Mr Lonely

“You don’t understand….”

And it was true, I did not understand this loneliness as he described it. I know loneliness too well. Time and again he’d wrapped his arms around my soul squizzing out all joy and merriment.

That loneliness I knew.

I knew the loneliness of sitting in a crowd full of gaily cheer, wondering when it would all end so I could crawl into my bed and forget it all.

I know the loneliness of rejection, when you’ve built your life around a significant other and they had walked away from it all without a backward glance. I know that gnawing restless need that would not be sated because after a whole day of labor; you get home to a silent house, not a text or the faintest reminder that someone somewhere is aware of your existence, and affirms it.

I know the pain of lying alone on my bed wide awake at 3 am contemplating ending it all…

Here though sat a man telling me about his lonely life.

And for the life of me it was all strange.

I envied his existence. Everything I was he was an opposite. I was reserved, he was the life of the party; I was single he was “happily” married.

While I took it all slow, he was a wound up spring set loose.

And here he was telling me about his loneliness.

He lay in bed wide awake at 3 am with a snoring wife beside him.

He sat at his desk and wept for the pain that pills would not assuage.

He took a lass for comfort and she milked him and left him high and dry.

These tears he was shedding tagged at my heart for they expressed so acutely the pain that I thought was mine alone.

Before my eyes unravelled a soul, a kindred spirit fighting demons in the night.

The question still lingers, it hasn’t found an answer yet. How is it possible that loneliness would pierce all our hearts,alone and sorrounded by love?

Whence did this gnawing hurt come from?

He hangs by a chord who had been held by a strand.

He hangs alone in an office full of stuff

And those he loved have no clue how long he suffered this wound.

He and I alone together

Day by day

Mr Lonely.

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Bloom

Flowers lie where they fall,
Battered and bruised, petals unglued;
Soiled and scarred, dirtied, disdained;
Flowers lie where they fall,
Though for a day they reigned in some hall;
Their scent sweet and savory,
Flowers plucked and pruned are bright,
While their blood blue is still light;
Flowers, while their lifeblood is warm,
For a day or two,
In death and life too;

Flowers blue or black, peach or purple;
While their veins remain unchocked,
Flowers whatever their hue,
If only you knew;
Will shine on bright without a clue.
For a day or two they’ll give you joy,
For a day or two, while they live;
Flowers will make you smile.

Bright things when they bloom,
Bright things can take your gloom;
Oh the joy in holding the parted petals,
Drinking deep from juicy boughs,
The sacred sensation stirs the soul;
Though flowers it’s true,
Live only for a day or two;

Transient is the human soul,
A flower glowing upon earth’s rocky shore;
For a day or two, day by day;
A hundred days, a thousand ways;
By this and that, through that and this;
The sum of days is flowers in bloom;
For the days we live be they one or two;
Find their truth when we bloom,
And for a hundred years if we can,
We shall be a sweet perfume in all we do.
Flowers lie where they fall,
A joyful life if they had been in bloom.

 

Fear

There’s this girl I like. Well it’s much more than that. Nothing gives me joy than spending time with her, nothing sends waves coursing through my frame like the sight of her. Her smile warms me through and through. Her sadness is as bitter as wormwood for me (don’t know how it tastes ;-)) and when the mirth is gone from her eyes, I see no good in the world. I like this girl a lot…
But wait.
She knows nothing of this. Maybe she suspects it, but really really know? Nope she doesn’t.

 

Let me tell you about yesterday.

We sat there chatting, laughing;

Almost crying.

The hours went by flying.

It was all so exciting!
I looked into her eyes and thought… This is it!

Then I froze.

My tongue swelled, filling my mouth so that it was all I could do to keep a straight face. I won’t bore you with the details about the flood of sweat in my briefs and sticky mess in my shoes. I won’t even bother you with the details of a night spent staring at the most boring ceiling.
I am still kicking myself thinking about it. How is it that you would be willing to give your very soul for her sake and not tell her how you feel?
Got an aha! Moment this morning.
Fear.
We shroud it with excuses, clothe it with elaborate justifiers; yet the truth is that we are afraid.
She may not feel what I feel. She is too good for me…
She most certainly belongs to another and it is not fair…
I don’t stand a chance…
Fear.
I am still praying about it…
Fear.
My family may not approve.
Fear.
I don’t want to hurt her with my shortcomings.
Fear.
I am still healing from past hurts.
Fear.
A million excuses and all it is, is fear.
There is a job opportunity I might like, but I know no one there and I have no man to help.

Fear.
Thinking of setting up this biz, but I don’t have cash or know how.
Fear.
So bit by bit we hurdle in the dark corner away from the light. Bit by bit we hold our peace for longer instead of Speaking our piece. Like millions more, we end up living lives of quiet desperation.
All because we are afraid.
So today don’t waste your breath. Say the truth that is tucked away in your heart.
Breathe.
Go ahead and live. And love. And thrive.

