I wrote this rather interesting piece sitting on a bench, watching the seals bask in the sun, at the Coves in La Jolla. If you've ever been there you know what I mean when I say it is indeed a magical place. Magical in that not only does it portray a perfect Southern California setting, but also in that nature does abound. If you write often like I do, you can really let your creative juices shift to overdrive since the place is conducive to writing just about anything. This piece is interesting to me in that I wrote it as a symbol of the discord which exists between Man and Nature. It is about how we became insensitive to the natural world's needs and how we exploit our natural resources to the point of depletion. I used to be a biology major before I went to Med school and if you are a product of the UC system, you are heavily influenced by research. I just got off from an afternoon of reading at the Salk Institute of Oceanography and drove down to La Jolla Coves to write.
The eternal blanket of azure in front of me beckons and I engage it with a lie. The ocean greets the shoreline in a cadence so protean and ethereal it seems almost lucid, like being trapped in somebody else's surreal dream. Time meant nothing for the gesture was and still is a sole reminder of eternity. The waters would greet the jagged rocks only to seep through and reach the sands in foaming whispers. It was as if they were disclosing secrets but in their hurried state to return to the sea, the words despairingly lose meaning. I sit humbly before this procession for hours on end. In the sea I am humbled. In the sea I find my soul, the core of who I really am, who I really was meant to be. Yet as I peer to the horizon I can't help but feel sad for the lost humanity in all of us. The sadness looms over me like an unbreakable silence. In the waves I hear a distant longing, older, perhaps, than any primal human emotion; the need to belong and respond harmoniously to the universe around us. I search for the meaning in their message but lose myself in the translation.
Why are we really here? What sort of means and, more importantly, to what ends do we serve? It is not everyday that I find myself unhinged from the ideals and virtues I hold to heart dearly. Swimming in an ocean of desperate questions I find, oddly and true enough, nothing but dissonant answers.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Wayward Ends
I wrote this piece 15 years ago and if I remember correctly the reason for this piece is about the relevance of dreams in our lives. Do we actually live out our dreams or do we go through a lifetime in constant dreaming? The piece is rather short, I might add, but if you read carefully it is rather deep in meaning. The character portrays all of us. His resilience to catch fish aided only by moonlight reflects how we pursue our aspirations. Written from the perspective of a casual observer, the "observer" reflects how we fail to chase our dreams, leaving everything and anything to chance.
He was like a phantom. Casting his nets from his crude boat he makes every effort to maintain a delicate balance. His nets dropped to the sea with the slightest murmur. With the moon out the waves seem to taunt him. Slow ripples carried the moon's reflection over a surreal landscape of ebony tides. Still, he stood unwavering and undaunted by the night. The stars shone with their brightest garb above him yet he hears not their offer of wayward dreams...
And so I watched this old man fish from the sea. His old and gnarled hands still delicately pulls the net from the water and deftly tucking it under his arm. It wasn't long before images of silver undulate from the waters to his boat. The sea is as stark as ever yet she rewards those who grants her patience. Silently and slowly he pulled his catch from the nets, placing them onto his reed basket.
It wasn't long before he drifted away from my vision. The moon no longer willing, the night swallowed him into her dark embrace. Under these stars he appeared like a dream. A fluid yet simple view of life. A life I once lived. Gone are my boats, my oars, and my nets. Still with me are my dreams.
He was like a phantom. Casting his nets from his crude boat he makes every effort to maintain a delicate balance. His nets dropped to the sea with the slightest murmur. With the moon out the waves seem to taunt him. Slow ripples carried the moon's reflection over a surreal landscape of ebony tides. Still, he stood unwavering and undaunted by the night. The stars shone with their brightest garb above him yet he hears not their offer of wayward dreams...
And so I watched this old man fish from the sea. His old and gnarled hands still delicately pulls the net from the water and deftly tucking it under his arm. It wasn't long before images of silver undulate from the waters to his boat. The sea is as stark as ever yet she rewards those who grants her patience. Silently and slowly he pulled his catch from the nets, placing them onto his reed basket.
It wasn't long before he drifted away from my vision. The moon no longer willing, the night swallowed him into her dark embrace. Under these stars he appeared like a dream. A fluid yet simple view of life. A life I once lived. Gone are my boats, my oars, and my nets. Still with me are my dreams.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Recluse
This piece is especially important to me. I wrote it on November 14, 1995. As with my other old written works, this still haunts me in the power of it's message. It's rather short, mind you, but it will take you to another time, another place, and challenge you to lay bare your understanding of the strength of the human spirit and hope.
"In darkness and silence they eagerly listen to her singing. What little light that may fall on the withered and broken slats showing still figures hunched in corners revealed a human tragedy. The horror of it all cannot hide the beauty of her voice, transcending to the heavens. So they listen to her sing. From afar they couldn't quite make out the words to her song but her nightingale voice they welcomed greatfully.
The women and children on the far side of the barracks wept whenever her singing was heard. They were reminded perhaps of bitter memories of happier times unlike the cruel realization which they must continually face and live with. Times, perhaps, when life was simple and the war so distant. Of course, to the prisoners of Auschwitz, any sign of hope is wasted effort. Hope was a dangerous thing to hold on to because it waylays what little strength they may have. Still they listen to her song. Her voice makes them forget. To forget is better they say. Pay no heed to your hunger, to your pains, to the bitter cold, to the stern possibility that the very next moment may be your last, they say.
