Hedonism

Hedonism. Pleasure over pain. A lifestyle worthy of the gods. That's just it. Are we worthy? Are we mere mortals worthy of a lifestyle created for the pursuit of pure pleasure? Pleasure that surpasses any pain we could ever experience? Well, whether we are worthy of this lifestyle or not, we, as human beings, chose to live hedonistic lifestyles. This choice is made in infancy when we are taught that we cannot have each and every thing we want whenever we want it. As babies, our first contact with the adult world is through our pleas for attention and the immediate and accurate responses they receive. As we grow and are able to fulfill our own needs, we are no longer the center of attention and must cope with the fact that we are susceptible to the trials and tribulations of the world. This hurts. It hurts like hell. We are instantly shoved from our fluffy little clouds of perfection and plummet thousands of feet into reality. At least thats what happens to most of us. Some are able to float on those clouds for awhile longer, but the longer they float, the harder they fall.
Here is where we decide to be hedonists. Because we realize that we cannot possibly have each and every thing we want whenever we want it, we decide to focus our energies on the things that bring us pleasure while simultaneously allowing us to forget the pain. Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll are all tools of hedonists. But we can add money and power to the list too. Now, arguably so, everybody can be considered hedonists. Who doesn't want to be happy? But its deeper than that. Hedonism is a way of life. A philosophy if you will. A simple idea that determines the way a person thinks, acts, reacts, and defines themselves.

Is this bad? Is it terrible for someone to live their life for the sole pursuit of personal pleasure? Arguments can be made for either side, but I, for one, believe nothing can be wrong with a little happiness. :)

Respect

Confusion. Disillusion. Disregard.
Silly me. I thought that maybe in a household that supposedly honors the hierarchy of age, I would have leverage over one younger than I.
Not even leverage so much as respect.
Is it too much for me to ask?
When I go out of my way to create a positive relationship with you.
Maybe that's the problem.
Would it be easier to demand respect of you if I hadn't worked so hard to make you feel equal to me?
If I treated you like a nuisance, a bother, and therefore an insolent useless factor in my life, would you be more apt to treat me with respect?
I have noticed you have a certain disdain for authority, and as a rebel myself, I respect that.
And I respect you.
Regardless of the many disrespectful, dishonorable and despicable things you do to me.
Am I a fool?
I should think not.
I take pride in the fact that I remain civil and respectful to you while you deliberately flout my authority as your elder, even as a human being.
I suffer these injuries from no one silently.
No one that is, except you.
Maybe its because I find it distasteful that I should even have to ask you to respect me in light of everything we are.
Or everything I thought we were.
Or everything we pretend to be.
Lies.
All of it.
You do not love me.
You do not honor me.
You do not respect me.
And now, finally, I know it to be true.

These Hands

Born empty-handed
The verve of life snatched from my bosom.
I die empty-handed.
Stolen from the cruelty of a society uninterested in my lack thereof.
I witness life at its fullest empty-handed.
These hands, filled with only lines and scars, stretch outward toward the sky and receive each drop of light as if it were the last.
These hands reach down into the Earth and are warmed by the life of the soil.
These hands beautifully craft masterpieces, made to be felt and not seen.
Seen, but not heard is the lattice-work created by these hands, large enough for those hands to lose themselves in.
These hands empty as the clear sky, with intentions just as high. These hands were made to fly.
And fly they will.
Across the pages of papers, essays, novels, poems, prose.
Across the lives of the young, old, wealthy and destitute.
Across the hearts of the good the bad and the ugly.
These hands were made to create.
Watch them work.

