress or ignore,
To forgive and re-member or remember and stay angry.
Such choice I can make in the blink of an eye,
With the power of the universe behind me.

I have a choice.


©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

What is a "Wife"?

Yes, some of you out there will read this and say, "someone got lucky!"  Yes, even though at present I am getting yelled at for loading a dishwasher that had some clean dishes in it I would agree.  I am not "getting lucky" in the deviant way some would suggest (including myself from time to time), but in the more complete sense of the phrase.  I can look back on my life from my earliest memories to this very moment and simply agree, "yes, I got lucky."

See I am certainly not perfect.  I put dirty dishes in a dishwasher full of clean ones .  I sometimes put whites in with darks.  Sometimes I snore like a locomotive missing a piston.  Sometimes I forget my underwear on the floor.  I am a man, and therefore cannot make any excuses as to my imperfections.  I was made divinely imperfect so that I may find someone in my life who makes each day a bit more "perfect".

That someone is my wife.  Sometimes I hate the term "my wife".  It is as if there is some sort of possession there.  I have found over the years that I cannot own this woman.  She carries a pit of fire in her that cannot be held for long, yet cannot be let go of.  She is beautifully creative, forging the greatest beauty out of the roughest iron or at the very least will give great effort in trying.  She is a soft hammer and a hard chisel, the proverbial rock and hard place.  She can be as soft as a cloud and as tough as the lightning carried within it.  There is no "owning" my wife, there is only a partnership that suggests "my wife" is mine because she wants to be.

And there is great glory in that from my perspective.  This is how I got lucky, a woman I can only describe as fearsome allowed me into her life.  I saw not only a beautiful pool in her eyes, but also my own reflections in moments so intensely personal as to effect the universe.  Sometimes I liked what I saw, but mostly I recoiled from the image.  Oddly enough, I found that when we see ourselves in such beautiful art one of two things can happen.  Either we find that we can stand within the picture and compliment it, or we contrast with it and somehow make it less beautiful.  Then we can make a decision, either we love what we see and work to make it more beautiful, or we don't and we destroy it from within.

Of course this is to suggest that the artist herself has no input, which clearly is not the case.  Our wives as artists not only hone us to magnificence but also give us the inspiration we need to shape ourselves into something that fits into the art.  They provide the vision, we provide the color.  Sometimes it works in reverse.  Still, what is left to observe is a masterpiece that is forever in the making.  I can see the results of our efforts in our children, and can look at awe at the creations that such work can provide.  My children are, to me, an example of what can happen when two artists give their all to each other to create one beautiful masterpiece.  Or two.  Or three.  It's not about the sex, or the conception, or the birth, it's about the continual willingness to create and work together to provide such wonders.

This is what a wife does to us.  Remember folks, you don't need to be "married" to have a wife.  You simply need to have a partner in your life who is part of you.  I don't need a state contract to say Veronica is my wife, I can feel it in every cell of my being.  That feeling, that testament to something indescribable, is what makes us "married".  That same feeling is what makes us so willing to become better versions of ourselves, to make that person who inspires it revel in the feeling as well.  It's a shared caress that makes us husband and wife.  It's a kiss stolen in the chaos of life that makes us one.  It's the willingness to become better for each other regardless of how perfect we believe we may be.  It's NOT just the sacrifice that makes us lovers, it's the joy we find in making it.

Yes, "I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more" for a simple hug from my woman.  I mean could anything beat the feeling I get when I get that hug?  I haven't found one.  So as I am being told I have to leave (she also either keeps me on schedule or throws me wildly off it), I do so with one parting thought.  A wife is someone to live and to die for.  She is someone you stop a moment of inspiration for because she WILL inspire another.  She is someone you listen to, long for, and dream about.  In this instance, she is someone you stop proofreading for.  At least that is my experience, and I hope that is shared by many others.

"Yes babe, I am coming!"  That's the best I can do, for now...


©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Untitled 4/5/11

I have not once but many times,
Stood tall for lofty praise,
And taken chucks of foolish gold,
To seek such lonely gaze.

From withered heights' oblivion,
I've longed for lover's touch,
The warrior within me speaks,
I ask of her too much.

Who perished thoughts within me bind,
These chains that hold me still?
No key to press this rusted lock,
My captor's only will.

No evening glance of longed flesh,
No morning glory's rising sun,
This iron's press of fancy shall,
Surely see its whim be done.

Is it past I bade farewell this day?
Or love's sweet shrill embrace?
Whichever treads so lightly now,
Will help me keep my pace.




