Sweet Spot

How can you miss something
you never even had?
Miss someone
you never even knew?
Yet that missing,
that longing,
is more real to you
than reality itself.
You try to be grateful,
to be glass half full,
but the empty is ever-present,
inescapable.
All you’ve ever wanted
is a sense of belonging.
Why didn’t anyone ever tell you
that belonging
IS
to be longing?
So the thing you’ve always wanted
has been with you all this time.

And yet that’s no consolation.
The surface where the silken water
meets the life-giving air above it –
that is the sweet spot.
Two elements that can only touch,
but never be one,
except in those rare instances,
when the air swells with moisture
transforming into droplets
falling into the ocean,
finally becoming one.
Or when the water overheats under the sun
transforming into vapor
rising through the sky,
finally becoming one.
Or when my heart swells with longing
transforming into Love,
surrendering to You,
finally becoming One.
Yes, that is the sweet spot.
Being aware of both the lack and the luster,
but embracing life anyway,
all for those rare glimpses of your beloved,
those magical moments you both merge.

Why You?

Why you, I wonder?
He hides Love in the most unlikely people and places,
and then nudges us towards them.
Why do I love you?
My intellect provides a hundred possible reasons,
but my heart knows better.
It was never a choice, was it?
You arrived
and suddenly my heart –
clamped shut for so long –
broke open.
The crack was tiny, at first,
imperceptible and unnoticed.
But with time, it gasped and grew,
until its sudden breadth
overwhelmed my breath.
I never even knew what hit me.

There were so many things wrong with you,
yet I was completely enamored.
Hadn’t heartbreak taught me anything?
Hadn’t it hardened me to Love’s fickle nature?
Why do I desire to ache mercilessly at all times?
This ache will ruin me.
Yet still, I want to be ruined.
The angel and demon within me
argue endlessly –
which is which,
and who is saying what,
I do not know.
Are you good for me?
Or bad for me?
You simply are.
Is it a sin to sit and stare at you for hours,
even if “you” are just an imprint
on my imagination?
I expect nothing from you.
I want to, but know I can’t.
Just your existence,
your spirit roaming the same world as mine,
your smile and safety,
that is what I pray for.
Why He hid this Love in you,
I do not know.
What purpose will it serve?
What torture will I endure?
Who knows?
But I submit myself to it anyway.
In truth, my soul begs for it.
Everyone knows
romantics are the worst kind of masochists,
who try to make love to life’s every moment,
who live for the highs,
and die for the lows,
and suffer the pauses between,
by spinning stories
like silk
out of the most beautiful silence.

Now though,
my stories suffocate me,
imprisoning me like Anarkali
within lofty palace walls.
When did this Love solidify?
Wasn’t it meant to free me?
I breathe fire to melt this steel
because this Love was meant to steal
so much more.
You and I were meant for bigger things.
I spread your nectar among others
like a selfless honey bee,
because you, my beloved…
you amplify me.

In your presence,
I forget myself,
and remember the One Who created you,
the One Who made our paths cross.
Of a certainty, we will part,
and age,
and turn to dust,
but so, too,
is this separation a myth,
our true nature –
ageless,
and this moment –
molten
magic.

Two Worlds

I am an experiment,
but also,
the experimenter.
I love,
yet I am Love.
I give,
though I am also the conduit,
and the receiver, too.
I am everywhere
and nowhere
at once.
I am that subtle scent of lavender
that erupts into the atmosphere
every time you think of me,
those gentle, airy flute notes
hidden in your head.
I am in these words you’re reading,
as they rise off the page,
letters dancing in the air,
swirling away as you jump up
to catch them.
I am the rich burgundy leaf
floating off Autumn’s tree,
resplendent in my being,
respectful in my submission
to the universe and its cycles.
I am the weakening of your legs,
the overflow in your heart,
every time you pass me in the hall –
not me, but the other “me” –
the tangible body,
the enthralling ego.
And though I’ve already turned the corner
and disappeared from sight,
the real “I” still haunts your eye,
still taunts your “I”,
still wants to be seen.
We exist in these two worlds:
one where all we do and say
is restricted, daily,
unless deemed appropriate,
where we are nothing more
than empty appearances
exuding angst and authority.
But in the other,
we are free,
boundless,
alive.
There,
you whisper sweet nothings
straight into my heart,
and I respond,
not with words,
but through the deep knowing
we both share.
In the world of appearances,
we hardly talk,
but in this world
that is realer than real,
we are one.
I am not I,
and you are not you.
Words make no sense
because there’s no sense to be made,
only experiences to be felt,
moments to melt into.