 

This creative life

#thiscreativelife

Stumbled upon this quote on Twitter. And nothing has captured my literally struggles so succinctly. I love writing. I enjoy it better than anything else I do. And yet nothing frustrates me as much as my output. The final product always seems to fall short of my ideals. Maybe my struggles with perfection are the issue, but this gives me life. That it’s all part of the process and every failed attempt brings me closer to that high mark that I aim for. Hidden in the desperate lonely nights with pen and paper is the germ that soon or later will sprout into that which I see with my mind’s eye. The important thing is to stick with it whatever comes. It is not only so for the creative work but for all meaningful ventures. Whatever you put your hand to do, give it your all and stick with it. When the process is right, the product is guaranteed.​

 

This day

This day.

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This day has come.
This day that has hung above our heads like a hammer about to drop has finally come. This day that has filled me with dread and trepidation; that has brought incessant reveries, and snapshots from a time now gone; this day… This day has come. And what a day it’s turning out to be!Long before the alarm sounded it’s shrill warning, I lay awake thinking, feeling, recalling. Long before the light that marks the birth of a new day had come stealing into my room I lay there thinking, seeing, sighing… Beside my bed, just out of reach, I could make out the silhouette of a bike that has become a source of joy and a reminder of what could have been. I see it, I see you. Long before the day is born, I lie awake in bed and I see you.

I am running late. I am riding hard. At this spot as I have done a hundred times over, I instinctively turn my head to the right and let it settle on a familiar roof, a familiar path… Only it is not so today. Where there always was a white flag, nothing but a dusty, dull red roof. No one walks this path today. This is that day. I ride harder still. Some vain hope of escaping this hole that still throbs? The wind bites my skin and scars my fingers. It doesn’t hurt at all.

There’s a monster in my path. I am moving fast, he is moving faster. I see him coming and I ride on still. My heart is racing my lungs bursting. Five feet and closing in, a monster truck cuts across my path. One moment later and I, like tiny bug would’ve been flattened out under his massive wheels. I brake hard. My toes are digging into the tarmac, urging the pebbles to halt my flow into the deathly path of this monster before me. My life flashes before my eyes. I see you. He sees me a second later, and ever so slightly turns the wheel away from me. I am braking with every fiber in my frame. As though in slow motion, the monster eases past me. His bumper slaps me on the thigh, but I do not feel a thing. I am thinking about My Torn Jeans and another ride at some other time. I am thinking about hurtling through space and a gash on my thigh that left a long scar that grows smaller with every passing day. I am thinking about you. I am thinking about life. The monster is gone. I stand there sweating, though it’s a chilly morn. Today is that day.  Such a close shave. What to do? I ride on.

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I sit in this seat that had been mine along time ago. This seat that had always welcomed me when I had arrived tired and sweaty from all the walking, ready for the labours that would keep me. I sit here and remember the moments, the whistle, the smiles… I remember it all. Yes even the sad days, when my journey had seemed to last a lifetime. Isn’t it weird that those days didn’t kill us? Isn’t it weird that though I begged for it, longed for it and prayed for it; life refused to server the cord that held me? Those days taught me, moulded me and gave me new eyes. I hate those days. Those days were such a blessing. In the pain and heartache, I discovered what it meant to be a man and to love like Christ, daily laying it down for those I love. I discovered new ambitions, new goals, new dreams… And I was better for it. I talked a lot in those days, but I discovered silence too. And leant above all else that there is a strand, invisible to the eye that holds us together, even when we are falling apart. When it seems as though darkness had wrapped it’s arms around the heart, light had found a way through.

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Today is that day.

I am thinking, it may seem like it’s all unravelling, and falling apart. But this is just a twist in the tale, a fork in the road, a valley to venture through. Soon or later, as it’s been in the past, the sun will shine through and it will be all good.

Today is that day. But I am not afraid.

God will see us through. 

 

seasons of solitude

Beneath the laughs and hearty roars,

Beneath the sighs that made us soar;

Beneath the smiles that hide the sores,

Beneath it all, a silence that prods;

Such is the season that masks it all.

Night finds us snoring,

Or maybe just drawing;

Day we go out crawling,

Hoping,

Longing,

Sighing…

Another day soon shall come calling,

Maybe then we’ll be talking;

The strand between us holding,

Silence’ hold no longer binding;

Maybe,

Maybe pride that is chocking,

Blinding,

Fooling…

Maybe hearts already mending,

Will come alive in the rending;

But what am I saying?

Restless rants while its raining,

Never caused the sun to be shining;

Such is the season of our lives,

Scary silence while bones breaking;

And the bonds that were, no longer holding.

Such is the season of our lives.

​

 

Ancient Paths

I seek for the ancient paths,

Ancient paths as those of old;

Paths as sure as a lion’s stride,

Paths as sure as a bride’s glide;

To walk upon such paths is life.

Like a blind man on a nightly stroll,

Ancient paths heal the soul;

When faith is strong,

You wont fall.

Hide not the good, good way,

Make it plain like child play;

Ancient paths here besought,

I stand at ready, ticket bought;

A pilgrim ready for the boat.

There’ll be rocks upon this road,

There’ll be sores and heavy loads;

I shall walk it still, whatever betide,

I shall walk it still, against the tide;

Till at last I shall find me home,

Home! Such a lovely hope.