©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Woken

The solitude of this place brings it all home.  I can't tell if this is a dream or not, but I reach for her in the empty spot that is where she should be.  I call out her name but hear no reply.  I look for her but see nothing.  I am utterly alone.

I yearn for the warmth of her body and the sound of her breathing.  She'd kill me if I woke her ("pleasant" is not a word that describes her when she awakens) but I'd give anything just to see her there right now.  I can feel her without touching her, but I'd almost risk her wrath for even the slightest touch at this moment.  Time stands still - a second lasts a lifetime when you are waiting for the next; minutes, hours and days become an eternity when I simply want to be home near those who hold my love and dreams within them.  This is the beautiful torture of love.

So, I am here and she is there; a hundred miles becomes a million, the darkness becomes my only sanctuary.  I will close my eyes and head back to the peaceful realm of slumber where I can touch her, feel her, and know that she is there.  Goodnight my dear, hold me in your heart as I hold you in mine, and miss me as I miss you.  I will be home shortly...

Peace.


©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

"Goodnight"

“Goodnight”.  A simple word acting as a levee, holding back a flood of emotions not betrayed on this night.  A lonely word meant to suggest the end of the day results in a flurry of inspiration that must be captured or lost.  It’s funny how small moments like this can create something wonderful in the heart of men.  This moment will do nothing but allow me to explain what a “goodnight” means.

(Warning: the following does NOT contain sexually graphic descriptions of eroticism.  And while that may define “good nights” on many occasions, on this one the definition is one of a more nurturing nature.  To my family, you may uncover your eyes.  To my friends, you can resume normal breathing.)

Tonight, as it usually does, “goodnight” means “you’re beautiful.  I have never seen a more beautiful woman in the world.  Can’t I kiss you this moment?  Can’t I hold you until the sun rings in tomorrow?  Can’t you breathe into me the breath you have just stolen from my lungs?  If I ask the Universe for but one favor it is to see you in the morning.  Let me show you tomorrow what love you bring to me this moment.  Let the fire rage all night and consume me whole in the morning.  I am but a fortunate son who has found his slice of heaven.”

I am not so sure how many “goodnights” are left for me.  I treasured this one.  I hold it firmly in my mind and allow it to echo gently in my heart. I allow a flash of light as our day rolls by.  The walk in the woods, the “chasing fire”, the reading, the drive, the shared laughter…how could I replace this day with any other?  Today allowed me to hear the stories of a 6 year old angel, the questions of a 4 year old little man, so many moments of pure love that how could there have been anything but?  As we walked in Nature I focused a moment on those footsteps etched lightly in the Earth.  I marveled for a moment that here was my life as it stood.  Here are two little people born of love who changed the universe as surely as the Big Bang itself.  They are the best of me, of us.  They are not moments of ecstasy, they are moments of love.  As surely as they grace this planet’s face with their own we can say that we loved, and as a result we gave birth to Creation itself. 

And then there are your footprints.  Sure and steady, patient and loving, calm and with purpose they stand.  You light the fire my Brown Eyed girl, and you light the way.  No torch has ever burned so brightly or so intensely as you did this day.  I follow you even as I walk in the lead; I know you are there even as I look ahead.  This could not have existed without each and every second that led up to it.  The sun seems brighter, the air cleaner, and the world alive around us.  Thank you my dear, for making this moment possible.

“Goodnight”.  Sleep softly and remember me in your dreams.  I love you. 

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Allow me to introduce myself…

I am a bore.  I have no desire to go to bars.  I have no rhythm so you won’t find me on the dance floor.  I hate strip clubs and don’t find strippers appealing in the least (in fact, I don’t really have the need to have my worth measured by how many dollar bills I am willing to fork over).  I never liked eating at Hooters, and never go to places for the attractiveness of the women in attendance.  I don’t get high, in fact I don’t use recreational drugs of any kind.  I don’t want random sex with random people, I am happy with the “someone who loves me” providing me with that not-so-simple pleasure.  I can find a simple one-on-one conversation as stimulating as any group debate, and find intelligence and wit as attractive as curves and her beautiful brown eyes.  I love long walks on the beach, sometimes to allow thoughts to drain from my mind, but would love the conversation about those thoughts (or thoughts I have yet to think) with someone else who also needs to drain. 

