Some musings from an ill-conceived life, well-written
I'll admit it.
I am drawn to the torturous nature of our connection.
The strife and struggle that we pursue; feigning betterment,
the cracks and chasms that result, define tragic beauty.
I crave saga...
and you do too.
The irony is that the one for whom the saga spins,
thinks this could never be about him - while alternate egos
are sure my pining belongs to them.
The plot thickens and the story only deepens - increasing its aesthetic value
and its emotional hold on us.
I don't fear your demons; we've met before.
The problem we face is that your demons wont let you see mine. They cast a veil so that you can't see the battles I wage.
If you did, you'd recognize that while yours were forged of pressure, tension and demand - my demons were molded of deprivation, hunger and strife.
If they met, they wouldn't find strength and grow too large for us to tame.
If they met, we might no longer need to vanquish them; they might shake hands, sit down, and find peace together.
If we let them.
I dreamt that I went searching for my mother on the streets of Santa Fe.
Maybe that's what I've been doing...
I have no reason to think that she'd ever been to the City Different, other than her Catholic sensibilities.
In the dream I held in my hand, an antique toy hot-air balloon with Santa Fe Tea Company scrawled across it; standing in the rain on Don Gaspar, squinting into the peaking Sun.
She was there in that moment, if not ever before. And certainly in searching for her, I find myself.
I went searching for me on the streets of Santa Fe.
The inevitable, ironic twist is looming.
The day is coming when you'll finally have convinced me how good enough you really are not -
That will, of course, be the same day that the fog that's been hindering you lifts and you'll finally see all that you, that we, are and can be.
But by then my calloused skin will be too thick; my defenses well-honed. I'll be too far gone.
And your consolation will be the pat-on-the-back that you get to give yourself because, at least you were right all along.
You were never good enough...
if only you could have seen how you were.
As I walk at the ever hasty pace that pervades these streets,
the thoughts of integrity root deep in my head.
Integrity, compassion, courage and, what's that word again?
Oh yeah...hope.
My District, you seem to have lost some luster; the purpose, the potential, the people and the pace remain unchanged - but your glow, your shine, the passion emanating from every brick, stone, crack and blade of grass seems to have dulled.
But through a sullied surface, I still feel your pulse, though faint, your breath still exhaling life, art, passion and change.
Built on the backs of people denied rights.
This city heaves with strength and resilience.
The blood seeped into the earth, the sweat poured over design, the feet firmly planted in resistance, in rebellion, in unity, in growth.
Integrity. Compassion. Courage. Hope. DC. Me.
