Meanderings Poetry

How do you stop loving?

I can’t.

All my life and all these loves I’ve had, I can’t stop loving them.

Maybe I just don’t have an “off” switch when it comes to love.

I used to think I couldn’t let go.

But for me love is forever.

It doesn’t always work out. Change is constant, especially in people and relationships.

But love? The flavor of it may change yet it remains.

Flowers of a different color.

My high school loves? I love them even as memories fade; smiles and warmth still come.

My once wife? I love her even as we are unfortunately estranged. I’m forever grateful for wonderful memories and miraculous creation of a loving daughter.

My old flames? One tore my heart wide open, others widened it further, bringing forth more love of all different flowers.

The more I’ve loved, the more I’ve found there is to give.

Once I tried to stop loving to move on.

Instead I dried up, veins empty and heart barren.

Like blood, love gives life.

I can’t ever stop loving and I made peace with that.

Sunflowers. Roses. Daisies. Orchids. Chrysanthemums. Weeds.

I love ‘em all.

Field of love

White light of Kundalini dream

I left one of the most beautiful, surreal, and serene campsites I’ve ever been in — it was very private up a mountain, had several brooks and a creek meandering through the middle of it and had a plethora of life — butterflies, birds (hummingbirds too!), chipmunks, deer, etc. It was a perfect respite from hot days down in the valley,

I would often sit in the middle of a little wooden footbridge crossing the creek, soaking my feet in the cold, clear water and feeling the air cool as it rose through me. Natural air conditioning can’t be beat!

I was flabbergasted that such a place existed on a dry mountain in a desert valley.

It was a very sacred healing place and I stayed nearly a week in paradise until I felt the urge once again to wander onwards. It was hard to leave. I even had tears rolling down my cheeks — I was that attached to the place. But still, it was time to move forward and I bid a fond farewell, knowing it would be never forgotten, always in my heart.

I ended up stopping at Angel Creek & Lake in northeast Nevada on a mountain called Greys Peak, another stunning beauty and paradise of a different sort higher up.

That night I had a profound dream of walking in a meadow where I turned into a powerful beam of white light surging into the heavens. The light flowing through me was so strong, the thrumming so intense I put my hand around my throat to keep it from falling apart.

The dream abruptly stopped.

Later in the morning I woke up feeling exhausted, woozy, and off balance. I wasn’t sure if it was the dreaded dizzies again and I felt nauseous and so worn out. I was also wondering if it was the altitude but it wasn’t as high as other places I’d stay at without any issues.

Maybe I was coming down with something.

I left camp to lower elevations to see if it made a difference. It didn’t and by the time I arrived at Twin Falls in Idaho, I was thoroughly wiped out and I still felt woozy, which really concerned me since it’s unusual for me to feel this way for an extended period of time, even a nap didn’t help. I ended up going to bed early.

When I woke up, I felt slightly better but still heavy in the head and off balance. I knew I needed to meditate, that sensation was strong, a calling, an urging. I could feel a thrumming through me…

As soon as I slipped into meditation and just let go, allowing myself to sink into the thrumming, like an information download, everything flew into place — the reason I felt so sick, tired, exhausted and tippy was because that dream of light was another Kundalini rising experience and when I put my hand to my throat, causing the dream to stop, I aborted the process.

As I’d learned in previous research from prior Kundalini experiences, prematurely stopping a Kundalini process can be messy to one’s body, wreaking havoc with energy stuck and fissuring about trying to find release.

So I further released into the energy and opened the way to Kundalini to finish what it started the other night. Massive flows of light and energy started flowing up my spine and through my throat out of my head. As before, it was an intense and a bit of a painful process, much like throwing up spiritually.

I started feeling relief and while the releasing continued, I re-experienced the dream, seeing and feeling white light coursing through me and exploding into all shades of greens, purples, and blues as it flowed out of me.

I also had flashbacks to two things I saw the day before that were significant messages trying to explain what I needed to finish but didn’t realize at the time. On my way up the mountain to camp at Angel Creek, I came across a dead snake on the road. Snakes represent Kundalini…. That was one sign…

That morning after I woke up from the dream, I took a walk around camp to try and feel better and I came across another snake right in front of my path… and it would not move. I thought it was dead, but it wasn’t. It’s very unusual for a snake not to move out of the way…. Yet another very strong message I needed to finish the Kundalini process.

Looking back on all this, I was surprised I didn’t put it all together after the dream and seeing snakes twice, but I was so out of it and clueless.

Finally, after an hour of finishing up the Kundalini flowing and releasing, I felt much better and a different kind of exhausted – the kind that happens after Kundalini releases and eventually I recovered through the day and returned to normal with a little good kind of tiredness similar to from a hard exercise.

I’m so glad I honored my instinct in the morning when I woke up to go into meditation earlier than usual… it saved my ass. The trapped Kundalini was like trapped snake poison.