I love the clean air and the mountains.  I do love the beach, although I find the vainness there sometimes to be a bit much to bear.  Still, when I see her on the beach I can see that sometimes a few pixels of beauty added to the big picture can certainly make it better.  Yes, my Brown-Eyed girl makes the beach a heaven and a haven.  As I get absorbed by the magnificence of the ocean, the give of the sand, the calming sound of the surf she brings me back to the reality that there is beauty in people too.  They aren’t always just vain, or angry, or pretentious.  No, sometimes there is just an awe-inspiring beauty in people that causes you to lose your breath.  I have that in my Brown-Eyed girl.

The mountains hold a special magnificence for me.  The air is clean, and nature has a certain energy there that makes you feel truly alive.  I don’t feel this as much in the mountains of North Jersey, but I can tell you that I have never felt more at home than in the mountains near Boulder, Colorado.  It was like a strong North pole to my South.  There was something about that place that just would not let my soul leave.  My body is home, my heart is here, but my mind is always wondering back to that place where my soul felt alive.  I can show you the spot someday.  A spot where the view would take your breath away and the environment would steal your soul the moment it had found this “heaven”.   I can only imagine that in standing there with my Brown-Eyed girl and our babies that I would become a monument, unable to be unearthed and unable to be moved.  Such is the love I have of that place.

I love, yet I hide it very well.  I have become quite adept at replacing love with anger, a lesson well taught by some who professed to love me as a child.  I was stolen from my father in my toddler stage, lied to about him right up into my 30’s, abused, beaten, and made an outcast by those who were entrusted to teach me how to be a man and a loving husband and father.  The politically correct thing to say here is that “I can’t blame them anymore”, after all, I am a grown man with ideas, thoughts and emotions that should be under my control.  I can’t lie like that anymore.  My “teachers” failed me and so I fail others.  I have had to try to relearn everything through the tears of those I love.  I never knew the effects of the torturous lessons of my youth until I brought them to bear myself. 

Yes, I thought I was different than them, that I had risen above their behaviors to be the man they said I would never be.  Boy was I wrong.  I was just like them even as I hated them (and in hating them I was just like them).  I would tease myself as to feign control over a life spiraling out of control.  When I felt threatened, I would seek greater control, often by pretending I was something I was not.  I would react violently.  I would cheat (or pretend to cheat) in order to find a reaction that proved my worth.  I never felt wanted or needed until someone was crying over me with the pain of betrayal.  I betrayed them as I had been betrayed.  I never felt good enough, strong enough, or smart enough.  Man, was I one fucked up individual.

After a long journey walking barefoot on broken glass, red-hot coals, and thorns the size of 9-inch nails (often on the backs of those I love more than life itself), I find myself here alone in a room allowing inspiration to flow through my fingers.  I close my eyes and see my Brown-Eyed girl and know that I worship the ground she walks on, and that no woman can dare come close to the magnificence this woman has achieved.  I could never imagine being with anyone else.  I’ve tried in those moments of intense fear and insecurity, but ultimately through whatever God there may be and whatever voice in my soul shouting reasonableness at the madness I have seen that there is no one who can compare to her in my life.  I have never strayed from this woman, even in moments when that angry little man inside of me wanted to in order to prove that I could.  I would simply close my eyes and see her, and realize that the Universe itself had sent her to me if for no other reason than to save me from myself.

So I am a bore, yet a bore content in knowing that the right path is underfoot regardless of where it takes me. I have a beautiful partner I have failed.  I have failed in not conveying the love she inspires in me.  I have failed in only showing the angry little man to a person so worthy of the real me.  I have failed to not give her the proper place she deserves in our lives.  Through the many trials,  I have found that the angry little man can’t be beaten with anger and meanness.  No, he thrives on those emotions.  That angry little man is beaten by a small boy who loved everything and everyone he ever met.  I can remember him as vividly as I can remember the footsteps that preceded his dormancy.  He was happy and laughed often.  He loved with a passion, shared all he was with a passion, and enjoyed life with a passion.  I know the boy exists whenever I stop to help someone I don’t know (or even someone I do know).  I hear him in my laughter or in the joy I find making others laugh.  I can feel him when I stop eating when I am full.  I can see him in the hand that strokes my Brown-Eyed girl’s face or hair, or in the hand that holds hers as we walk along a path.  I can sense that boy as my children sit on my lap or give me a hug.  He’s there…and he wants OUT.  The angry little man says “let him out and you will suffer as you always have”.  The better part of me replies, “yes, I have always suffered, even in his absence, but now is the time for the suffering to end.  Not just my own but of those who love me.”  See nothing brings pain home more intensely than when you cause it in those you love.  Nothing.

