When You Take Aim

Take aim at

My heart

Over my head

It starts there

You should know

It sees you

Sees worth

So up it goes

Heart high

Not for pride

Not for shame

But needing to

Hear its tempo

How it rises and retreats

Races and rests

Releases and reaps

Reacts to your touch

Risks everything

The colorful moods

Truth seekers each one

The parts that make it whole

How it makes ... me

How it has a story

How it wants to tell ours

So when you take aim

Aim for my heart

So I'll always know you're trying

Having

Lately, life teaches me about the concept of having. Those things — perhaps people — that present the possibilities of attachment.

From dictionary.com (so we're all on the same blog page). 

have 

1. to possess; own; hold for use; contain.
2. to hold, posses, or accept in some relation, as of kindred or relative position.
3. to get, receive, or take: to have a part in
4. to experience, undergo, or endure, as joy or pain.
5. to hold in mind, sight, etc.

Like having something in your hand, an object you hold. Or having something held deeper inside.

Most often, the having — that something — is manufactured and fed by desire: something we want, wish for, or hope .... to have. With small beginnings we start to believe. Over time, we release more of our hearts to it. And believe we have something.  In simple terms, having something is real if both people acknowledge it and want the attachment to continue.

However, attachment is a really hard to master. Rarely do both parties want the same level of attachment at the same time, especially early. Or even over time, patterns become obstacles to attachment, which hinder growth.

Early or late, one usually wants a little more; while one usually wants a little less. Or one doesn't pursue while one likes being chased. Or one scares the other with feelings. Or one can't handle the other's feelings. (Which is perfectly understandable; not everyone is everyone's cup of tea.) Or, one settles into the attachment faster than the other. And probably a million other variables.

And therein the dance plays out. Are we dancing together, or just moving awkwardly in close proximity?

Love and Space

I'll jump
Not wait
An invitation
To enter space

To love's space
A shared space
Mine
Yours
For me to be me
You to be you

Space to breath
Space to release
Space to draw strength
Space to return strength

Find truth in space
Find love in space

To give in space
And take in space
To love yourself being loved in space
To loving yourself for loving someone else in space

Weather Guy

Weather guy forecasts what's ahead
A prediction wrapped in a promise

A possibility in front of you
A truth conceived, a plan made

You believe he's right, or wrong
A forecast is not a promise after all

What if he's wrong? It's possible.
Sometimes, weather guy is wrong

He's often wrong, in fact
He's often not exactly right, you know

You trust weather guy, you plan
His intention not to mislead

Hard to predict, weather
Love, even harder

A swelling heart and buckets of sunshine
for several days, weather guy says

But you can only see rain

95

I should be driving 95 today.

We'd planned. But the plan didn't survive.

She drove 95 one day. Back in May. 

We got past six minutes. This was real.

A June Friday, I drove 95 to meet her. 

Our weekend in the middle.

Sunday, same weekend, I drove home on 95, 

had a damn stroke.

95, 55, I-84 and 93, a Gem State of miles between us. 

We Facetimed in the ICU,

me tubed up, drugged up, looking like hell.

Being apart was hell.

She tore up 95 soon after,

needing to see for herself how I was.

Fine. I was fine. We were fine. 

We hung hard.

No time in July, a recovery too.

I wasn't up for a drive on 95.

So I flew in July, right over 95.

She drove me on I-84 right to her door.

August, long and hot.

95 was quiet. 

A month of doubt.

I could tell she wanted out.

September. Let's shrink space, I said. 

Right now. 

Spontaneous drive on 95 south

meets I-84 east in Boise. 

Just a night, but damn if we didn't click. 

It returned. Feeling this again.

September remained sweet. I drove 95 again. 

We hosted a Julia Child party.

"Life is the proper binge," don't ever forget.

I drove 95 home, the last time.

The last either of us would drive 95 for this.

The Way This Ends

Paraphrased, love is patient, kind, a mind fuck. That's all.

Love looks simple. Treading water in the Sea of Love looks easy. We dive headfirst into the idea of love. We leap in with cinderblocks tied to our ankles — those concrete things we think we know about the world, what we want, what we know about people. Things like decency, fairness, honesty, vulnerability. We jump in as fools and try to keep our heads above water. Love swallows us, pulls us under. We drown. We sink alone to the cold, dark bottom.

