Independence day

photo by Parker Fitzgerald

Last July I received an unexpected letter in the mail. I read it. The words inside that letter woke me up from a deep slumber that I'd unconsciously allowed to wash over me. Hard facts are known to do that. That letter forced me to ask questions that I knew I had been avoiding asking. Those questions forced me to hear answers that I knew I had been avoiding hearing. Those answers forced me to take account of how far from freedom I had traveled and for what?

People who are able to truly love do not lightly put their lover's lives in jeopardy. People who are able to love value their own lives, for the sake of their lovers, if not themselves.

That letter, a record of invisible actions and impulsive decisions, changed my life forever. Forever for the better. I asked, without shame: Are you able to love? If so, are you loving the things that you want to? What in your actions allows your love to be seen?  If nothing, is love really present? If not, why pretend?

The universe has a plan for me (and for you). Let it unfold. Feel it wash over you. There is beauty, light in even the darkest moment- can you see it? This is what freedom feels like. We are lucky to know that feeling.

that ain't nothing but ten cent love

The incomparable voice of Mr. Redding... 

when love falls apart more than 2 people suffer

There is a black hole inside of you

where a soul would be.

Loss is your wife. Death is your only child.

The black vows you will never break.

They drag you around like a coffin full of dead moments. 

Now there is a hole inside of you.

And inside of me there is a soul, made of the ethers of a million spirits across time.

to remember better, to part with less pain

*******

dropped

and falling

from such 

heights

for so 

long

that

maybe

I will have

enough time

to learn 

flying

*******

why is the word yes so brief?

It should be

the longest, 

the hardest, 

so that you could not decide in an instant to say it, 

so that upon reflection you could stop

in the middle of saying it. 

*******

Let us touch each other

while we still have hands, 

palms, forearms, elbows...

Let us love each other for misery, 

let us torture each other, 

mangle, maim, 

to remember better,

to part with less pain. 

*******

Enough painkilling, heal.

Enough cajoling, command, 

even if your fiery joys 

mean endless inequality

and melt our vessels

that are dispensable.

Enough rehashing, create.

Enough lying to the sick:

they will not get well.

*******

On my back, alone, 

I feel your seed dying in me, 

feel its fear, feel its wish to live on...

I wonder if I can carry 

so many deaths inside me, as I nurture

my own?

*******

The wholy feminine poetry of Vera Pavlova.   Her words are the words of Kali, of Quan Yin, of our universal mother Mary.  Here is an interview of Vera by her gorgeous daughter, the psychologist Lisa Pavlova:

A happy or an unhappy love?

at your heels

I'm in the belly of the canyon.
I can't come up with any reason.
Why a ghost is following me.
Why a ghost is following me.

I've got some feed for the longing.
I've got the pill for the bad dreams.
The apparition dancing with me, stepping down all over my feet.

There is no key to my gate, but you can still come around.
Lean your ladder against my window and I'll come down.
I'll come down.
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You can still come around