And that is me, a man who has suffered and caused suffering; a man who simply wants it all to end and allow the love that is to flourish.  It may be too late for some, only time will tell.  But in the long view I have of the twisted path that I have journeyed I see that it all has to end for me.  My hands hurt.  I see the scars on my face and knuckles more clearly now than ever.  I see the stretch marks caused by the years of abuse I have leveled against myself.  I feel the aloneness caused by the years of abuse I have leveled against others.  It has to end for me so that it can end for those who want to be close to me.  This isn’t a ploy or a game, it is the END of the game I have been playing since I was 9 years old.  It is the destruction of an angry little man who does not allow the spring to come.  It is the silencing of decades of abuse, half inflicted by others and half inflicted by self.  Others who shared my childhood can continue their fantasy, but for me it all must fade to black.  I am sick of it, I am done with it, I need something better. 

Oddly enough, I always felt that my best inspiration came from periods of intense despair.  Frankly, I knew little else other than intense despair, so I have no basis to understand if this belief is real or not.  If it is true, which I now doubt, then I beg never to feel inspired again.  Somehow though, I believe a new type of inspiration will arise, and that in each moment of joy I will find an intense need to share.  Why?  Because we all could use a little joy, even if it is nothing more than your boy say “you are my bestest Daddy EVER!”, or in having your partner say “I love you” for no reason other than "because".  Those are JOYS, and they are awe inspiring. 

And now that I have all of this off my chest I can simply say…

"FADE TO BLACK"

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Introspection

I look at you...
I have no desire other than to understand you,
To see what makes you tick,
So that I can fix you.

I can see...
Your pain extends far deeper than I imagined,
That you are hurting in your smile,
Holding sadness in your laugh.


It is clear...
That you are struggling with this reality,
That you are helpless in your uncertainty,
And nameless in your lack of identity.


What you did...
You inflicted pain to create numbness,
You lied so that you could find security,
You destroyed so that there was nothing left to lose.


What happened...
Is that numbness didn't last forever,
And caused you to wretch in a violent loneliness,
While you cried in such inescapable sorrow.


You have found...
That this is who you believed you are,
Abusive, abused, alone, at peace with this false identity,
So much so that you fought against yourself to make it so.


You hid...
Behind the laughter that defied your mood,
Behind the joy that defied your reality,
Behind the practice that suggested that love was somehow a hollow, shattered promise.


Yet you have...
Shined a light on this blinding cave,
Searched so hard and hurt so many for the answer to it all,
And you are here, and nowhere else regardless of where your mind takes you.


I see it all,
through the cracked glass I gaze upon you,
and judge you as see you as you are.
I see into your eyes, 
they look eerily familiar yet complete foreign,
A study into life as the three tenses merge into one.

I can feel you, as sorry as I am for having taken so long to help you,
I wish you could cry on my shoulder,
I wish I could comfort you in your despair,
I wish I could tell you what was coming,
But I fail in even this regard.


My poor boy, I let you go,
I let you succumb to the wolves around you,
I let you fade into nothingness,
I watch as you sobbed hopeless and alone.


The lies you were told became your own to tell,
The insanity inflicted on you became your own to repeat,
The anger beat into you became your only weapon,
The loneliness became your only friend.


You toiled in the art of deviance,
You relished in the art of fantasy,
You mastered the art of fallacy,
You have practiced the art of moving on.


You have survived my boy,
You have seen this darkness first hand,
You have the scars to prove you were there,
And the breath that proves you are still alive.

You love, so you can be loved,
You trust, so that you can live a promise,
You open your arms so that others can embrace you.
You are not that boy yet somehow that boy is you.


You can smile my friend,
For today is now and not then, 
And tomorrow is not today but a promise unto itself.
Yes, you can smile.


And you can be free.



©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

The green, green grass of home

You know you have been having a tough winter when you long for the green, green grass of home but then realize you haven't left your yard...

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Thought for the Day 1/29/11

  You are what you crEATe.

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Something Wonderful

Embrace what you cannot control as something wonderful, create what you can control into something wonderful, and you will live a life that can only be described as "something wonderful".

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

The Dream of a Butterfly

My friend Terry Hodgkinson sent me this through Facebook.  It was certainly worthy of sharing.