All this was also a reminder that we are very much spiritual beings with a human body, not the other way around. I also believe that beautiful campsite I mentioned at the beginning was a trigger, eventually releasing Kundalini at the right time and the right place — at Angel lake/creek of all places.


Losing a best friend

I remember when I first saw him in high school. His sister, a good friend of mine, pointed across a campus yard and said, “That’s my brother.”

He looked a bit like Harry Potter with his backpack and glasses and the way he trudged to class.

I met him later at their home and it was an immediate kinship where an invisible bond within the both of us blossomed to life. It was one of those instant friendships that deepened quickly over a short amount of time.

My deafness was actually familiar to him because his sister was deaf.

We were a band of brothers, the two of us. It was a versatile combination – we were troublemakers, pushing the limits to see what we could get away with. We were deep thinkers, talking long into the night on humanity, life, and of course girls and sexuality.

We were also practical jokers and there were many nights where we’d laugh our asses off at ourselves or whatever crazy situation we got ourselves into.

As we got older we stayed close. He became my best man at my wedding and later a godfather to my daughter upon her birth.

It was one of those forever high school friendships. We were soulmates.

Back then I was still hot headed at times and not always thoughtful with my words. I would make judgemental comments about others, even him and his family.

It was borne out of a lifetime of insecurity growing up deaf in a hearing world. For the longest time I didn’t always feel accepted or up to the standards of hearing folk so I’d take it out on those close to me and bring them to down to bring myself up.

That’s how I lost him.

I crossed a valley with my words and when he tried to talk to me about it I doubled down, basically saying he was making a mountain of a molehill.

I thought he was being foolish when it was I that was the fool, cratering the foundation of our friendship.

I didn’t realize the damage wrought and kept thinking he would cool off and come back around.

He never did.

I tried to circle back around a few years later and apologise but it wasn’t honest because I still didn’t realize exactly what I was apologizing for and I think he knew that.

Twenty years later I don’t know the full extent of my damaging words because my memory fails, but with the grace of growing up over those long years, I understand now he was setting healthy boundaries.

He did what he had to do and it was the right thing after I kept breaking those boundaries.

For many years after he broke our friendship off, I kept running into people who taught me the value of healthy boundaries the hard way by walking all over me.

That’s how life works in its own graceful way of giving me the hindsight to see what I did to our friendship.

It was one of the hardest lessons I’ve ever hard to learn — along with learning the value and necessity of healthy boundaries in one’s life.

In a sense, his parting of the ways was a lifelong gift of learning.

I love and miss you, brother.


Heart torn wide open

A recent dream reminded me of an old flame of mine who was one of the great loves of my life. It was one of those tumultuous relationships with a lot of soul and ups and downs.

Some might call us karmic soulmates brought together to learn from past lives to face unresolved issues and challenges both on a life and soul level.

I read something from Andrew Harvey’s “Sun at Midnight – a memoir of the dark night” that struck me as defining our relationship through my eyes — it was a message delivered from the divine through a dream to him about his own relationship:

[She] is the spear through which I have opened your heart. Now it can never close.

She broke my heart wide open, showing me a love I had never known before. She didn’t do it with finesse – it was blunt and at times terrifying. It was raw and honest. She tore through my walls and left an indelible mark. We challenged each other, at times pushing each other off metaphorical cliffs to burn off our own insecurities and fallacies.

Our souls were intangibly woven together through many past lives; we had a deep metaphysical connection to one another.

Long story short, our paths eventually diverged sharply — we each had our own lives to live and callings to follow. We were no more.

I still think about her from time to time. I’ll also feel her now and then when she thinks of me. It’s that kind of connection.

I don’t know if we will ever circle back, she’s tried and I’ve tried but circumstances and boundaries and bad timing made it not to be. It’s as if life deliberately placed an invisible buffer between us. Perhaps it’s for another lifetime and we’ve done our part in this one?

Life goes on as it always does. Sometimes I struggle when I fall in the grips of the past through sudden memories or when I feel her, but I’ve learned to flow through it. To trust — to surrender and hand it over to the Beloved, to keep living my life to the fullest.

And most of all, to honor the greatest gift from all this by keeping my heart torn wide open to true love.

It’s all I ever wanted.


Heartbreak in Mexico

A couple winters ago, in an effort to avoid an incoming cold snap, I moseyed on down to San Felipe to camp on the Sea of Cortez in Mexico.

I heard about a quiet, somewhat remote campground from a few other nomads who were there and enjoying the warmth from their waterfront campsites. I ended up meeting four fellow souls for the first time as we met up there one by one and settled in for what was to be a nice, calm, warm, and enjoyable few weeks there.

A lovely couple ran the camp for a local family who owned the land. The husband was Mexican and last lived in Hawaii where he met his current wife so it made for an interesting and lively combo. I warmed up to them right away because of their kindness and generousity in making sure I had everything I needed as I settled into camp.

The other nomads were from different places, all in the States. I met them through their blogs sharing their travels. One was stopping by on her way further south, the rest of us were just escapees from the cold.