The men shuffle their way to the tiny cracks on the wall or between haphazardly nailed wooden slats to hear, even only for a brief moment, to hear the beauty of her singing. Their worn and torn bodies offer little protection to the knife-edge cold. So she sang. She took them to prairies filled with summer flowers and butterflies. She showed them the many beauties of her little french cottage in the south of France. So together they journeyed and together they forgot where they were. For a brief moment with parched lips they smiled. She has awakened in their hearts the undying power of the gleeful spirit. In that short instance, in that flicker of eternity, she gave them what they have longed for-RECLUSE."
"In darkness and silence they eagerly listen to her singing. What little light that may fall on the withered and broken slats showing still figures hunched in corners revealed a human tragedy. The horror of it all cannot hide the beauty of her voice, transcending to the heavens. So they listen to her sing. From afar they couldn't quite make out the words to her song but her nightingale voice they welcomed greatfully.
The women and children on the far side of the barracks wept whenever her singing was heard. They were reminded perhaps of bitter memories of happier times unlike the cruel realization which they must continually face and live with. Times, perhaps, when life was simple and the war so distant. Of course, to the prisoners of Auschwitz, any sign of hope is wasted effort. Hope was a dangerous thing to hold on to because it waylays what little strength they may have. Still they listen to her song. Her voice makes them forget. To forget is better they say. Pay no heed to your hunger, to your pains, to the bitter cold, to the stern possibility that the very next moment may be your last, they say.
The men shuffle their way to the tiny cracks on the wall or between haphazardly nailed wooden slats to hear, even only for a brief moment, to hear the beauty of her singing. Their worn and torn bodies offer little protection to the knife-edge cold. So she sang. She took them to prairies filled with summer flowers and butterflies. She showed them the many beauties of her little french cottage in the south of France. So together they journeyed and together they forgot where they were. For a brief moment with parched lips they smiled. She has awakened in their hearts the undying power of the gleeful spirit. In that short instance, in that flicker of eternity, she gave them what they have longed for-RECLUSE."
Broken Flight
I wrote this piece back in November 14, 1995, what seemed like ages ago, and yet, still tugs at me like I wrote it just yesterday. The piece is about breaking the bonds which hold us and imprison us.
"The world looked trapped in a melancholy dream. The landscape suddenly became somber as the grey sentinels made their way to the horizon. Sometimes they will lash out to the earth like a serpent flicking its amber tongue.Looking out my streaked window I see the storm clouds continuing to blanket the world outside. My heart felt suddenly burdened as the torrents of rain hammered the land. It was a dreary time. A time for new beginnings.
I sit and wait in my humble abode for HIS coming. Behind me the attributes of my life lay still. Gone are the dreams. Gone are regrets and sorrows. Only loneliness greets me now. And yet I anxiously wait for my friend with whom I share this miserable refuge. Each day he warms my spirit with his song. He is quite intelligent, this feathered friend of mine. He comes and sings to me at my window, just singing, never with a look of pity towards my fumbling misery. I miss him dearly. I no longer seek the company of people for I have learned to love other creatures of the world.
The storm continues on and the wind wails like a thousand widows. Still I wait. Still I hope. Somehow though, in my heart of hearts, I knew he won't come. In a purge like this many things die. They die so that others may yet live. My friend is gone. He is finally free. I envy him so."
"The world looked trapped in a melancholy dream. The landscape suddenly became somber as the grey sentinels made their way to the horizon. Sometimes they will lash out to the earth like a serpent flicking its amber tongue.Looking out my streaked window I see the storm clouds continuing to blanket the world outside. My heart felt suddenly burdened as the torrents of rain hammered the land. It was a dreary time. A time for new beginnings.
I sit and wait in my humble abode for HIS coming. Behind me the attributes of my life lay still. Gone are the dreams. Gone are regrets and sorrows. Only loneliness greets me now. And yet I anxiously wait for my friend with whom I share this miserable refuge. Each day he warms my spirit with his song. He is quite intelligent, this feathered friend of mine. He comes and sings to me at my window, just singing, never with a look of pity towards my fumbling misery. I miss him dearly. I no longer seek the company of people for I have learned to love other creatures of the world.
The storm continues on and the wind wails like a thousand widows. Still I wait. Still I hope. Somehow though, in my heart of hearts, I knew he won't come. In a purge like this many things die. They die so that others may yet live. My friend is gone. He is finally free. I envy him so."
Monday, July 18, 2011
Life Unhindered
"I remember that when I was young I loved to see the small wonders I now take for granted. Those long summer days when I would wake up to mornings eager and with fervent anticipation. I would sit on the porch quietly waiting for the morning mist to rise and the dew to dry. The world looked really big sitting in grandpa's old rocking chair. It was as if time dragged its legs rather slowly in our neck of the woods. The old cabin that I used to call home is now gone and the quiet country life that I sorely missed now gave way to suburban housing and shopping malls. Gone are the slow rushing of creek water I remember so vividly. Gone are the day-long chirping of birds and the pine-scented breeze.