Is this the way love feels? Is this the way this ends?

The Sea of Love rejects us, too, heaving our lifeless corpses back onto the beach. We're spit out again like a bad taste. Tossed back, rather mercifully. You feel dead. But how can that be when every nerve wretches, aches?

And there, transformed into something unrecognizable, soaked and caked in sandy grit, we shiver our way out of the fog. Long breaths punctuate the pain. But only for a while. Our breath grows quiet with everything else. The rhythm of self reasserts itself. We scour the surf for pieces of ourselves. We stub our toes on the very cinderblocks that took us to the bottom of the watery hell: our expectations and ideas. Like shoes, we lace them back onto our feet.  The chains are hard to tie, but we manage to make the necessary knots. We're dumb and determined, you see. They're our expectations, our ideas. We claim them. Own them. We find our feet and leave, horrified.

Forever changed, so it goes.

The beach behind us only a few yards, the awful experience fresh in our hearts and minds, we can't wait to try again. So we look back, hopeful.

Satellite Sierra

Satellite Sierra ... you fly, it's true
High above still, around, away, and back again
You come and you go

My eye fixates, my breath taken
You dance in magnificence

Large from a distance,
you are bright like a star in the dark
Daytime drags, I've lost you again

Are you bigger than my arms?
I dream you're within reach, believe it

Can I wrap you? I need to try.
I need to wrap. I want too much

You come and you go

Heart Phones

Before, my phone beeped like a soft kiss, a nibble; an embrace from another time zone. Now, just a beep. I miss the kiss.

What do future relationships look like? Not too far back our smart phones evolved, grew beyond their pixels, chips, buttons, and data plan coverage maps. Mobile device morphed into the primary conduit for ongoing emotional exchange, especially so when romance is involved — especially more pronounced when long distance romance is in play.

Is it unreasonable to assume that the smart phone we carry in our pocket is also a heart phone, one we carry into the deepest pockets of who we are as lovers, friends, spouses?

Does romantic relationship require physical presence to thrive? Does proximity play a huge factor in whether a romantic relationship lasts? Does it matter anymore?

People who enjoy ongoing physical closeness break up all the time. They had every advantage to succeed. You hear of LDRs (long distance relationships) lasting. But they're the exception. The rule says the deck is stacked against those who choose to love each other from a distance.

Found the following LDR statistics at
http://www.statisticbrain.com/long-distance-relationship-statistics/

Total percentage of U.S. marriages that are considered long distance relationships	2.9%
Average amount of time for long distance relationship to break up if it’s not going to work	4.5 months
Total percentage of long distance relationships that fail when changes aren’t planned for	70%
Total amount of couple who claim they’re in a long distance relationship	14 million
Total percentage of marriages in U.S. that start as a long distance relationship	10%
Total percentage of college relationships that are long distance	32.5%
Total percent of long distance relationships that break-up	40%
Total percentage of engaged couples that have been in a long distance relationship	75%
Total amount of marriages that are long distance relationships	3.75 million
The following shows both the average (median) response and the range of 95% of LDRs from a sample of over 200
Average distance couple in LDR lived from each other	125 miles
Average times couple visited each other per month	1.5
Average amount of time in between phone calls	2.7 days
Average amount of letters written to each other per month	3
Average amount of time expected to be separated before LDR couple can move closer together	14 months

(Disclaimer: I'm not an expert, and don't pretend to be.)

Of course, draw your own conclusions. But it seems LDRs are close to the average for more conventional relationships, in that half or near half of LDRs fail too (40% according to this survey).

Actually, LDRs seem to do better. Can that be right? Must research more....

Debating the pros and cons of LDRs isn't why I'm writing today. It's my phone; it's dead, lays there like a black corpse on the table — a previously vivacious device gone strangely silent after almost a year of phrenetic vibrating, ringing, beeping, battery draining long conversations, hot topics, cool texts, and all the rest. Good good nights and good good mornings. It was all good, babe; now gone.

The heart was ripped out of my smart phone (perhaps as the device was meant to be). And it's taking this new reality better than me. It only looks dead, and still functions. Whereas I'm barely functioning and feel like I'm absolutely dying.

