Until We Could

Sometimes we read things and they make us cry.  This was one of those things for me.

I am in love.  Still.  11 and a half years together and I am still in awe of our relationship.  Fortune smiled on me, it smiled on us.   And this year, finally, we were given the same privilege as all other tax paying, law abiding, loving couples who are committed to each other, we were able to get legally married.  Technically it was our third marriage, our third to each other, though in our hearts we’ve been married, I think, since the beginning.  Forever, for us, started a long long time ago.  But this step, this privilege, this legal recognition of our relationship, and the protection it provides us, was so very significant to us.  Which is why, I think, this poem made me cry.

That, and it’s beautiful…

 I knew it then, in that room where we found for the first time our eyes, and everything— even the din and smoke of the city around us— disappeared, leaving us alone as if we stood the last two in the world left capable of love, or as if two mirrors face-to-face with no end to the light our eyes could bend into infinity.

I knew since I knew you—but we couldn’t…

I caught the sunlight pining through the shears, traveling millions of dark miles simply to graze your skin as I did that first dawn I studied you sleeping beside me: Yes, I counted your eyelashes, read your dreams like butterflies flitting underneath your eyelids, ready to flutter into the room. Yes, I praised you like a majestic creature my god forgot to create, till that morning of you suddenly tamed in my arms, first for me to see, name you mine. Yes to the rise and fall of your body breathing, your every exhale a breath I took in as my own wanting to keep even the air between us as one.

Yes to all of you. Yes I knew, but still we couldn’t…

I taught you how to dance Salsa by looking into my Caribbean eyes, you learned to speak in my tongue, while teaching me how to catch a snowflake in my palms and love the grey clouds of your grey hometown. Our years began collecting in glossy photos time-lining our lives across shelves and walls glancing back at us: Us embracing in some sunset, more captivated by each other than the sky brushed plum and rose. Us claiming some mountain that didn’t matter as much our climbing it, together. Us leaning against columns of ruins as ancient as our love was new, or leaning into our dreams at a table flickering candlelight in our full-mooned eyes.

I knew me as much as us, and yet we couldn’t….

Though I forgave your blue eyes turning green each time you lied, but kept believing you, though we learned to say good morning after long nights of silence in the same bed, though every door slam taught me to hold on by letting us go, and saying you’re right became as true as saying I’m right, till there was nothing a long walk couldn’t resolve: holding hands and hope under the street lights lustering like a string of pearls guiding us home, or a stroll along the beach with our dog, the sea washed out by our smiles, our laughter roaring louder than the waves, though we understood our love was the same as our parents, though we dared to tell them so, and they understood.

Though we knew, we couldn’t—no one could.

When the fiery kick lines and fires were set for us by our founding mother-fathers at Stonewall, we first spoke defiance. When we paraded glitter, leather, and rainbows made human, our word became pride down every city street, saying: Just let us be. But that wasn’t enough. Parades became rallies—bold words on signs and mouths until a man claimed freedom as another word for marriage and he said: Let us in, we said: love is love, proclaimed it into all eyes that would listen at every door that would open, until noes and maybes turned into yeses, town by town, city by city, state by state, understanding us and the woman who dared say enough until the gravel struck into law what we always knew:

Love is the right to say: I do and I do and I do…

and I do want us to see every tulip we’ve planted come up spring after spring, a hundred more years of dinners cooked over a shared glass of wine, and a thousand more movies in bed. I do until our eyes become voices speaking without speaking, until like a cloud meshed into a cloud, there’s no more you, me—our names useless. I do want you to be the last face I see—your breath my last breath,

I do, I do and will and will for those who still can’t vow it yet, but know love’s exact reason as much as they know how a sail keeps the wind without breaking, or how roots dig a way into the earth, or how the stars open their eyes to the night, or how a vine becomes one with the wall it loves, or how, when I hold you, you are rain in my hands.

~Poem by Richard Blanco.

Great Depths of Kindness

I’m always rambling on about kindness.  It’s, in my opinion, one of the paramount things we should strive for in our lives.  To be kinder to ourselves, to our fellows, to animals, to the natural world around us.  This quote, that came the other day in the Sierra Club’s Daily Ray of Hope, fits that philosophy and thus has been added to the inspirations page on this blog.  Be kind.

1534876_10152212584160802_2075198641_oMake your heart like a lake with a calm, still surface, and great depths of kindness. ~ Lao Tzu

Kindness

Kindness.  That is all.

kind·ness
ˈkīn(d)nis/
noun
noun: kindness
  1. the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.
    synonyms: kindliness, kindheartedness, warmheartedness, affectionwarmth,gentleness, concerncareMore

    • a kind act.
      plural noun: kindnesses
      “it is a kindness I shall never forget”
      synonyms: kindliness, kindheartedness, warmheartedness, affectionwarmth,gentleness, concerncareMore

The Story Takes Shape

When we are young, the words are scattered all around us. As they are assembled by experience, so also are we, sentence by sentence, until the story takes shape.

― Louise ErdrichThe Plague of Doves

Maya

 

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free. 
― Maya Angelou

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Whoever Saves One Life, Saves the World Entire

Towering

Towering (Photo credit: Tj Parker Photography)

 

 

 

 

For this reason man was created alone, to teach you that whoever destroys a single soul, he is guilty as though he had destroyed a complete world; and whoever preserves a single soul, it is as though he had preserved a whole world.

— Talmud, Sanhedrin 37a

 

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What Will Your Verse Be?

 We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be? – John Keating, Dead Poets Society