Oct 26 - Letters to Luna

Luna,

I have written you so many words.  I wish you would do me the decency of telling me the iceberg was not there.  Tell me your contemplative deliberation was my imagination.  Give me the peace I feel I have earned in the humanity I laid bare.  As long as it is your truth, no matter how cold or hard, that is my wish to find solace in your honest nudity. 

All I do is put seeds out into the universe.  Seasons are perpetually in alteration.  Each day’s flower cannot attest to the morrow’s petal.  I see life planted in humble belief that sowing seeds today is done selflessly for a future one may never see, but appreciating the splendid beauty of the hour in which one resides.  

The now is the fruition of every previous choice like a stack of novels made into a staircase.  Some of those chapters are hopes and that is all they have to be because hopes and dreams are beautiful.  The power comes from the dreamer dreaming, not the fruition.  Hope is like a nuclear core fueling stars.  Hopes made with a healthy self-love send fears skulking into the darkness and illuminate the universe. 

I see life this way, the future, no matter how one chooses to view the morrow, is always limitless in the choice yet to be.  One can rummage through the yesterdays or fret future rises, but we dance only in the now with hearts of loving hope or fearful worry.  If we choose fear, the future and the past can feel like prisons.  People, seasons, we are only what and how we choose in the present.  It is one of the reasons I see so much light and love in life, because I know whatever happened in the past it does not matter.  I am always free, for my mind is free like Viktor Frankyl with the sovereignty of the divinity within any being. 

Like in the story I want to believe love is never wrong.  Like love is the center of all that connects the universe like an atomic bond of empathy so that there is no other.  There is only a universal one.  We do any joy or pain only unto ourselves.  This grows or shrinks the volume of the whole universe, not the individual.  I want to believe the purpose of the universe is to expand on a spiritual level in an infinite play area.  It is our collective sum of choices and instinctual responses that progress on a single platform of time that only appears to have a continuum based on our limited human perspective. 

I want to believe in that form of universe, in a God like a bond that we can sense in others.  Maybe there is not a guiding force that sets us up for success or failure, but I do have faith in my capability to witness the divinity held in the presence of others shining out and recognizing my divinity.  I value that reciprocating experience of namaste.

That is why I shy away so much from plastic commercial activities.  I am not really concerned with how I am perceived as much as if I am heard and hear others on a spiritual and core human level.  I will damn near destroy myself in that pursuit.  The short story and my letters are like that.  I write to express what is in my being in the moment of the now.  

I have searched to be able to share that core of me with people, but particularly someone who wants to try share their version of the same on a regular basis and be present in my life in a workable paradigm for the humans involved.  I feel like there are a limited handful of life experiences where I have felt that with individuals.  

When I sat with you out by the river and times in my house those took on that aura for me.  For me to invite you into my home was a major deal for me.  To show you my art and write like that may have appeared to come quickly or readily, it was because of the reaction I got after meeting you.  

You did exactly what you kept hinting at how you run and hurt people.  Your hard shell turned me away like she just does not want anybody caring about her.  She does not want to have feelings for anybody else and no one to have feelings for her, at least not any that get real and she has to account.   

The reason I keep writing after setting all that aside is about the core of the person I felt on the other end and trying to figure out who you are and if that jolt was a legitimate reciprocating unique reverberation with that whole of the universe I try to describe.  

I felt something like when I met my best friend in high school.  I have felt it with a few other people; it comes down to tapping into the genuine of an exposed soul acting naturally touching me.  It is like a clear view in the huddled clutter of modern life.  Sometimes people just shine.  Talking to you about your life, your psychology, the way your mind appeared to work, that hit me like the jolt.  

I looked at it as a day-by-day approach to be in the present moment, yet focusing on very deep core human identity and communications that were not simple emotions from you to me or me to you, but like photographs of our identity to be seen and heard and move forward with that foundation to wherever.  Emotions would have been a byproduct to the seed of the intimacy germinating from that connection’s evolution or lack thereof in its dormancy or death.  

Looking at it now I barter if it is dead or dormant.  It feels like you need to be where you are.  It hurts, because I do want to care about you, but feel like you do not want to risk screwing up the stasis in New Orleans you have found. 

I have felt compelled to paint this picture of a woman who told me to go away because me painting that picture may risk her looking in the mirror and cracking that comfortable space she’s found and risk her ghosts returning in entertaining feelings of intimacy.    

Inside of you I feel like is a woman who dances like a siren and makes others bend and she doesn’t bend.  She does what she wants, when she wants it and has those conversations in her head when she finally sets thoughts to pillow.  And it all keeps going and going, but she’s good.  She has her stasis and she earned it and she doesn’t want it fucked with.  