Sitting there in that lonely stretch of road facing a road side cafe whose neon sign flickers on and off, I think of where my life had been. In that cold bench waiting for the bus I think to myself what now? The world has little use of a greying old man's company. Suddenly I felt burdened by the years and my heart grew weary. Yet I have so much to tell. I have so much to share. Grandfather was fond of saying to me that to remember days gone by you have to keep something special to remind yourself of those days. I have nothing. Looking back behind the bench I stare for perhaps the hundred thousandth time the only memory I have left of home. It sat there gathering years of dust and neglect in an antique shop a young Jewish couple was running. Propped against a wall was grandpas old rocking chair. I didn't think the antique shop owners would mind an old man dropping by so I grabbed my cane and made my way across. Before I got to the door they closed shop. The "WE ARE OPEN" sign no longer flickered and what little light availed me was from a streetlamp. I peered through the glass to see grandfather's rocking chair one more time, perhaps, for the last time. I had to squint for my sight no longer serves me well. Condensation on the glass from my heavy breathing couldn't keep me from seeing what I came to see. On the chair's hind legs was an inscription I didn't think the shop owners ever saw or cared to see. I know because I remember placing it there one cold winter morning a lifetime ago. My heart throbbed with joy because despite the many layers of varnish it's still there;"GRANDPAPPY AND ME". I'm hoe. I'm finally really home.".
I wrote this piece on the 11th of November, 1995, and on the left hand corner near the bottom of the page was my reason for writing this piece;" I dedicate this story to the many many special souls who toiled and labored all their lives and have nothing to show for it but bitter memories, graying years, worried brows, and calloused hands. I commend them for they are the epitome of hope. They are the forebearers of dreams. Theirs is a powerful narration of the human spirit."
Sitting there in that lonely stretch of road facing a road side cafe whose neon sign flickers on and off, I think of where my life had been. In that cold bench waiting for the bus I think to myself what now? The world has little use of a greying old man's company. Suddenly I felt burdened by the years and my heart grew weary. Yet I have so much to tell. I have so much to share. Grandfather was fond of saying to me that to remember days gone by you have to keep something special to remind yourself of those days. I have nothing. Looking back behind the bench I stare for perhaps the hundred thousandth time the only memory I have left of home. It sat there gathering years of dust and neglect in an antique shop a young Jewish couple was running. Propped against a wall was grandpas old rocking chair. I didn't think the antique shop owners would mind an old man dropping by so I grabbed my cane and made my way across. Before I got to the door they closed shop. The "WE ARE OPEN" sign no longer flickered and what little light availed me was from a streetlamp. I peered through the glass to see grandfather's rocking chair one more time, perhaps, for the last time. I had to squint for my sight no longer serves me well. Condensation on the glass from my heavy breathing couldn't keep me from seeing what I came to see. On the chair's hind legs was an inscription I didn't think the shop owners ever saw or cared to see. I know because I remember placing it there one cold winter morning a lifetime ago. My heart throbbed with joy because despite the many layers of varnish it's still there;"GRANDPAPPY AND ME". I'm hoe. I'm finally really home.".
I wrote this piece on the 11th of November, 1995, and on the left hand corner near the bottom of the page was my reason for writing this piece;" I dedicate this story to the many many special souls who toiled and labored all their lives and have nothing to show for it but bitter memories, graying years, worried brows, and calloused hands. I commend them for they are the epitome of hope. They are the forebearers of dreams. Theirs is a powerful narration of the human spirit."
Uncovering Lost Treasures
I had always been an avid writer. Writing for me is a way of putting emotions into words. It's more than trying to convey something across. It's a part of you and that can become dangerous.You write and yet, unknowingly, you lay bare all there is about you. I have found some of my old written pieces during my younger days and I will post them individually in my next posts. So, do come back. Thank you.
Monday, July 11, 2011
100% Free
If I can give you what you need most,
what will that be?
If I can tell you what you needed to hear now,
where will I begin?
Nothing is ever free they say,
but they know nothing of giving.
My life I lay at your feet,
my heart I place in your hands.
My love I place in your keeping,
for all that I am is yours,
and all that I give to you now and ever, is 100% free
what will that be?
If I can tell you what you needed to hear now,
where will I begin?
Nothing is ever free they say,
but they know nothing of giving.
My life I lay at your feet,
my heart I place in your hands.
My love I place in your keeping,
for all that I am is yours,
and all that I give to you now and ever, is 100% free
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Rain
The slow trickle of raindrops,
slowly etching my bare window.
Hiding the world from view in an instant,
wanting to paint the world anew.
Cleansing they say is what the rain does.
Ridding the world of it's woes.
I could almost believe that is true,
if only my tears would stop their flow.
The sky is as gray as unwashed slate.
The clouds churn in anger and confusion.
Loud is the wind's warning,
falling on deaf and unheeding ears.
Rain, rain, let it fall.
Bathe me and remind me what I lost.
Tell me again that I am alive,
Cleanse this spirit anew..
slowly etching my bare window.
Hiding the world from view in an instant,
wanting to paint the world anew.
Cleansing they say is what the rain does.
Ridding the world of it's woes.
I could almost believe that is true,
if only my tears would stop their flow.
The sky is as gray as unwashed slate.
The clouds churn in anger and confusion.
Loud is the wind's warning,
falling on deaf and unheeding ears.
Rain, rain, let it fall.
Bathe me and remind me what I lost.
Tell me again that I am alive,
Cleanse this spirit anew..
The Frog Prince
Oh how time draws to a stillness,
this prison will forever keep me.
Hope is a word I have long forgotten.
How long need I wait for deliverance?
Each day that passeth I hop till I ache,
waiting for that special girl.
The girl who holds my destiny,
and my salvation from this loneliness.