In this moment of timelessness,
this world of oneness,
we merge,
and Oh!
What a divine death it is!
What a blissful burial
of my “I”
and your “you”.

Love Means Feeling

For me, love means feeling. 

Warmth.

Safety.

Belonging.

Freedom.

Pleasure.

Power.

Playfulness.

How do I gather all these things

in one touch

of the intangible?

I must really be crazy

because I swear, 

when I’m still,

and I submit to you 

all quivering anticipation,

I feel the tingle of your touch upon my skin,

the whisper of your breath enmeshed with mine,

your fingers as they stroke the tender flesh of my heart.

Each moment with you 

takes my breath away,

but I remind myself 

to breathe anyway,

so I may experience you fully,

learn to lose myself in a moment,

to dissolve into pieces,

merge with your molecules,

our pregnant particles pirouetting 

in graceful whirls,

like grateful worlds,

universes unto themselves,

spinning closer and closer,

yet refusing re-fusion,

heightening resistance,

despite the urge to embrace,

pushing and pulling,

reeling, reverberating, 

in ultimate ecstasy,

as every molecule melts into the other,

rebuilding the “me” of a moment ago,

outwardly similar,

but inwardly altered,

softened,

sweetened,

by your touch.

That moment,

that meeting,

is everything.

A magnetic force that sustains me,

even when you’re not there.

Still I wait and I will,

to experience it all over again.

Love is the ultimate survival tool.

It is not your love for me that matters 

as much as my love for you,

my capacity to love without any hope 

of possessing my heart’s desire,

at least not in this lifetime.

Loving you 

means letting go of me,

lifting this flimsy veil between our worlds,

stretching through time and space,

just to get one glimpse,

one touch,

one taste,

of your Truth.

What Do You Believe?

It’s one thing to say you believe
and another to truly believe.

Most of my life I’ve uttered words
taught to me by my parents,
absorbed the messages broadcast by society
believed the assertions of my inner critic.
Surely, not everything I learned was untrue.
After all, my parents introduced me to You.
But now, You’re no longer just a concept,
rather, a presence by my side.
Society prioritized my monetary value –
how much do I earn? how much do i own? –
but that just never felt right.
I don’t want to own anything,
I want to experience everything.
I’m no fool. I know money matters.
It just isn’t what I aim to strive for.
My inner critic always told me
I was unworthy of love.
So I shaped a life around that belief,
and lived in a dark, but familiar place
called Denial.
Now, I want to leave.

This place, this precipice,
is terrifying.
But the longer I stand here,
the more likely I’ll lose my nerve.

There’s a difference between saying the words
and believing them.
The world says everyone is beautiful,
but still bows down to a singular body type.
The world says all people are equal,
but still builds walls and widens gaps.
The world says our planet is precious
but denies the fact that she is dying
without the love and care of her people.

There’s a difference between saying the words
and believing them.
The time has come to figure out
what we truly want,
what we truly believe,
to disengage with dishonesty,
face our fears head on.

What do I truly believe?
I believe in You
and the power of love.
I believe in the value of helping others,
the importance of feeling connected,
and respecting everyone.
The extraordinary wonder of children.
The necessity of pain,
but not prolonging it to punish ourselves,
rather holding it like a wounded child
and then letting it go,
comforted by the knowledge that,
surely,
it will lead to something better.
I believe I am worthy
and can handle anything You throw my way,
including this,
this most difficult of steps,
over the edge
and into the unknown.

