In Plain Sight

In Plain Sight

As
I lay hiding,
confiding
to no one
and no thing,
the remnants of past selves
bring
me pain
inside the heart
I pretend is my brain
is a boy,
so scared
to share himself
with a world
that seems so hard,
harsh,
and yet the metal
I think I see
outside of myself
is actually inside me,
within each reverie,
each dream,
every intent,
all waves,
one sea,
three of me,
the man before,
the one now,
and the one yet to be,
we three
have a responsibility
to each other
and to me,
the man with tears in every lie,
every half-truth,
every story
I’ve ever told,
or held,
or allowed to meld
inside the blood
that runs through every vein
in my heart,
so big,
so small,
insignificant,
but aren’t we all,
I ask myself
in half jest
lest I come to believe
that the pain I love
will never leave
and that the man I thought I was becoming
was the same figment,
the same mirage
in a lifetime full of dreams
and expectations
that go unfulfilled,
because I won’t fill them.

Soft Feelings

Soft Feelings

Soft feelings are hard to let go,
especially when they bleed
into dreams
and streams
of consciousness
that meander and flow
into places I do not understand
or know.

Broken people made whole
inside the hole
within the sphere of the heart
of the soul
and liquid dreams,
streams
of tears,
cascading fears,
the undulating,
rapturous years
bent around
a tree
and its roots,
offshoots
of self
and sky
and earth,
the branches of time,
the hidden,
unforeseen,
the sublime,
the hands of time…

…constructs of mind,
the lost,
the blind,
the dreams of humankind
held inside the womb
of space and time,
floating free
within a revery
of a man who asks himself,
to be or not to be
and how it came to be,
and the feeling lingers,
rests on his fingers
and fills the hole
in his crimson heart…

Selfies

Selfies

There is something unnerving about our reliance on presenting ourselves to “the world” through the use of ‘selfies.’ It is as if our ability to capture an image of ourselves with the use of a phone’s camera indicates something about our inherent power as humans.

How many people are out there explaining to us that all we need to do is X, Y, and Z, and we will somehow achieve our dreams? Must our dreams be quantifiable to the masses? Must we curate ourselves for an audience that for the most part really does not truly care for our struggles at all, but rather the image of “perfection” we instead project?

Is anyone else exhausted from the hordes of individuals peddling their senseless ‘wares’ to the masses, as if they have the answers alone? Must we suffer through one more pointless podcast that we immediately forget when we put down our phones and return to our real lives?

Let me qualify the above statement, as not all podcasts are pointless. There are incredible podcasts out there, but there are also a plethora of podcasts that reinforce our brokenness as a society.

The term, power, does not merely connote an idea of strength; rather, it also speaks of our fragility. We are born, we grow, we live, and we die. This universe is so vast that the word itself is empty, as worlds within worlds spin inside our molecules, while something we name dark matter is thought to make up nearly one-third of the matter-energy composition of the universe.

Maybe ‘power’ can be reframed as a feeling of self. For instance, perhaps power is something we feel by ourselves in the woods on a hike at a moment in which we simply feel “okay” for a moment to be our fragile selves. Maybe power is an emotion we feel as we watch our kids grow up only to realize (later) we must let them go – literally and figuratively. Maybe power is recognizing that nothing we do matters in a universe that is so vast that it is still beginning 13.5 billion light years away. Maybe power is the recognition that everything matters.

When we stop our lives to take pictures and tell the world how strong we are at that very moment, it is a wonderful sentiment, but perhaps it is misguided. Perhaps the energy we spend investing in our idea of the world might be best spent embracing ourselves so we may literally and figuratively embrace others.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with ‘selfies’ at all. It could be viewed as an invitation. I suppose the question here is what do we wish to project through the use of a ‘selfie?’ Are we projecting our very selves, or are we projecting a passing interpretation of what we think we might be? But for whom is this projection? Why?

Perhaps, a ‘selfie’ does not just refer to photography, but rather an intent to present parts of ourselves we feel comfortable sharing while omitting what we may consider ‘dark.’ What if we shared our darkness? What if we allowed others inside our brokenness?

A wise woman said to me recently that our brokenness is what makes us whole. As a man, I have always run away from my brokenness. Perhaps many of us run from it. Perhaps Smokey Robinson says it best in Tears of a Clown