Yet here I am aging beyond years.
wart upon wart I no longer recognize myself.
Despair and loneliness are all I have.
That kiss is a joke, really.
And yet I linger still,
waiting, wanting to prove myself wrong to the end.
If only her kiss would come before I go.
I wish I could at least see my angel...
...my princess who shall never be.
this prison will forever keep me.
Hope is a word I have long forgotten.
How long need I wait for deliverance?
Each day that passeth I hop till I ache,
waiting for that special girl.
The girl who holds my destiny,
and my salvation from this loneliness.
Yet here I am aging beyond years.
wart upon wart I no longer recognize myself.
Despair and loneliness are all I have.
That kiss is a joke, really.
And yet I linger still,
waiting, wanting to prove myself wrong to the end.
If only her kiss would come before I go.
I wish I could at least see my angel...
...my princess who shall never be.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
S.R.O.
In some parts of the world buses are still the most widely used transportation. In third world countries you often see people jam-packed even to the roof of buses just so they can get a ride to wherever they may be headed. Well S.R.O., as is often seen plainly on the windshield of these buses stands for Standing Room Only. If you weren't early enough or were really in a hurry to get to who knows where you may have to be standing for the rest if not the entire trip.
Imagine that it's only 9 am and the heat is barely tolerable already. You crowd into a bus full of people speaking multiple dialects you have no understanding of. The road conditions are bad to say the least and you wonder to yourself if the bus you are in is even capable of getting anywhere given the shabby shape it's in. It's dusty, it's humid, no indication of a decent rest room stop anywhere, not that you may be expecting a decent one, if any.Well, you get the picture. Welcome to the third world, my friend, as they say. You have only one thing in your mind and that is to just bear with it, hope that the bus doesn't break, and maybe get there in one piece. I don't know about you but it sounds like adventure to me.
Once in a while it's good to break from the norm, to immerse yourself into something totally different, to be in a culture oceans ways from yours. I am not saying you ought to take a vacation several times a year. What I am saying ids that we should constantly remind ourselves that there is a different world out there, and that you are not alone. For every worry you experience, for whatever reason you may be smiling or in tears for, there is a person out there feeling the same thing, going through the same emotions for the same reason as yours. we are not that different from each other. What makes you laugh and cry makes the rest of us pretty much do the same.
So don't forget, expand your horizons and know tat the only limits you may encounter are your own. Hop on that bus, get off the next village, secure clan drinking water, take tons of pictures, make new friends. Be your own ambassador. Life is too short. Standing Room Only or not, we gotta ride. Until our next post, folks. Take care.
Imagine that it's only 9 am and the heat is barely tolerable already. You crowd into a bus full of people speaking multiple dialects you have no understanding of. The road conditions are bad to say the least and you wonder to yourself if the bus you are in is even capable of getting anywhere given the shabby shape it's in. It's dusty, it's humid, no indication of a decent rest room stop anywhere, not that you may be expecting a decent one, if any.Well, you get the picture. Welcome to the third world, my friend, as they say. You have only one thing in your mind and that is to just bear with it, hope that the bus doesn't break, and maybe get there in one piece. I don't know about you but it sounds like adventure to me.
Once in a while it's good to break from the norm, to immerse yourself into something totally different, to be in a culture oceans ways from yours. I am not saying you ought to take a vacation several times a year. What I am saying ids that we should constantly remind ourselves that there is a different world out there, and that you are not alone. For every worry you experience, for whatever reason you may be smiling or in tears for, there is a person out there feeling the same thing, going through the same emotions for the same reason as yours. we are not that different from each other. What makes you laugh and cry makes the rest of us pretty much do the same.
So don't forget, expand your horizons and know tat the only limits you may encounter are your own. Hop on that bus, get off the next village, secure clan drinking water, take tons of pictures, make new friends. Be your own ambassador. Life is too short. Standing Room Only or not, we gotta ride. Until our next post, folks. Take care.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Cradle
Will I ever remember?
That warmth tugs at my soul,
leaving me to wonder how and when I strayed.
The cradle that is you,
giving we warmth and tenderness.
How is it that I failed to recall?
When all that really mattered was you.
Where have you been all my life?
Will you not let me return?
Let me feel the inner peace
only your love brings.
Nothing in this life is ever certain,
we all must do our time.
Take me back to that cradle,
let me be a child once again.
Knowing nothing else but joy.
Joy in the cradle of your love.
That warmth tugs at my soul,
leaving me to wonder how and when I strayed.
The cradle that is you,
giving we warmth and tenderness.
How is it that I failed to recall?
When all that really mattered was you.
Where have you been all my life?
Will you not let me return?
Let me feel the inner peace
only your love brings.
Nothing in this life is ever certain,
we all must do our time.
Take me back to that cradle,
let me be a child once again.
Knowing nothing else but joy.
Joy in the cradle of your love.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Under A Rainbowed Sky
Sitting, wondering, always searching..
under this rainbowed sky all else becomes clear.
Wishing, waiting, dreaming..
under this rainbowed sky nothing is ever the same.
My heart smiles and is agape with wonder.
How can something so beautiful remain lost?
Yet I wipe the bitter tears and look up,
dreaming under this rainbowed sky.
Is it really like this?
Having realized something for the first time,
when all along it's been there just waiting.
Ironic isn't it to finally know.
Yet as I look up and see this misted rainbow,
I see all that I have to see.
Nothing is ever permanent, nothing ever stays.
