happy birthday [boom poem for lover]

happy birthday, my love

We celebrate my beautiful man’s birthday today.
I wrote this poem when we first met.
I haven’t changed my mind on any of it.

Happy birthday, my love.

He’s quite the badass.
He’s a rebel and he’s the too cool for school.
He’s behind the crowd, he’s the slow walker, he’s the leader of the pack without trying to be.
He’s the sage and the delinquent in one.
He’s the joker, the enigma, the shadow, and then also the ray that seeps in slowly, ever so slowly, before blasting up the room.

Oh, the ever present, Sun. The Son.

He walks into a space and, “All Hail Caesar!”
But he doesn’t like that.
Maybe he doesn’t hear it?
Could be that he tries to ignore it.
I mean, come on, it’s only natural.
Stupid me, should’ve known.

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the natural order

friendship

This go around,
We were two ships passing.
Trying so hard to meet at the corner of familiarity, tradition, “then”.
I love her.
She’s family.
Family that was #1 and now is, well, tertiary.
Life has changed.

Time has contracted, in and out, without our even knowing it.
Before our eyes.
While we were distracted.
Amidst evolution.

The natural order of things…

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“Eek!” moments

What does it mean to trust?

How much do you trust your own voice?

How much do you trust that the Universe has your back?

How much do you trust that you’re right on time, right on schedule?

I heard something about trust recently: imagine working towards your goals for 6 days a week. And then on the 7th, letting God/Universe/Nature do its thang. Like “Nature’s Day”, but weekly. Where Nature takes your hard earned energy/focus and like seeds of a plant, adds Her magical touch so your plant grows rich and strong. And glorious.

Work for 6. Rest on the 7th. Cuz you undoubtedly know Nature will be taking care of you.

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suffering

on suffering

Wise words from the Buddhist master, Thích Nhất Hạnh:

On suffering
“When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That’s the message he is sending.”

zoomies

empty room

He’s a boy, about 12 years old. He’s a dreamer, a big fat dreamer. He spends his days looking up lost in the clouds thinking one day he’ll reach them, he’ll conquer them.

His parents never shun this idea, if anything they encourage it. They look up alongside him and whisper, “You’re going to make it. One day it’ll all be yours.” He inhales motivation, excitement, pride; he exhales a heavy sigh; thinks Olympic in scale, tsunami in strength. No one can stop me!

This energy like lightning spirals through his body and like a dog’s zoomie, it explodes in every direction of a small four-walled room with a window. He runs himself around this room building sweat, strength and some kind of stamina. In the process, releases some kind of anxiety, pressure, expectation. And then like a dog, he konks, falls flat and sleeps…dreams again.

“You’re going to make it. One day it’ll all be yours. Think big in this world. Stick to your goal, keep the goal in sight.”

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6 things about my dad’s death

6-things-about-my-father's-death

I can’t let go of the image of his ears. They were pulsing with trapped blood.

It’s a different kind of death when a loved one dies unexpectedly.

Even though we were mourning, we were laughing a lot.

We had been fighting and when he died, we weren’t.

We know death is inevitable, and yet, it’s a shock. A hit against the chest, the knees, the heart.

When a loved one dies, you are given membership to a club you never wanted to be apart of.

Missed Part 1?