Raw

My insides are all raw,
tender and pulpy,
like an open wound,
a throbbing sore,
the slightest poke, a provocation,
the faintest prick, a sharpened skewer.
Feeling raw can be breathtaking and intense,
but also draining and degrading,
mercilessly depraving.
Raw is pure,
potent,
unfiltered.
Raw sexuality.
Writing that is raw.
An adult’s understanding
of a primal, child-like need.
Only now, as an adult,
do you begin to understand
why rawness must be allowed
to ripen.
We are all wounded.
That is what connects us.
Our pain may sometimes feel
like it’s skinning us alive,
but it’s also leading us
through to the other side:
the ecstasy of connection,
the bliss of the Beloved.
How can we help others
retain their rawness,
break down their walls,
feel safe long enough
to face the fact they belong,
they’re exactly where they’re meant to be,
as their path is teased out
organically?
Layering sweet, child-like innocence
with the bitter vulgarity of rawness,
all while feeling conscious, safe and free –
that is the dream,
is it not?
Like being an angel and devil in one,
a union of everything that exists.

Talk about ambitious.

I lean in to the flow,
resisting nothing,
opening up
like a hidden door,
a hungry lover,
a hallowed revelation,
developing skin
first, thin enough to welcome,
then, thick enough to shun,
finally, permeable enough to sieve
each and every sensation.

I am a constantly changing entity,
collapsing, rebuilding,
camouflaging, shape-shifting.
I am an essence and an aura,
a body and an intellect,
a head and a heart.
I am everything at once,
a jumble of
ideasemotionsfixations
spiralling out of control
as the winds of chance sweep through,
leaving behind
a vast
expanse
of empty.
I am
infinite,
insignificant,
inescapable,
iridescent,
indomitable,
illusory,
insatiable,
incapable,
improbable,
impossible,
immaterial,
imperfect –
a multiplicity of ‘I’s
and all to hide
the irresolvable
why?

Intense

You are pure passion,
vibrating energy,
infinite love.
You are a brilliant, blinding force,
intense by your very nature,
but the world has taught you
to feel shame for being “too much”,
to hold yourself back,
shrink and shrivel,
to recalibrate,
accommodate
those that can’t handle
your power.
So you find other outlets –
locked doors,
secret journals,
wanton ways –
to unleash the pressure,
the uncontrollable urges
to seek pleasure,
discover darkness,
feel love.
The call to curiosity,
once so urgent,
slowly starts to dissipate,
but never quite disappears.
All it takes is a trigger,
a someone or something,
to arouse it,
and for a brief moment,
you feel alive again.
The outside world fills with color,
as your inner world sparks joy.
With no one to share it, though,
this same joy reminds you
of your heartache,
a pain equal and opposite in every way
to your life force.
Perhaps walking aimlessly and numb
through this monochrome existence
is better than flying through heaven,
alone,
heart bursting with that intensity,
which feels so familiar, but all wrong.

Listen to me, my love.
It isn’t wrong.
It was never wrong.
They were.
It’s just that, back then,
feeling loved and validated
was more important to you
than being yourself.
It was they who didn’t know
how to recognize your beauty,
they, who were so shrunken and shriveled themselves.
Now you know better.
There is no excuse
not to let your brilliance shine through.
It isn’t arrogance to want
to use your power
to light up the world.

But hang on a minute.
What’s the rush?
Learn to walk before you can run.
Accept yourself first,
the light and the shadow,
the love and the lack,
your critic and your choir.
Own who you are,
and if you don’t like her,
then dream of who you want to be,
and take baby steps to get there.
Let the force of your desires
wash over you,
but not rule you.
Listen for the sound of the path that beckons.
Do not shy away from yourself.
You are beauty and brains,
laughter and light,
majesty and might.
You are deeply divine.
Let that knowledge,
that freedom,
take your breath away,
and in that instant,
feel boundless,
because in truth,
you are.