Under this sky or any other, we fade.
under this rainbowed sky all else becomes clear.
Wishing, waiting, dreaming..
under this rainbowed sky nothing is ever the same.
My heart smiles and is agape with wonder.
How can something so beautiful remain lost?
Yet I wipe the bitter tears and look up,
dreaming under this rainbowed sky.
Is it really like this?
Having realized something for the first time,
when all along it's been there just waiting.
Ironic isn't it to finally know.
Yet as I look up and see this misted rainbow,
I see all that I have to see.
Nothing is ever permanent, nothing ever stays.
Under this sky or any other, we fade.
A tale of two monkeys.
In a secluded portion of a forest on the bottom of the world lived two monkeys. One monkey loved adventure and kept on hopping from tree to tree, vine to vine, discovering every inch of every treetop and ravine. The other monkey, however, did nothing all day but stare at the sky, climbing down only to forage the ground for nuts or drink from the mountain spring. They kept to themselves, these monkeys, uncaring for one another or for the rest of the forest inhabitants for that matter.
During one fateful day the sky grew suddenly dark and the wind hardly blew. Everything became sullen and damp and eerily quiet. Alarmed, the two monkeys listened to the forest for clues, waiting for anything, really, and hoping against all hope that the weather will eventually change and the forest will come to life once again. On that fateful day a beginning indeed dawned upon them but not to their expectations. Years came to pass and the sky grew darker still. Food was scarce and each day grew even colder.
The monkey that kept staring at the sky decided to seek the noisy little one that had continuously annoyed him for years. Smelling the air for his scent and alarmed by its absence, he began to venture forth, heading for higher ground. Anywhere is better than here was his new motto in life. After days of travel and without food he had finally reached his limit. Having realized that he too were not as nimble as before, he accepted his fate and settled for the most comfortable spot he can reach. This would be just as good he mused, seeing that the end is near.
Later that day he noticed that a monkey, much like himself, was sitting on a branch looking down on him, as if observing him. With eyes of pity the other monkey came down and sat in front of the other. Let's call this monkey Mr. Noisy and the other Mr. Boring.
" When did you come up?" asked Mr. Noisy
" I don't remember. I've been sitting here for days and I can't move any further.", replied Mr. Boring.
"The world changed. There's nothing to eat for miles around and the sky would sometimes burn. We will perish, I fear.", says the noisy one.
"I know. I came looking for you. To say goodbye. I know I haven't been much of a conversant one through the years, but I came to see you for the last time." says the worn and tired boring one.
In that fateful moment they embraced, got up and decided to head for higher ground and await their ends. Life is just a drop in eternity's bucket. We will never know what fate awaits us. It is the now that matters and we have to live THIS LIFE and importantly SHARE IT. A tale of two monkeys is about reflecting on wasted time and unanswered hopes. It's about answering the call NOW and living NOW. It's about making your journeys count in this thing called LIFE.
During one fateful day the sky grew suddenly dark and the wind hardly blew. Everything became sullen and damp and eerily quiet. Alarmed, the two monkeys listened to the forest for clues, waiting for anything, really, and hoping against all hope that the weather will eventually change and the forest will come to life once again. On that fateful day a beginning indeed dawned upon them but not to their expectations. Years came to pass and the sky grew darker still. Food was scarce and each day grew even colder.
The monkey that kept staring at the sky decided to seek the noisy little one that had continuously annoyed him for years. Smelling the air for his scent and alarmed by its absence, he began to venture forth, heading for higher ground. Anywhere is better than here was his new motto in life. After days of travel and without food he had finally reached his limit. Having realized that he too were not as nimble as before, he accepted his fate and settled for the most comfortable spot he can reach. This would be just as good he mused, seeing that the end is near.
Later that day he noticed that a monkey, much like himself, was sitting on a branch looking down on him, as if observing him. With eyes of pity the other monkey came down and sat in front of the other. Let's call this monkey Mr. Noisy and the other Mr. Boring.
" When did you come up?" asked Mr. Noisy
" I don't remember. I've been sitting here for days and I can't move any further.", replied Mr. Boring.
"The world changed. There's nothing to eat for miles around and the sky would sometimes burn. We will perish, I fear.", says the noisy one.
"I know. I came looking for you. To say goodbye. I know I haven't been much of a conversant one through the years, but I came to see you for the last time." says the worn and tired boring one.
In that fateful moment they embraced, got up and decided to head for higher ground and await their ends. Life is just a drop in eternity's bucket. We will never know what fate awaits us. It is the now that matters and we have to live THIS LIFE and importantly SHARE IT. A tale of two monkeys is about reflecting on wasted time and unanswered hopes. It's about answering the call NOW and living NOW. It's about making your journeys count in this thing called LIFE.
Remember when Life was Simpler?
in this old rickety chair,
rocking back and forth as if to turn time.
My thoughts race back,
to a time I can only remember in dreams.
Those fondly remembered years,
when summers meant adventure and
winters meant reflection.
I remember when life was simpler.
Now an old man I can do nothing,
but,perhaps smile when memories tug at me.
How frail this life came to be.
The moments were lie dreams.
Before me I turn my withered hands,
each telling of a tale of a life,
hardened beyond years, mended by hope.
I remember when my life was simpler.
How is it that I never came to know,
this man trapped inside of me?
Now grey beyond count, I live for
only the memories.
In time I too shall pass.
I wonder who will remember me?