Courage

If I had the courage, I'd tell you that you are beautiful.
From the way your eyes disappear with glee when you laugh, to the way you purse your lips while deep in thought.
From the way you twist your fingers to the scars on each one, symbolizing yet another amazing feat you accomplished.
The way you say my name, the way you say your own name. So simple, yet with the power to move every mountain that surrounds the heavily guarded fortress I call my heart.
Some how I always knew it would come to this.
This confession.
I could use every word in every dictionary in every language, and still couldn't describe the feeling that comes over me when I see you.
My heart actually skips a beat.
I feel it flutter.
Then my breath quickens with my pulse.
As I recall our previous encounter a smirk creeps across my face and I begin to nibble on my bottom lip.
I wet my lips.
Praying that this act won't be in vain and they finally get the satisfaction of meeting yours.
All this happens in the second before we embrace.
I clear my mind of all these irrelevant factors and turn my attention to you.
You always have it.
All of it.
Even when you think I'm on my phone, or watching television.
You always have my full attention.
Painstakingly I watch and admire your beauty from a distance.
Never allowing myself to show you how I feel.
I must remain composed.
I must remain focused.
I know you have the ability to make me throw all sensibility out the window.
I also know that once I start I won't be able to stop.
So I wait.
Yet no matter how much it hurts, I can't let go.
I could never leave you.
Ever.
If you need me you know I'll be there.
Always.
If I had the courage, I would show you how much you mean to me.
But I'm afraid of losing you.
So I play your game, by your rules, and do everything in my power just to keep up.

Purposefully Untitled

When I try to write about you it never comes out poetically.
It always just spills out in a huge emotional blob.
Waterfall even.
Hoover freakin dam.
Because once I start, there's no stopping.
I wish I could tell you all that comes to my mind without losing it.
I wish you would tell me what I want to hear, and end my suffering.
Once and for all.
I can see the possibility of perfection, if we just let go of inhibition, and acquiesce to intuition.
See cause in my tummy, where there used to be butterflies, now reside mature fantasies, distant memories, lovely tendencies, and that little bit of jealousy.
This scares me.
I don't get jealous.
I make them get jealous.
I never knew I could be so protective of someone who needs virtually no protection.
But then again maybe you do.
You said you needed me.
I believe you because thats the easiest thing to do.
It also seems to be the only thing I can do.
For some reason I can't wrap my mind around the fact that you would ever intentionally hurt me.
I love the way that feels.
I feel like I could get lost with you.
I could lose myself to you.
In you.
For you.
Around you.
Within you.
I don't know what I'm saying, and I don't know how it sounds.
I feel like I'm talking in circles.
Around and Around I go.
But there's no stopping it.
Endless and repetitive merry-go-round.
I'm spinning.
I'm dizzy.
I'm yours.