Me writing and continuing to whisper fucks with it and well I’m caught.  I’m caught between this chasm of walking away and seeing your thoughts sometime in the future when you realize this stasis is not exactly working for you because the drug just doesn’t take and you’re staring up for that rainbow in the storm.  Your heart is growing numb to the root of what life is about and that passion you flood the universe with is drawing on a depleting reservoir.  The laughs don’t do it; the friends don’t do it; they help, but don’t do it, because you can only hide and dodge love ducking in coffee cups so long before the love is a dog from hell bites your ass and makes you wonder, what am I doing?  What have I pushed away?  And you do it again and the hearts stack like bullet casings and what do you have in the moment from me but these letters and stories and fading visions of a man’s blue eyes.  

I want you to remember I care for you in empathy and compassion.  I’ve been there looking at the gut of life hoping you’d reach to let yourself care about a human and be cared about and you could stay dancing fueled in that way through routes through the heart instead of the armored skin looking strong and just sweating glitter to keep people out.  

Because no one gets in, but one day you have to let somebody in to breathe that deep breath that nourishes the soil.  That somebody may not be me, but these words, these letters are like phials of faith in the spirit of the woman I saw.  I want you to have them as a human being when that day comes.  I want you to feel in your bones that a man saw you and cared for you enough to believe you worth bleeding in the street draining his heart out because he thought you that beautiful a person behind all your walls, all your masks, all your glitter.  

Rather than grow numb and walk away he preferred to explode in a poetic death like a shy crying phoenix because he believed in his guts that he saw the universe in you and that spoke to him from a place beyond you or him.  You made him believe magic was possible again.  You gave him rebirth and he’s trying to return the favor.  

Life is full of dreams and passion and fleeting moments where you can choose to stay with your feet or the ground or jump.  He jumped.  He wasn’t asking you to catch him; he’ll be fine, but he thinks he’d be better if you jumped too and risked falling, falling deeper into the scary wonderful with no guarantees, but for something he knows he hasn’t tasted.  He thinks you haven’t either and maybe we’re both worth trying to fly.  Because when he looks back on his life, what has he got, but a few leaps, a few moments in the air screaming his head off and his guts out smiling at the sky saying this is living, this is pulling a heart out and shoving it at the sun and the moon and screaming bloody genius, “I’m alive, as alive as a god damn supernova.”  

Yesterday I was dancing in some punk circle pits, pumping my fist in the air, dancing with a drag queen from the stage, meditated in the middle of a giant dance floor and showed some guys in a band from London how to enjoy the quarter.  I do my yoga, my poetry, my dodgeball and make friends, but there is a place inside that wants to spend time with a woman like you. 

I know soaking all that might be like trying to drink an ocean, but I did not have expectations, only a vision to fully experience each moment with the capacity of my humanity.  I was just trying to live something real, and now I am sitting at these crossroads.  The way we dated was a very exposed way of being around someone.  I know that was probably really confusing and intense on your end.  I feel like it made you want to fly into the darkness, but I also felt like it was what our souls needed, because neither of us is fake and our masks don’t work on each other.  

Physical connections are common, but a real mental connection is rare, especially for a man like me with so much going on in his head.  I am pouring my heart out here when it would seem every drop has been exasperated.  There is a manner of pathetic shamelessness in it; I don't care.  It is all about tapping that vein into the center of the universe of what human life is for me.  

I know that probably sounds stupid, but that is me; it's too intense for most people.  Sometimes it is stubborn.  Maybe it is as stubborn as your resistance to let go and risk your comfortable place, but it’s the way I need to be.  I hoped you saw me in my core and you would see the intricacies and smile happy and speak to me on that level.  Even if it was just to say goodbye, but to blow me off makes me feel like the universe is just nothing.  

It makes me see the parking lots of plastic, bubblegum mouths and heads full of cotton bounding victorious in the Olympics of naught.  The blandness is a letdown like cow tobacco spittle cud launched like a mother bird regurgitating into my mouth, an Earth goddess blasting lacquered paste of commercial caulk to stymie my poetry into a landfill of white noise.  

To me everything is art, a poem, a song, a dance, it's better than pretending the universe is not there behind everything interconnecting into a god damn tapestry of bleeding genius.  I ride the waves as they come and know that the present is a constant platform to craft whatever we choose it to be. There is always a next song, a next dance, a next poem waiting there to be spit from guts.  It's not about fear, finding an answer, competition or finishing; it's about adding verse to expand the universe as a whole.  