Will all that I shared be cherished?
Time takes all and mends all.
I remember when life was simpler,
when mornings were slow,
and sleep was another world.
Ahh, how I remember, I remember.
rocking back and forth as if to turn time.
My thoughts race back,
to a time I can only remember in dreams.
Those fondly remembered years,
when summers meant adventure and
winters meant reflection.
I remember when life was simpler.
Now an old man I can do nothing,
but,perhaps smile when memories tug at me.
How frail this life came to be.
The moments were lie dreams.
Before me I turn my withered hands,
each telling of a tale of a life,
hardened beyond years, mended by hope.
I remember when my life was simpler.
How is it that I never came to know,
this man trapped inside of me?
Now grey beyond count, I live for
only the memories.
In time I too shall pass.
I wonder who will remember me?
Will all that I shared be cherished?
Time takes all and mends all.
I remember when life was simpler,
when mornings were slow,
and sleep was another world.
Ahh, how I remember, I remember.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Lessons Learned
There once was a small village tucked away in a small valley in some unnamed part of the world during some forgotten time history. In this little village lived an old man who was known amongst his fellow villagers as some old unsociable hermit who did nothing all day but tend to his garden and spoke very little, if he spoke at all. He rarely went out of his little parcel of land, growing all that he ever needed to survive. With a handful of sheep and goats, he was able to provide for himself meager sustenance. Unbeknown to the villagers, however, is that this weary old soul has a secret. A secret he guarded for an entire lifetime. He spent most of his days sitting in his creaky old stool reminiscing times long gone and contemplating how he is to live out the remaining years of his life, however long or short those may be.
On one particular day, not that everyday in that village was ever particular, for that matter, it dawned on him that the time was drawing near to finally reveal his secret. Who will he disclose it to? A better question is will they believe him? Glancing over his shoulder at the old elm he contemplated again perhaps for the millionth time what those words mean. Carved into that tree were words which burned into his soul questions he simply has no answers for. " I am here now. It is time." What does it mean? Judging from how those words were carved they must have been put there by yet another lonely miserable soul an eternity ago. A lifetime he has spent trying to decipher that message and only now did he realize what they truly meant.
During his death very few ever paid him a visit. His graveyard was placed near a ravine and easily overlooked since it's been unattended for quite some time. Overgrown with dense vegetation it became another fixture in that landscape, unknown to the world, another passing of some unknown soul. Then one day, a young man wandering in the woods collecting plant samples happen to come along his grave site. On the tomb was an inscription that read," I have journeyed in this world with nothing but a longing to find inner peace. My life was a hard one and I was not one to hope for better. Only now do I truly know what 'I am here now. It is time.', truly meant. We are here for only a brief moment in time. We will pass on like a dream. For the time that was given to us we must give all that we can to make it worth well remembering. I lived my life like a dream and I now must pass on like one. Remember my words, weary traveler, and make the most of this life. It is indeed time."
Shaken, the young man stepped back, looked at the overgrown foliage, took some samples, then placed them unto his notebook with the description," Plants from the grave of a great man I never knew but taught me everything I should have known."
On one particular day, not that everyday in that village was ever particular, for that matter, it dawned on him that the time was drawing near to finally reveal his secret. Who will he disclose it to? A better question is will they believe him? Glancing over his shoulder at the old elm he contemplated again perhaps for the millionth time what those words mean. Carved into that tree were words which burned into his soul questions he simply has no answers for. " I am here now. It is time." What does it mean? Judging from how those words were carved they must have been put there by yet another lonely miserable soul an eternity ago. A lifetime he has spent trying to decipher that message and only now did he realize what they truly meant.
During his death very few ever paid him a visit. His graveyard was placed near a ravine and easily overlooked since it's been unattended for quite some time. Overgrown with dense vegetation it became another fixture in that landscape, unknown to the world, another passing of some unknown soul. Then one day, a young man wandering in the woods collecting plant samples happen to come along his grave site. On the tomb was an inscription that read," I have journeyed in this world with nothing but a longing to find inner peace. My life was a hard one and I was not one to hope for better. Only now do I truly know what 'I am here now. It is time.', truly meant. We are here for only a brief moment in time. We will pass on like a dream. For the time that was given to us we must give all that we can to make it worth well remembering. I lived my life like a dream and I now must pass on like one. Remember my words, weary traveler, and make the most of this life. It is indeed time."
Shaken, the young man stepped back, looked at the overgrown foliage, took some samples, then placed them unto his notebook with the description," Plants from the grave of a great man I never knew but taught me everything I should have known."
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Out in the Blue Azure
The salty wind calling to me,
deafening all but my troubled thoughts.
This vast eternal bliss of an ocean,
cannot hide my longing.
I wish I have lived in older times.
When men spoke and mean what they say.
I wish I saw this world when it was younger,
when every turn is an adventure to nowhere.
I wish all these things and maybe more,
but all I can think of now is filling this void.
oh eternal sea remind me once again,
how it feels to be truly here, to be alive.
deafening all but my troubled thoughts.
This vast eternal bliss of an ocean,
cannot hide my longing.
I wish I have lived in older times.
When men spoke and mean what they say.
I wish I saw this world when it was younger,
when every turn is an adventure to nowhere.
I wish all these things and maybe more,
but all I can think of now is filling this void.
oh eternal sea remind me once again,
how it feels to be truly here, to be alive.