Dream of a butterfly

The great Taoist master Chuang Tzu once dreamt that he was a butterfly fluttering here and there. In the dream he had no awareness of his individuality as a person. He was only a butterfly. Suddenly, he awoke and found himself laying there, a person once again. But then he thought to himself, "Was I before a man who dreamt about being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly who dreams about being a man?"

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Wasted

I could find joy in your embrace,
If only you would hug me.
I could find hope in your words,
If only you would speak,
I could find love in your actions,
If only you would move,
I could find peace in your life,
If only you would live.

I could move mountains with a finger,
If only you would let me,
I could end every storm,
If only peace you would seek,
I could pray for repentance,
If you only forgave me,
I could see light at the end,
Without the past in the way.

I could hear the music playing,
If only you weren't screaming,
I could write every word,
If the noise would subside.
I could trust in the present,
If the past didn't haunt me,
I could hope for the day,
When time set me free.


Whose hand is in mine,
When the bells all start tolling?
Whose prayers do I hear,
When the angels appear?
Whose blood do I shed,
To feel like I'm worthy?
Whose life do I end,
To feel this secure?


I could bask in the sunshine,
If it weren't so damned cloudy,
I could climb to the top,
If my footing would hold.
I could become what you want,
If you could just change me,
I could bring you to smile,
Through the tears in your eyes.


We could walk on the beach,
But the quicksand surrounds us,
We could swim in the surf,
But the tide is too strong,
We could swim to the bottom,
If the water wasn't so murky,
We could head out to sea,
If the waves weren't so tall.


Whose time is so endless,
To be wasted on "if only"?
Whose soul is so bad,
To be thrown into that hell?
Whose forgotten their joy,
In what we call living?
Who wants to start over,
When the death bells ring?

 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

The Timer

I am waiting for a timer to go off,
To tell me "it is time",
To remind me of instant where,
I need to end this little rhyme.

Somewhere between then and now,
An eternity will pass,
Sometime between here and there,
I'll have to get up off my ass.

Most likely I will waste this time,
In shear mortal flaw,
Or perhaps I can make use of it,
To describe some of what I saw.


Something strange began to rumble still!!
Ah but I apologize my friend,
The timer's bell has begun to ring,
This little story has to end.




 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Indifferent

I find a moment to be "separate",
To view the world around me, 
To see what is there without my conditions, 
To feel what is there without my layers,
To hear what is there without my distraction,
To smell what is there without my congestion,
To taste what is there without spice,
To be where not being seems essential.

I learn this view is not to be separate, 
But is to understand what "together" truly means.
To observe is not to be distinct,
But to understand all that binds us in who we are.
I cannot stand to be apart from you,
Basking in my human loneliness,
Toiling in your creation of "me" and what that means,
Or suffering in my creation of "you" and what that means.


There are times when I wish I had no such thoughts,
When I could just stay asleep and not awaken.
There are times when I just wish I could put it all away,
When I could just have a box and never deal with its contents.
Why do I care to know about me? Or about you?
Why do I listen to those who say I am not built for these endeavors,
Or to myself who suggests I am?
The answer will come in times own finality.


For now I will continue the struggle,
When I beg for a touch that never comes,
When I long for the sketch of playfulness that never gets drawn,
When this place doesn't like an invisible, distant shore.
For now I will be who I am, or who I was,
Or who you wish me to be,
Because I know nothing else and can only see what is around me.


There is no failure in the art of trying,
There is only failure in the goal set beyond the limits of reality,
To that, I will remain indifferent. 


 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

If Only

I could find peace in your arms,
If only they would embrace me.
I could find solace in your words,
If only I could hear,
I could find strength in your wisdom,
If only I would listen,
I could find love in your heart,
If only I could feel.

I could find peace on the mountain,
If only I were there,
I could find joy in the song,
If only I could sing.
I could find the rain drops cleansing,
If only I could run naked,
I could find resolve in your hands,
If only I could hold.

I could find wisdom in walking,
If I could only stop sitting,
I could find silence in the moment,
If I could only sit still. 
I could stop being so bad,
If I only knew good.
I could move on with living,
If only memories would die.

If only mountains would move,
If only the sky would stop falling,
If only angels would fly,
If only love would stop hiding,
If only the clock would stop ticking,
If only you would stand by.