In meeting you and writing all this to try to connect with that part inside you, even if that is months or years from now or never, my offering is what matters to me.  Like anything I play the songs I was built to play and put my seed out in the world.  People are going to react however they choose. 

I find myself praying for something in the nothing like all that writing of the grief I felt you holding if I should chalk up to my imagination or trust my gut.  I ponder if the quietness I saw on your face was not a deeper conflicted interest you struggled to allow yourself to approach.  I felt this was about you processing debates within yourself about what you want to include in your life in a general sense of stasis versus the uncontrollable.  That is the forum my words and letters address for a time and a place that may never arrive where you decide to open your heart.  Whether I would ever be around for that day is not exactly relevant to me, for my faith is in what I witnessed to reciprocate the joy you brought me to plant my seed as a member of the universe. 

There is such a thin soldered line between my thoughts of why you want to remain in your stasis and your lack of affinity for me.  The line blurs.  I hope.  I wonder.  I ponder your lack of explicit commentary as politeness or insulation.  I just want to know what happened in your heart.  I know you didn’t just flip a switch and turn it off.  Big thoughts had to be going on in your mind.  

I felt your feelings; I am not a damn fool.  I felt your confliction and your choice to leave me behind is your valid decision, but I do not believe it was not for reasons bigger than me and not because you did not see the specialness we could have moved towards.  I think your internal processing of that is maybe what tipped you to take the path you took because of what it might have jeopardized in the security you have found in your present life. 

I know who you are inside is none of my business.  Part of me wonders if your need to maintain your untouchable personal sanctum prevents you from admitting any part of what I described experiencing was valid or false.  I was sharing what it felt like to me when I saw the inner you, whether it was your truth or not, I guess I am just wrong or an outsider not privy to confirmations.  

What I hoped you understood is that I was not trying to dive down or pull you down, I was trying to come up to meet you.  I am like that sea creature of the trenches use to living in the darkness.  I saw you like a rare mermaid passing in the waters towards the surface washed in moonlight.  I felt you so different than others I encounter in ways we might share to swim a moment in this ocean.  

I spoke of such personal topics and histories because it is the reverse way I am built.  I speak of such intimacy as the foundation for me to get to the surface and the everyday-routine type endeavors.  Most people start there, I get there later because I often feel fake or bored being on the surface without a contextual backdrop of the inner.  My version of small talk is so often more in depth because I start from the deep.  I swim up and talk deeply with people when I choose to speak when I am interested, my base is being a quiet observer, dancing by myself.

You treated me like you were trying to prove you will never be captured (again).  That’s your deal, not me.  You tried to put yourself in that box to avoid the intimacy and one day you might be tired of living in cardboard homes and want to put your big fat heart out there.  You might want to let go and fall deeper.  I imagine your life was not in a place to imbibe such potations.  

I feel like if you felt some of the deeper confliction or uniqueness and you knew this was not what you were open to then I accepted the turtle’s balance of timing, but never that the underlying rush was absent.  Maybe some manner in this spectrum of human years you would revisit this window and realize when you were open to such spelunking you might reach to that which I represent in your life even if it was not with me.  Maybe I was a jolt for you, just not in the way I wished to be in the present, but in the future maybe you would be more ready for it because you heard love’s humble call even if you were in no mood to answer.  

Your relationship with love itself is none of my business, but when you came into my home and my heart’s garden I felt something powerful, personal in your core speaking to me in your silence.  How accurate that was I can only assess in your communications.  

I know that dancing with what love is, what the universe is, that is all that matters to me as a being.  I wanted you to try dancing with me as that inner you and maybe become friends, personal and real and then see what follows.  I realize that is intense and may feel for you like make-believe handcuffs to an extent, but in my world that is the starting point for every branch to taste every fun, frivolous, or amazing experience life can offer.  The reverse is just playing pretend.  What are people doing if not perpetually dancing to figure out how close, how beautiful the pheromone, how in rhythm, to find out who and where they are at in the spectrum.  

Life is all just a spectrum to me: gender, humor, sexuality, love, intimacy, spirituality; it’s all a spectrum.  No one is just male or female, serious or comical, homo or heterosexual, kind or cruel, close or distant, interconnected or segregated.  We all sway like the primordial waters we evolved.  With you I saw such a swath of that spectrum capable of dancing with me for however much we felt worthy.  I feel that got truncated for reasons I have guessed, but only you know because it was your choice.  

I felt you running away from being seen, being interfaced with in that way.  I felt like you were like, “I am not sharing that, don’t make me.”  I felt like you are good with where you are and you don’t want that messed up.  Talking about such places with me might upset that balance.  