Candle Light
How I adore you even now,
that deep smile always warms me.
In this candle light your kindness glows.
If only you can see me.
How I longed to hear your voice,
even if the words are without meaning.
To hear you speak to me again, would be like the angels singing.
My love, let me see you again.
Across this table you are worlds away.
Help me to know what this feeling really means.
to love and be loved for all eternity.
The shadows flicker and lay bare,
All that I try so much to conceal.
How weak I am in front of you,
And this candle light doesn't help me either.
that deep smile always warms me.
In this candle light your kindness glows.
If only you can see me.
How I longed to hear your voice,
even if the words are without meaning.
To hear you speak to me again, would be like the angels singing.
My love, let me see you again.
Across this table you are worlds away.
Help me to know what this feeling really means.
to love and be loved for all eternity.
The shadows flicker and lay bare,
All that I try so much to conceal.
How weak I am in front of you,
And this candle light doesn't help me either.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Flight
Amidst a vast blue sky,
with nothing but wind and faith,
flies a lonely soul.
A herald of freedom and life,
spiraling slowly towards oblivion.
Looking down on a solitary world.
What would I give to be free?
How would I harness freedom if I have it?
Will I forever be envious....
...and be drowned in this eternal longing?
Amidst a vast blue sky,
uncaring of anything but flight.
I finally understand why....
...I am forever alone.
Let me soar, this soul of the world.
Help me taste the wind and sun.
Let me fly and be free....
...flight.
with nothing but wind and faith,
flies a lonely soul.
A herald of freedom and life,
spiraling slowly towards oblivion.
Looking down on a solitary world.
What would I give to be free?
How would I harness freedom if I have it?
Will I forever be envious....
...and be drowned in this eternal longing?
Amidst a vast blue sky,
uncaring of anything but flight.
I finally understand why....
...I am forever alone.
Let me soar, this soul of the world.
Help me taste the wind and sun.
Let me fly and be free....
...flight.
Lollipops and Rainbows
Dangling on a ray of hope,
constantly wishing for a perfect world.
Where are you now or that smile?
How is it that my rainbows fade so?
Or I simply stopped seeing them.
It seems as though I am trapped in a dream,
where moments drag into years,
still waiting, yearning for anything.
Anything that will save me from myself.
Where are you now or that smile?
Take all of me and complete me,
for I am nothing but a walking bag of wish lists.
How is it that my life seems so dreary?
When all that you ever saw was hope and magic.
Where are you now? Are you smiling,still?
So here I am, constantly looking at my life's rainbows.
Hoping against all hope that they will forever etch my sky.
Hope is like a faintly remembered dream.
But here I am, hoping still.
Lollipop in hand, gazing at the rainbow.
constantly wishing for a perfect world.
Where are you now or that smile?
How is it that my rainbows fade so?
Or I simply stopped seeing them.
It seems as though I am trapped in a dream,
where moments drag into years,
still waiting, yearning for anything.
Anything that will save me from myself.
Where are you now or that smile?
Take all of me and complete me,
for I am nothing but a walking bag of wish lists.
How is it that my life seems so dreary?
When all that you ever saw was hope and magic.
Where are you now? Are you smiling,still?
So here I am, constantly looking at my life's rainbows.
Hoping against all hope that they will forever etch my sky.
Hope is like a faintly remembered dream.
But here I am, hoping still.
Lollipop in hand, gazing at the rainbow.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Seagulls' Lore
Alone in this lonely stretch of shore..
my thoughts as load as the roaring wind.
The pain in my heart stings like the salty air.
How has it come to this?
Where am I in your world?
"Will you die for me?", you asked.
How easy it would have been,
if you only knew how much I have loved you.
Only time can help me now,
time to sit in this stretch of loneliness,
time to remember why and how,
time to listen to the seagulls hovering above,
mocking me, laughing at my fate..
I would have died for you,
if only for my love to live in your heart.
Yet you laugh like the seagulls above,
Never to know that I have loved.
my thoughts as load as the roaring wind.
The pain in my heart stings like the salty air.
How has it come to this?
Where am I in your world?
"Will you die for me?", you asked.
How easy it would have been,
if you only knew how much I have loved you.
Only time can help me now,
time to sit in this stretch of loneliness,
time to remember why and how,
time to listen to the seagulls hovering above,
mocking me, laughing at my fate..
I would have died for you,
if only for my love to live in your heart.
Yet you laugh like the seagulls above,
Never to know that I have loved.
New Horizons
The gentle rolling of the clouds,
cannot contain the butterflies in my stomach.
What is this I feel,
is it fear or apprehension of the unknown?
Why can't I take that first step,
when chance and change beckons?
As I lay on a sea of grass in this unnamed hill,
I wonder if what lies beyond is indeed better.
No matter how I let loose my mind,
the butterflies still gnaw at me.
Ah, new horizons await,
another chance, another ray of hope...
..beyond this unnamed hill. Alas.
cannot contain the butterflies in my stomach.
What is this I feel,
is it fear or apprehension of the unknown?
Why can't I take that first step,
when chance and change beckons?
As I lay on a sea of grass in this unnamed hill,
I wonder if what lies beyond is indeed better.
No matter how I let loose my mind,
the butterflies still gnaw at me.
Ah, new horizons await,
another chance, another ray of hope...
..beyond this unnamed hill. Alas.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Home
Oh how I long to be in that dearest of places,
immersed in the familiar scents and uncaring voices
to go back to be greeted by that old wooden door, or
be heralded by the creaking of that weathered floor.