The first few days were blissful — the campground bordered a preserve so it was one of those places of sublime beauty that had a quiet intensity to it. I spent quite a bit of time exploring the preserve in my kayak and by hiking on the cliffs overseeing the sea.

With Christmas day approaching, we all decided to cook up a grand feast where each of us brought something to dinner. The host couple took care of organizing and rounding up everything needed, including setting up a dining room with a large table to fit the six of us, including our hosts.

It was going to be an authentic Mexican Christmas dinner with warm laughs and a sharing of common bonds and stories so I was really looking forward to it. Everyone seemed to get along and I felt close to the host couple for taking me around town and meeting their friends and family. Bonds were already deepening in a matter of days.

On the big day, we were all rustling around doing our own thing preparing our portions for the Christmas dinner.

Then BOOM! I felt a door slam hard and a big argument erupting from the campground kitchen area. I saw several of the nomads bolting into their own campers and the host simmering in a corner. Being deaf, I had no idea what happened so I walked over to the host. Shocked, I saw angry tears in the husband’s eyes and the grave stillness of his wife.

My heart sank when he told me he had been accused of stealing one of the nomad’s bags of shrimp bought for the dinner. The other nomads ganged up on him about it, further inflaming the situation.

The host swore on his life he hadn’t taken anything. He was so angry and upset at being accused. It hurt to see the sadness in his wife’s eyes seeing her husband suffer.

I was dismayed to see accusations fly so quickly without taking the time to get to the bottom of things, especially after we all had seemingly bonded so well…

In an effort to save the day and our special dinner, I attempted to mediate and see if we could find out what really happened. My fellow nomads were not interested; their minds were made up. In fact, they were packing up and readying their campers to move out abruptly.

All this chaos on a beautiful beach on what was supposed to be a very special Christmas evening broke my heart. It was further broken by witnessing tragedy inflicted upon the couple and broken again by the non-willingness of my own fellow nomads to let calmer heads prevail and sort the situation out.

After everyone left, I ventured over to the host couple, offering profuse apologies for everyone and expressing my own sorrow at how it all unfolded.

The wife stood up and said she wasn’t going to let this ruin a special night and asked me to stay for dinner for the three of us. She strode off into the campground kitchen to finish it up. By then her husband had calmed down somewhat although I could still see the anger in his eyes.

He told me in Mexican culture it was a deep abrogation of honor to make an accusation like that and he took it very personally. They are a couple that weren’t well off by any means and honor was important to them… only to have it taken away with no proof of any sort.

Just at that moment his wife came back, holding up the missing back of shrimp. It had fallen out of sight behind a bag of vegetables in the fridge.

I sighed heavily. While it was good to find the missing shrimp, it didn’t make things any better because the damage was already done, esp. in the couple’s hearts.

I asked how much the bag was worth. Six American dollars, she said. All this drama and honor taken over a bag of shrimp worth six bucks.

Despite all that, we ended up having a very nice, quaint Christmas dinner and talked the evening away over wine and stories of each other’s lives, further deepening our own bonds.

The moral of the story? Maybe it was prejudice, I don’t know, but it’s wrong to make accusations based on speculation and gossip. It’s wrong to jump to conclusions and not to at least make an effort to get to the truth.

Instead, a lovely couple’s honor gets stolen and their hearts shattered. All over a $6 bag of shrimp.

(Names were omitted for reasons of privacy)


Reminisces with Father (and) Time

The other day Dad and I took a long walk where we reflected upon life and such. He spoke again of his dream of moving to a little cottage tucked away in an old fishing town with a yard and a dog. Where he could take long walks with his dog, hang out with other salt-of-the-earth folks and — most joyfully — go fishing.

All these things are deeply ingrained within; I saw it in his father as well. Grandpa lived in a quaint home by the sea that was within walking distance of his fishing spot. He’d consort with fellow souls and they’d share stories through the hours.

Like father, like son — and beyond unto generations of our past whose sweat and blood sang that song of old Florida.

I encouraged him to move forward on his dream; to rekindle that fire and make it happen. I reminded him he was getting close to knocking on the door of his twilight years.

Waiting for the right time or opportunity would be a sorrowful delusion because time itself is a most wily deceiver. It would fly by so fast he’d wonder where it all went and by then it would be too late.

I urged him to head off those final gates of regret, to tear down those moving goalposts and set a hard move-by-this-date deadline, using the example of when I terminated the lease on my cabin to force me out into the nomad life.

I know he heard me (and has for quite sometime), so will he finally make haste? Who knows. He can be a stubborn sort; I know this because I’ve inherited the same trait that’s sometimes maddening and yet endearing. He is a man of his own time.

Meanwhile, I’ll carry on whispering of his dreams on our ongoing walks as a subtle reminder.

I’ll dream for him too — the dream of seeing his soul sing to the tune of a life drifting into sunsets in his little boat with an ever faithful dog at his side, and of course, a fishing pole tugging in the breeze.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

Mark Twain