I don’t know, I just know all that stuff I wrote in that letter from the sun to the moon came from a place of seeing you like this closed secret-garden being that wished to stay secluded.  You don’t want to be found.  You don’t want to be tended to.  You want to prune your own roses and water your own soil.  You do not want to help grow anyone else right now.  

I saw this lack of vulnerability to acknowledge a desire for someone to be in that place with you and forbidden to be viewed as an equal or in union with a mutual priority.  I saw you so reluctant to go to that place.  I was not meaning to force you.  I was sad in your sequestration that I saw it.  I have laid myself so bare, so naked, so shameless to try to let yourself open up to simply sit next to you.  You can grow, bloom, in your manner, but I felt a loneliness and grief in you which your busy life appears to protect.  

I felt that sensitive inner you, that part that listens to old soul music, stuff like Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Antony Hegarty, and Otis Redding the good stuff and hopes for love behind all your briars.  I hear Otis sing to try a little tenderness and so I have.  I saw that woman and felt purpose, hope, and the universe.  

I have written these words so many times, so many variations.  I guess that is what a broken heart like mine does, not broken for love, but hope.  You broke my hope, my vision that I have a damn bearing on anything.  I’ll fix my compass, but this is me championing what I feel in this now until I swim back down in my deep darkness writing other types of poems and going to festivals with a notebook creating stories out of conversations with random strangers.  I will swim up again, but this was such a different trip.  

We all have our insecurities, our worries.  I saw you so damn strong, but like way in the back in a side gate in your smiles and dancing parries and thrusts there was this you that wanted to hope for something magical, vibrant, and taste saffron in the sunrise.  You both fight and want the softness.  When I put my arm around you in the bed I could feel your push and pull, but I know like most of us you want to be held at least some of the time.  You want to take your cynic burlesque armor off at least for five minutes every other day or so and sink into the magic of the real, deep, and personal as part of the universe.

That may never be with me, but for all your posturing I saw you as a romantic searching for someone to love in your own way for when you were ready afraid it was easier to push a man away then to tell him you were not sure if you will ever be ready with anyone.  Wherever she is I seed to you, because I saw the universe in her.  I cared about her.  I did not need you to see that now or ever in me for that to make me happier.  

I am happy with me.  My foundation is me, but you made me happier.  I have planted so many seeds in myself to get here.  They bloom every day.  I know my worthiness pumps in my veins.  I learned maybe around thirty when I read Kierkegaard’s Either/Or of the idea of how we parent ourselves.  I take the relationship I have with myself as my primary responsibility to perpetually attend to the font that I pour for the universe.  I feel a wholeness from that giving breath that I can go anywhere and just be me and be complete because I am interconnected with everything even in silence.  

I hope you feel that I have only tried to give to you.  I have not tried to take, for there was never anything I intended to take.  I just wanted to share what I have, which is so much.  I feel so blessed in my life.  I am contemplative; I am reserved and pensive; it is because I see so much to be thankful for.  I do have days where I struggle, on some of those I wrote to you out of my pain, but I see so much of the universe going on behind everything every day.  I saw so much in you.  

I do not know how your heart sees my words and me, but I hope you have planted your own seed, maybe years ago for that tender romantic to bloom some future day from now.  I hope she sees the tenderness in what I have offered and sees me as faith in who you are as you appeared to him, that it was not my delusion, but buried there deep inside you like a tulip’s bulb in winter.  

I have risked your loss of respect and judgment to bow so deeply as a poet because I felt this intersection between us was bigger than you or me.  What I felt I saw is the purest strain of the universe in another human native to how I know I am built.  I have wanted to bury that; to let the apparent complexity wash as disconnected happenstance.   

It all comes from a place of kindness and intimacy I felt with what life is to me flowing through my experiences with you.  I accept that is all it may ever be, but to me that is a joy.  It is a joy I have searched for such certitude in magnitude for many years and to feel that way even if unreciprocated still feels quite wonderful.  So please take these letters as words of joy at their root, for I would not write them if they did not add to the joy I hold for being able to participate in the awesome miracle of existing at all. 

I give these words to you because they are in my heart this day.  Like the garden I do not know the season’s shape of the morrow, but they come from a humble human affinity adjacent with that love in the universe I hold so dear.  I do not know if you view that as insanity and or a distant pleasantry you note with a dispassionate scan.  I hope you can at least offer me a sincere commensurate response.  However I know what it means to me in this moment, so I offer that seed to blow in the wind and you can do with it as you wish. 

Namaste,

Severus