Oh Neruda...

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda
Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/xvii-i-do-not-love-you/#ixzz1Bqf1j8nv

Misadventures with Little Cricket in LA

TUESDAY
a sign turned around backwards
the other side of magic, a blankness
a splinter in my heel and an overflowing toilet
the beginning of 150 hours of confusion, but i didn't know it yet

WEDNESDAY
disconnection
unrelenting pain and the constancy of painkillers
no reaction to my touch
no light in his eyes
light in his eyes i couldn't reach
drinks i couldn't afford
trying
him reading the darkness in my eyes
an open wound of mystery

THURSDAY
a three hour black-out in the city
despair while dancing to violins by candlelight
giving up
a conversation erasing a stranger
an unexpected question
finally getting really fucking high
cautious optimism despite all evidence to the contrary

FRIDAY
meditating in the hollywood hills
looking for a labyrinth and finding his childhood church next door
a moment with the divine in the oldest part of LA
the unknown closing of his favorite japanese restaurant
the making of plans
not quite being able to let go and dance
never having any idea what he was thinking or feeling
the unmaking of plans
knowing the final nail in the coffin was coming

SATURDAY
the disappearance of the one thing i really wanted
giving up
deciding to go "home"
no flights out
2 o'clock and the rental car agency closed at noon
trapped in LA with a fucking stranger in the decrepit house of his godmother
chain-smoking outside a shopping mall
wondering if i was going to have a psychotic break
my credit card being turned down
him buying me a book about time travel
almost being hypnotized by the power of my dreams
answering imaginary interview questions
realizing he was a gambler with a heart of gold
realizing i had taught a gambler with a heart of gold how to play poker
recognizing the storm of optimism we'd been caught in
finally beginning to see him
the beginning of friendship
the reappearance of certainty
not wanting to be seen
wanting to be near him
never knowing which one of us was a kaleidoscope

SUNDAY
alone in LA
falling in love with a pair of sphinxes
taking pictures of the shadows of art
dancing by myself in the living room
a drunk dial filled with laughter
him returning to me
openness and playfulness and sensuality
how things were supposed to be
an unripe avocado, a broken fence, and spilled wine
"don't worry, it's just a symbol"
never knowing if we actually kissed
not being able to see him see me
shit i didn't want to be reminded of
a doorknob falling apart in my hand
a roller-coaster in a house of mirrors

MONDAY
waking up and hating myself
going the fuck back to sleep
knowing what he was feeling by the music he was playing
connection
feeling like he was my husband
marked by sadness
waving good-bye on opposite sides of airport security
crying while the plane took off
crying while the plane landed
a 9 month relationship poured into 6 days

choosing love over fear and walking into the heart of an enigma

Who said that love was fire?

Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.

~Patience Worth

Thomas Merton, Thomas Merton, Thomas Merton...!

"What is serious to man is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as 'play' is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in the mysterious cosmic dance. We do not have to go very far to catch the echoes of that game, and of that dancing. When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat, when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts, or when, like the Japanese poet Basho we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the 'newness,' the emptiness and the purity of the vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

"For the world and time are the dance of the Lord in emptiness. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness, absurdity, and despair. But it does not matter much, because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not.

"Yet the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join the general dance."

~Thomas Merton