If only...
If only...
If only...
 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Life Gets in the Way

 

Today I envision I am on a mountain.  I can smell the freshness of winter coming with each inhalation, and can feel the release of the warmth inside of me into the entirety of all around me.  I can sense my own smallness in the silence that is while feeling the enormity of who I am in the noise.  The rushing waters in the creek just beyond my eyesight remind me that the Earth does give, while the remnants of man found in trash that eases its way down the waterway reminds me that I do take.  I can hear the songs of birds given me cadence as I head upwards toward the sky.  I give thanks to the young tree that gives me stability when I stumble on the mountains steepness, and offer praise to the old oak that allows me to rest on it when the walking becomes to much.  How fast I can stumble down this mountain, how slow is the climb back up.

The air is clean, the sounds are natural.  There are no cars or planes or trains or others to distract me from that which I am a part of.  I can feel the breath enter my lungs and can feel its gift travel throughout my body.  That is the brilliance of the effort, the more my body needs the more I appreciate what it receives.  I never think of the gift of breath as much of anything until I need to breath hard.  I never appreciate the gift of food until I feel the pangs of hunger.  Perhaps I need to feel them more.  Perhaps I need to challenge this body more so that the mind can appreciate all of the things it takes for granted.  

I look up and see the sun through a clear blue sky.  The wind makes music in the limbs of the trees around me and I keep beat to the sound that rings in my head.  I am nearing the summit, I can see the top through eyes that have so often seen nothing but the bottom.  I can hear the silence through ears that have for so long heard nothing but the noise.  I can feel love in my Being that has so often felt nothing but pain.

I want to share this feeling with others, but simply ask "who am I?".  Certainly the leaves that have taught me a song in my steps know more than me.  Certainly the trees that have given me stability and rest know more than me.  Certainly the birds that sing a song of life know more than me.  Certainly the sky giving a view to the sun above knows more than me.  I am a nothing, and even in this moment's realization the leaves, the trees, the birds and the sky say "we are nothing too.  You have created us as all that we are."  "We are equals," they seem to say, simply being until created into something by someone: superior, inferior, fearful, feared, good, bad.  Imagine man just being man until he created himself as something else.

I awaken from this momentary respite.  I am sitting at my desk looking at a computer screen wondering "where is my mountain?".  I don't have a clue yet, I am simply here being distracted by life and the creations I have made in it.  The noise around me is torturous, I just ask for some silence.  I ask simply for clean air, clean water, and solid footing.  I ask simply for view of the top so that I can get a view from the top.

Someday I will find myself within view of a summit.  I will feel the solid earth beneath me, hear the silence and sounds of nature all around me and know that I am there.  For now, I will let life get in the way.  

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

A Moment's Notice of an Eternal State of Being

I so want to find my soul,
Lost in the wilderness looking for me.
A heartbeat away from remembering,
A lifetime away from rejoicing.

I turn to the mountains to find you,
The softly falling snow's silence only broken
by the sound of rushing water
Cascading down around me as if cleansing my mind.


I hike up to the river's edge,
It's roar calls to me and beckons me to stare,
I feel something,  I feel everything,
A moment's notice of an eternal state of Being.


I once was surrounded by the urban jungle
I could not see the hills beyond the steel,
I could not hear the water rushing above the trucks passing by,
The snow...well it was pushed away by a need to get nowhere.


I once felt rage as I traveled to and fro,
Dealing with the asphalt path and others made just like me,
In a hurry to get nowhere,
In a rush to turn around and do it all over again like drones.


I once breathed air hardly fit for breathing,
I once used so much that I filled endless holes in the earth from consumption.
I sought more than the stuff I had before,
And found confinement in things I thought would set me free.


I once slaughtered a life just like me,
I ate it as if it were going to make me well.
I can hear your cries of fear dear friend,
I can see you suffer as the blood spills from your veins.


It all comes back to me
The stupidity, the depravity, and most of all the insanity.
I see it clearly in this moment's notice of my eternal state of Being,
It was because I was, It is because I am.


The river, now still, allows me to see myself through its eyes,
The silence unbroken as the snow softly settles around me.
I can feel the trees alive around me, I can sense the clean air soothing me
I love what I see, this me, captured by the Oneness all around me.


I don't need You.  I don't need Me.
I have all that I have been looking for on this mountain,
Besides this stream, all around me.
It has taken me far too long to get here, to this place I cannot leave.

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

A Perspective - The Prodigal Son

There are these moments in my life when I am left to think about that which I am, or that which I have been taught to be, or that which I think is right.  It is never my inclination to discount any of these particular thoughts, although I seem to have been blessed with a short memory for most of them.  The most painful of these thoughts, those that seem to have been the very definitions of the term "me", are the ones that linger like an irritating cough interrupting my restful slumber.  