Sierra

S

It's like waking from a dream, a sweet one.
Hard to grasp, hold, process.

Powerful themes. Players loving. Boldly.
Colliding worlds, moving words,
emotions tossed about.

Control, out of reach, abandoned.
It swept me away, like a leaf on a beautiful current.

Too good, too sweet, too much, too hard.
And I was doomed from the start.
For it was only a dream.

C

My case against Valentine's Day

A metric ton of marketing always comes with the holiday known as Valentine’s Day. And, since we all know marketing is, in fact, truth, then the retailer will bank on us to validate our lovesick ways at the cash register. Florists, jewelers, restaurants, car companies, teddy bear makers, lingerie makers, chocolate producers, they all want to cash-in on the hopes that we’re hopeful about the status of our relationships. With all the subtlety of a February blizzard, they remind: “We’re here if you need us; and you really do need us.” The ads are slick, mushy, thoughtful, and appeal to our happy, fuzzy weak spots.

Caring: the casual card secretly slipped into a jacket pocket, to be “discovered accidentally” and opened while caught a little off guard, a little breathless, and a little embarrassed, alone, or in the company of the thoughtful card buyer. Touching.

Naughty. Amping up the intimacy with a bit of colorful bedroom attire––lacy things, silky things, pink, red, and playful things––provocative, expensive things, designed to be worn for only an instant, and no sooner haphazardly adorning the floor next to the bed. Kinky.

Nice: dinner for two in a perfect restaurant with perfect food and perfect decor, served under perfect lighting and by a perfect wait staff. Magic.

Scrumptious: stuffing the mouth of your lover with decadent sweetness––a box of mixed chocolates, hard candies, or baked goods straight from the kitchen of your heart––to simply say, “I love you just the way you are... if not just slightly fatter.” Tasty.

Aroma therapy: perhaps perfume is your sweet pheromone charged nod to your lover’s scent, “I love the way you smell most of the time... if not just slightly better.” Smell that? That’s love.

Glitzy: jewelry is perhaps the flashiest twinkle of love and affection. And, by far, the most expensive. It’s electric. It’s turbo-charged confirmation in a felt covered, silk lined box. It’s a bold statement: no price comes close to the value of the relationship. “I love you––us––and you look amazing... if not twice as dazzling wearing this.” Breathtaking.

Love, life’s sweetest reward; set it free, and it floats back to you. Take a cruise on the love boat. Buy a Lexus. Go to Paris. These are all just perfect occasions to say the three perfect words: I love you.

And all of it a load of steaming B.S.

Like Christmas, where love is measured in an abundance of gifts and bloated credit card bills, Valentine’s Day is another chance to spend lots of money, hoping to reassure our fragile souls that other souls love us. To prove it, essentially.

It’s a gesture. And if life teaches us anything it’s this: you only get credit for the gesture. Gesture is king. A sappy card; a nice dinner; earrings; sexy underpants; or sweet nothings in a chocolate box. Commitment? No credit. Sacrifice? No credit. Choosing to love every day when it’s harder than hell? No credit. The real and meaningful things are too constant, too true––as not to be noticed, catalogued or appreciated.

The things that matter, in the end, are too vaporous, like clouds: brilliant, beautiful, and gone too soon. Nobody ever comments on a cloudy sky. People only seem to notice when the clouds are gone.

But at least we have Valentine’s Day, to keep our hopes alive, to perpetuate the belief in the fantasy––always and forever––that the fantasy of love remains even in the absence of love itself. Or worse, the utter blindness to real love right in front of our eyes, day after day, week after week, year after year.

Where’s the card for that?

From Russia with love...

I got this in a junk email today and it was just too good not to share....

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Hello the stranger. We are not familiar with you. But I very much would like to get acquainted with you on closer. My name is Ekaterina, I from Russia and me of 27 years. I work as the seller in shop and I write to you from work. I when did not get acquainted before with men on the Internet it is my first time. I have decided to find to myself of the partner in life through the Internet and have written to you. I very much was disappointed in men from Russia, I wish to meet now the prince on the Internet. I send to you I wash a photo.

If I have interested you, write to me on mine e-mail: (hidden)

And I will necessarily answer you. You to me seem very good man with which it will be interesting to communicate. I would like you to learn better and more close to get acquainted. I will wait the answer.

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