We weren’t exactly walking into the sunset. We simply sat on my lanai and watched the show.
I gave my camera to the Bohemian, who snapped the following photos while uttering low, awe-struck exclamations.
“Unbelievable!”
“This is amazing!”
Or my favorite of his reverent whispers: “Who’s painting this?”
On this day of gratitude, I am thankful for beauty.
Yesterday I was the sweet, crushed angel
disappointed
with myself
and all of my
human frailties
in love
I know how I can be
set my sites
on Christ-like
unconditionality
love embodied
all-persvasive
and sure
I’ll think there should
be no doubt
no fear
if I was loving
right
the Watcher in me
knows the game
drives me down
to the golden sand
where its thick
softness
cushions the weight
of my soles
and with the seabirds
Hafiz came
to tenderly remind me
that this dance
with the Beloved
is set to a slow and patient song
poetry soothes
like a hand caressing my head
so what
it’s ok
You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.
You have waltzed with great style,
My sweet, crushed angel,
To have ever neared God’s Heart at all.
Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow,
And even His best musicians are not always easy
To hear.
So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what
If the price of admission to the Divine
Is out of reach tonight.
So what, my dear,
If you do not have the ante to gamble for Real Love.
The mind and the body are famous
For holding the heart ransom,
But Hafiz knows the Beloved’s eternal habits.
Have patience.
You have not danced so badly my dear,
Trying to kiss the Beautiful One.
You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
O my sweet,
O my sweet, crushed angel.
~ Hafiz
This morning I see the count.
There are 11 posts here in the Archives related to The Bohemian. And it appears as though this morning will mark a twelfth.
Friends who subscribe to my daily posts see me on the street and smile. “Been reading the Archives…” they say with that tone that lifts and trails into all things hopeful, hearts and roses.
Oh, God.
One girlfriend gives her assessment plainly when I see her in line at the bank. “You’re so in love.”
I squirm beneath fluorescent lights and such a defining statement. Lose all eloquence and grip my deposit slip. Stammer something vague about how I’m just having an experience, staying in the moment, “who knows…”, et al.
She looks at me squarely and says, “Call it what you will. I read the Archives.”
Mmmm. The wordsmith in me tries to summarize something even I don’t understand. Language falls short. “Ok,” I smile, “you can say I’m smitten.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Smitten is a good word. Alright then. Whatever it is, I’m happy for you.”
Is this part of the artist’s experience when they share their work? The inner, private realms so vulnerably revealed?
One Archive reader says, “Everyone loves a good love story.”
Is that what’s being crafted here? Do readers see the forest of my trees? Or are they simply finding their own stories in the words that I present?
I’m never going to tell you everything. But I’m compelled to tell you more than what is comfortable, at times. Show you more than what the Censor thinks I should. And with that comes a risk of baring some things tender. Places even I don’t understand.
I’ve often said I’m following a thread. Showing up to the WordPress screen and chronicling the everyday. For these 11 Bohemian posts, I’ve guessed the words were breadcrumbs. Some way to insure my safety if Love lured me into uncharted territory.
I’d say I’m officially bushwhacking now (he even loaned me the machete). At this point, my feeble attempts at marking the place from which I’ve come may just be gestures offering a false sense of security.
I’m not sure I want to back track anyway.
What’s the worst that could happen? I could find myself in foreign land, alone.
But even there, I could map the new place with words. Keep feeling. Sharing. Trust the unknown.
And if I am trying to orient myself on this trailblazing adventure, I’ll take note of my surroundings.
Where am I now? Well, it appears as though 11 posts are enough to officially give The Bohemian his own Archive Category and Tag, making this thread even easier to follow. I notice this comes about the same time that I’ve given him one half of a drawer at my house, inside of which are kept two sarongs, a t-shirt, battery tester and sketchbook.
If we want to play with metaphors, we can say I have a compass in my back pocket. But lately I’ve been wanting to see how far I can get by using my own sense of direction.
These words are my scattered breadcrumbs. I’m walking further in…
For the Archives 