Jesse

“Man, I don’t love them hoes,” he scoffed in the dim light of the room. The air was thick with smoke and indifference. His closest friends surrounded him, vaguely following the conversation with dazed smirks on their faces. It had been a long night. Longer than any night Jesse had seen in years. From school to work to the club to after parties to the liquor store to the alleys to the cab back to his home. He sat in semi-concentration, pondering on his last utterance. These words were all too familiar to his lips, but suddenly they disturbed him. Not enough to make him take them back, but just enough to keep him awake that night.
He didn’t love the hoes. He lived for the moment, and only the moment. He couldn’t care less about the feelings of this one or that one. They knew what they were getting into long before they got into it. How could they blame him for his nonchalance? He lay in his bed trying to convince himself that every one of the females deserved the treatment he gave. Each one managed to screw up one way or the other, and he knew that it was always only a matter of time before the new fling became the old thing. This never bothered him before. But oddly, the more he thought about it, he felt incomplete. He decided to call his mother.
“Hey Ma, uhm I was just calling to say hi. I know its pretty late but there was something on my mind and I wanted to talk to you about it. I guess I’ll just call back tomorrow. Love you…” was the message he left. Jesse decided he wouldn’t figure out this massive problem in one night and forced himself to sleep. Deep in slumber, a dream came to him. In this dream he was lost in the jungle, running madly from something. A creature maybe? He couldn’t tell for sure, but he knew he couldn’t stop running. Up ahead he saw a clearing in the trees and he felt grateful that maybe he could finally see what was chasing him. He reached the clearing, and came to an abrupt halt. The jungle ended and as he peered over the edge, the cliff he was standing on dropped 100 feet into raging rapids. Jesse panicked. He had nowhere to go. The thing would get him. He heard a rustling in the trees behind him signaling the approach of the foreboding. With no time to think Jesse crouches down into the fetal position. But just before he ducks his head he sees the thing leap over his head and take flight across the canyon to the other side. Jesse looks up to see what was chasing him. It was him. Well not exactly him. The him he was running from was a bit more valiant and proud. He held his head high in the morning sun and his smile betrayed a brilliance that only comes from inner peace. Jesse stood confused and stared at his better side. The figure across the canyon smiled, then turned around and kept running.
“BRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!!!” Jesse awoke to the ringing of the phone.
“Hello..” he groggily moaned.
“Hi baby! Did I wake you?” his mom’s shrill voice sang through the receiver.
“Uhmm yea, but it’s ok. How are you ma?”
“I’m fine baby. You know all I need is the Lord and my babies. How are you?”
“I thought I was ok, but I’m not so sure anymore. Can I ask you something ma?”
“Anything baby”
“You ever felt confused? Like about life in general?” Jesse asked, hoping he didn’t sound too ridiculous.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure what you mean Jay. Can you explain?”
“I don’t know Ma. Lately I’ve just been feeling like I haven’t been myself. Or the me I have been isn’t the me that I really am, if that makes any sense.”
“Oh, I see. Well baby, there’s only one thing you can do. You have to figure out who you are. Then decide to love yourself, no matter what anyone thinks.”
Jesse pauses for a long while, deep in thought, he’s interrupted by his mother.
“Baby? Are you still there?”
“Huh? Oh yea Ma, I was just thinking about what you said.”
“Oh I see. Well I’m glad to be of assistance. But Jay I have an appointment with Sister Harris, so can I call you back?”
“Oh sure, no prob. I love you Ma.”
“I love you more baby, bye-bye.”
Jesse listens to the phone click then slowly takes it away from his ear. Laying back on his pillow, he marinates in his mother’s advice. The thing that was eating him up was the fact that he didn’t really know who he was. He knew who his friends were, what his accomplishments had brought him, what his actions portrayed him as and even how he got to where he was. But who was he?

The Soul of my Heart and Body

My heart flies, but my body stays here.
My feet, firmly planted beneath me, reach deep down into the Earth, intertwining and interweaving, grabbing hold of the vibrancy that lives in the soil, and with it, I grow.
And as the sun comes up, I stretch my arms tall and wide, above the tops of the greenery to meet it. Its rays paint me golden, while I gratefully accept all my sun offers me. Drinking its light to protect myself from the dark.
When it rains, I am unworthy. The heavens open up, and liquid perfection drains from them. I soak up each drop with meaningful resolution and harness the power of this gentle, yet forceful element.

With these connections, I grow. I grow strong and tall. I grow fast and I grow peacefully. I am grounded. And still, as my heart flies, my body remains rooted to this Earth.

Blessed the gracefulness of a nighthawk, and the delicacy of a butterfly, my heart flies.
Into and out of danger it floats.
Barely escaping the grasp of hasty thieves, hoping to capture it, and frame its beauty.
It floats over streams and valleys, meadows, lakes, and mountains.
Through rain, sleet, hail, snow.
Through fire.
My rebellious heart battles this fire, knowing that victory may not result, willing to accept the burn of yet another battle scar.
The battle wages on war, and the flames get impatient. They are ready to devour my poor little heart.
Backed into a corner, I only have one thing to offer this monster. Love.

Love of self. Love of life. Love of love.

My heart emerges victorious because love is what its filled with. Love is what it carries so serenely through the landscapes and atmospheres of this world.
Love is what navigates it through the nights when its far from home, and the air grows cold. Love is what fuels it, to fly.

And fly.
And fly.

My heart flies.
but my body, remains rooted, to this Earth.