Oh how I missed that sagging old couch,
whose stains account for the memories of a lifetime.
That familiar sight outside the window, where youth gave
way to tired old bones.
Oh how I long to come home, to be whole, to belong.
Forever is the memory etched in my heart,
forever have I wished that I could still be a part.
Home..how I long for home.
immersed in the familiar scents and uncaring voices
to go back to be greeted by that old wooden door, or
be heralded by the creaking of that weathered floor.
Oh how I missed that sagging old couch,
whose stains account for the memories of a lifetime.
That familiar sight outside the window, where youth gave
way to tired old bones.
Oh how I long to come home, to be whole, to belong.
Forever is the memory etched in my heart,
forever have I wished that I could still be a part.
Home..how I long for home.
The Laughter of Children
I wish I could see the world with innocent eyes,
to not know what is good or bad, only what is true.
I wish I can laugh at all which the world throws at me,
like the silly little laugh of little children.
To hold but one moment in one's hand,
a defining grace which describes ones life.
To hold your love ones with genuine love,
and open your heart to a rupture of calmness.
I wish I could still see this world with innocent eyes,
and laugh at it all with gleeful joy.
At least that way I wouldn't even feel my tears rolling
down my face.
to not know what is good or bad, only what is true.
I wish I can laugh at all which the world throws at me,
like the silly little laugh of little children.
To hold but one moment in one's hand,
a defining grace which describes ones life.
To hold your love ones with genuine love,
and open your heart to a rupture of calmness.
I wish I could still see this world with innocent eyes,
and laugh at it all with gleeful joy.
At least that way I wouldn't even feel my tears rolling
down my face.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Wayward's End
Oh feet bring me over yonder..
make my dreams take flight and my imagination ponder.
What is there to see, taste, hear, and feel?
in that vast horizon i wonder if it's even real.
Oh time take not from me my mind's resolve...
Let me not pass through this life trapped in a dream.
Oh chance knock yet one more still...
Let me hold this moment tenderly and see it done, I will.
For tomorrow knows no promises, no bonds, no bounds..
it is the Here, the Now, that I yet live and breathe.
Oh feet do carry me away once again..
Let me taste this life before wayward's end.
make my dreams take flight and my imagination ponder.
What is there to see, taste, hear, and feel?
in that vast horizon i wonder if it's even real.
Oh time take not from me my mind's resolve...
Let me not pass through this life trapped in a dream.
Oh chance knock yet one more still...
Let me hold this moment tenderly and see it done, I will.
For tomorrow knows no promises, no bonds, no bounds..
it is the Here, the Now, that I yet live and breathe.
Oh feet do carry me away once again..
Let me taste this life before wayward's end.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
When we are one
I've almost forgotten how beautiful you really are,
the years have not taken much from your charm
I want to hold you now as I have then,
uncaring of the world outside our love.
Though each day that passes I grow weary and tired,
you still hold my hand and tell me to not be afraid.
When we are one I understand,
When we are one I feel what the years cannot take from us.
When we are one I am alive,
When we are one I fear nothing.
To you I owe everything, my love.
In this life, in this dream, in this love, we are one.
the years have not taken much from your charm
I want to hold you now as I have then,
uncaring of the world outside our love.
Though each day that passes I grow weary and tired,
you still hold my hand and tell me to not be afraid.
When we are one I understand,
When we are one I feel what the years cannot take from us.
When we are one I am alive,
When we are one I fear nothing.
To you I owe everything, my love.
In this life, in this dream, in this love, we are one.
Out There I See
A blue sky falling towards a sea of nothing..
calling to me, waiting for my chance to drown in it.
I hear the quiet surreal sound of nature..
a call of the wild long forgotten or seen through deaf ears.
A world so vast and untangible locked away in a dream..
if only I can stay there, live there with you.
Out there I see my emptiness, my sadness..
if only I can hold your hand and feel the calmness of your spirit.
Out there I see why I have this deep longing..
heal me, release me, let me live again.
Out there I see and feel your love..
warm me again with your smile, even amidst this cold blue sky.
calling to me, waiting for my chance to drown in it.
I hear the quiet surreal sound of nature..
a call of the wild long forgotten or seen through deaf ears.
A world so vast and untangible locked away in a dream..
if only I can stay there, live there with you.
Out there I see my emptiness, my sadness..
if only I can hold your hand and feel the calmness of your spirit.
Out there I see why I have this deep longing..
heal me, release me, let me live again.
Out there I see and feel your love..
warm me again with your smile, even amidst this cold blue sky.
A Time to Remember
A time to toil, A time to heal, A time to rediscover,A time to forget....
However so many times I fail to see, that which I wish for could never be.
As the clouds roll by and the sun sets away, my life becomes a second tucked
into eternity's sway.
If only I could remember how I would have done things, if only I could remember
how to feel and consider everything.
A time to remember who I really am, a time to shed a tear, a time to etch a smile, a time to feel my life again....
Ah a time to remember indeed.
However so many times I fail to see, that which I wish for could never be.
As the clouds roll by and the sun sets away, my life becomes a second tucked
into eternity's sway.
If only I could remember how I would have done things, if only I could remember
how to feel and consider everything.
A time to remember who I really am, a time to shed a tear, a time to etch a smile, a time to feel my life again....
Ah a time to remember indeed.
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