It seems to be that we humans do spend an awful lot of time wasting away our lives on these meaningless activities.  I so envy the tree as it goes about its life without justification or need to be anything other than a tree.  How strange would this universe be if a tree tried mightily to be more likes its Creator, or even had the audacity to question that which gave it life?   What if a tree could create for itself a condition by which growing upward was wrong?  It would struggle to bend itself toward the ground, its branches pushing upward as its mind pushed downward.  Or what if the sun itself decided that burning brightly and hotly was wrong?  It would struggle against itself to dim its light, and would change our universe forever.

I think about the lonely salmon whose sexual urges push it against the mighty stream.  Imagine if it were written that it was wrong, that not only the act of listening to its nature but also the nature of its act were both wrong.  What would become of the salmon, of its nature, of its purpose?  Imagine if salmon rejected those who saw fit to fulfill their nature.  Imagine the guilt those who simply had not the inclination nor the need to cater to those words of discouragement would feel.   Imagine the shame of "failure" it would feel.  Imagine the distractions it would need to seek to forget who it was.  Imagine the need for "salvation" that this fear would create, and the need to create the salvation as surely as it had the need to create the fear to begin with.

Fortunately for the salmon, the tree, the grass, and all creatures of the earth save man this need does not exist.  They are free to act as they were created to be simply because they have no need to be anything else.  What beauty is there in such a life's purpose!!

I have had the create fortune of revisiting with some others the parable of the "Prodigal Son".  This parable has not only inspired me to untold moments of thought, but also has provided me with a great insight to where I was during any one of these moments.   Regardless of where I was, I choose to only focus on where I am this moment in regards to not only the discussion but the parable.  I no longer seek the perspective of either son, the judged or the judging, but rather the father who simple loves without the need to be either.

There is a bit of each character in all of us.  There is a part of us that is the lost son.  We make mistakes.  We squander opportunity.  We suffer.  Then there is a part of us that is older son.  We work hard to please others.  We strive to do what we are taught is "right".  We suffer.  There is also a part of us that is the father.  That part of us just observes and forgives.  That part not only forgives the parts of us that cause us to suffer, but allows the suffering in order that we may return to it.  We struggle mightily to "sin".  We struggle mightily to stay on the "righteous path".  We struggle so therefore we suffer, all-the-while the father in each of us just accepts, loves, and forgives.


How many of us can truly embrace who we are as either son?  How many of us can learn to be who we are without shame or guilt?  Very, very, very few of us I suppose.  So few that those who can are considered "special".  God's will does not involve "right" or wrong - that is man's will - but rather involves doing.  That purpose we call "God's will" is found in the son whose wild living finds him broke and hungry.  That purpose we call "God's will" is found in the son struggling to remain true to beliefs.  That purpose we call "God's will" is found in the realization that we need our "father" again, as well as in the act of returning to him, and yes as well as in the act of forgiving ourselves in the knowledge that we will leave him again.


It's inevitable.  It's the matter of humans Being.  When we accept our quest to grow toward the sky we limit our suffering in the transformation.  When we accept that the light we emit is the light we are intended to shine we limit our suffering in the creation.  When we accept that the swim upstream is not only necessary but who we are we fulfill our purpose without interference from who we think we should be.


Or not...because in not doing so we are fulfilling our purpose was well.  It's all right, for the sun cannot shine without the darkness of the universe.  The song cannot be played without the silence that allows it to be.  Perfection...all of it.  Peace.
 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Thought #1

I do, regardless of fit or fancy...simply choose to be.

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

My Love

I have hardly but stood in your glow
My Love,
Before the darkness falls upon me
And I begin to stare aimlessly into Nothingness.

There are but few things to comfort me
My Love,
Yet as I inhale the chill of thoughts born yesterday,
You are the feint fragrance of hope that warms my soul.

Though as dark and uncomfortable as I am
My Love,
I do find you the Light and you the Warmth,
That brings me back to Joy's reality.


Who am I to hide these things
My Love?
Does the Sun pretend to be the moon?
Or the Sea pretend to be the cause of its mighty tide?


The answers to all of this
My Love,
Is found in the joy of your simple touch,
In the shiver that touch shoots through my Soul.


I cannot pretend to be anything but
My Love,
Lost in a place devoid of all you are,
Yet found in the knowledge that you are not that.


And torn between the two.


Such an easy choice it seems
My Love,
Yet nothing has been so hard as to choose
Between who I am and who I wish to be.


Into your hands I come
My Love,
Never to be parted as the fault lines fade,
We are, we share, we give birth to
Love.


 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

The Sun and the Earth

Today, when we look at the moon and the Earth, we see a beautiful relationship.  The Earth faithfully orbits the Sun, reflecting the Sun's light magnificently for the universe to see.  The Sun gives us light and warmth with a promise to shine for a billion tomorrows. That, however, was not always the case.


For once upon a time the Sun and the Earth had a much different relationship.  The Sun was angry; sending destructive flares outward into the cosmos.  The Sun burned intensely as all young stars did, searing nearby planets and destroying all that came near him.  The Sun became lonely, but still could not help himself as his heat and intensity caused all in the universe to avoid him.  The Sun was a product of the explosion that created him, and he knew no better because he was just the Sun acting like the Sun he was created to be.


The Earth was peaceful and calm aside from the occasional temper tantrums and changes that came with experience.  She steadily went about her business as she grew, becoming quite a stable planet as time went by.  Objects from all over the cosmos were drawn to her, but eventually they collided with her and caused her great pain.  She felt alone until one day she discovered the Sun.


Other planets had tried.  Mercury came alone at the wrong time and got too close.  She became a barren wasteland and laid to waste by the intensity of the sun's heat.  Venus too had tried, but she also got too close to the Sun's youthful intensity.  Other planets stayed further away, and while they were magnificent in the their own way they could not enjoy the benefit of the Sun, whom they feared.  Those planets were cold and distant, and while beautiful they remained unable to enjoy the warmth.


The Earth was different.  She loved the Sun.  At first she was drawn to him by his size and intensity.  The Sun also loved the Earth.  He enjoyed her beauty and the way she she seemed to love him back.  He didn't feel threatened by her as much as he felt threatened by the memories of what brought him here, to this place and time.  He did all he could to get her to stay away, yet their love would always draw them closer.


As she got closer to the Sun his intensity began to burn her.  His flares would scorch her surface and she would show great pain.  The Sun looked around the universe and saw places that would be much better for the Earth, and in this pain there would be another flare and more pain for the Earth.  "Sun, I need you to end these flares or I will have to go away," she would say.  The Sun tried and tried, and soon the flares became less and less until they faded away.

"Sun, I need you to stop being so bright," the Earth said.  So the Sun tried and tried until his once blinding light became a faint glimmer.  "I need you to be less hot," said the Earth.  So the Sun tried and tried until his once searing heat became more bearable to the Earth.  Yet, as time went on, that one bright part of the universe became darker.  The universe all around the Sun became a frigid wasteland.  The stars shone less brightly, and even the moon went dark.  Even the Earth herself became cold and bored as the Sun worked day and night to be, well, not the Sun.

One day the Sun just could not help it.  He exploded with a fury, sending light far and wide around him.  The moon shined, and the Earth became amazed at the beautiful universe around her she could only see as the Sun shined brightly.  She looked at him and saw his absolute brilliance.  She decided at that moment something that changed them both forever.


"Sun," she said, "I want you to shine.  I want you to be warm.  I want you to be who you want to be."


"But won't that hurt you?" asked the Sun.


"You will be who you need to be and I will be who I need to be.  We need to love each other as we are if we are ever going to survive in this place.  You were created for a reason as was I, and we need to love that purpose as much as we love each other."


The Sun understood, and in his appreciation and love shined just enough for the earth.  During the day, she could bask in his his warmth and his light and at night she could see the beauty of the universe around her because of the light he was.  As the Sun looked out upon the universe, he could see the coldness and the danger, but in his love he learned how to provide the right amount of light and warmth for the Earth.  Every once in a while he would send out a flare to protect her, and she had even learned how to stay close to him even when he was simply being the Sun.  


They had learned harmony through disharmony, love through egoic selfishness, peace through suffering.  Soon, miraculous things began to happen.  Life became abundant on the Earth.  The Earth and the Sun together provided for these miracles; miracles born of the love shared between two unlikely things who allowed each other to be. 

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Morning Inspiration 10/5/2010

Freedom is not the pathway to love, love is the pathway to freedom.  Happiness is not the key to acceptance, acceptance is the key to happiness.

And so began my morning in such clarity as to need no interpretation or thought.   It just was, as clear as the sky on a cloudless morning.  You never know when such moments of clarity will come so you just embrace them as they open themselves to you.  Is it possible that these moments are always there but we cover them with layer upon layer of meaningless stuff?  

©2010 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