| There was a woman I saw on the street I swear she was wearing the moon on her feet. She said, “Do you know me?” I said, “I don’t know.” She told me to listen And then I could go.* |
This room is my haven, my safe place where I seek refuge and the courage to be myself without
fear of judgment. The slate blue walls resemble the desert sky before the touch of sunrise, a time
of hazy reflection and hope that settles me, grounds me, helps to still the roaring thoughts that
often overpower me even in my sleep. A splash of colorful landscape above the loam-covered
bed adds to the serenity of this cavern; a reminder of all that is beautiful in a world too-often over
painted with filth and grime.
Occasionally an errant breeze steals through the open window to stir the pale blue heartleaf
Asters dozing in a cut-glass vase. Their simple fragrance is barely detected on the wind, a fragile
scent blending all too easily with the seclusion and restfulness of this inner sanctum. A few pages
from an open book on the nightstand ruffle softly in response to the waving stars and whisper
secrets against the soft sounds of breathing I long to hear.
I should be at the lab or, at the very least, plowing through some of the overdue correspondence
that has managed to swallow my desk here at home. Instead, I am mesmerized as I watch her
sleep; hypnotized by the steady cadence of her chest slowly rising and falling in the soft moonlight
sneaking through the heavy drapes. I sit in a chair beside our bed, not wanting to disturb her
slumber with my restless yearnings as the pale light carves incandescent patterns upon her fair
skin.
fear of judgment. The slate blue walls resemble the desert sky before the touch of sunrise, a time
of hazy reflection and hope that settles me, grounds me, helps to still the roaring thoughts that
often overpower me even in my sleep. A splash of colorful landscape above the loam-covered
bed adds to the serenity of this cavern; a reminder of all that is beautiful in a world too-often over
painted with filth and grime.
Occasionally an errant breeze steals through the open window to stir the pale blue heartleaf
Asters dozing in a cut-glass vase. Their simple fragrance is barely detected on the wind, a fragile
scent blending all too easily with the seclusion and restfulness of this inner sanctum. A few pages
from an open book on the nightstand ruffle softly in response to the waving stars and whisper
secrets against the soft sounds of breathing I long to hear.
I should be at the lab or, at the very least, plowing through some of the overdue correspondence
that has managed to swallow my desk here at home. Instead, I am mesmerized as I watch her
sleep; hypnotized by the steady cadence of her chest slowly rising and falling in the soft moonlight
sneaking through the heavy drapes. I sit in a chair beside our bed, not wanting to disturb her
slumber with my restless yearnings as the pale light carves incandescent patterns upon her fair
skin.
| Silver Moon Shining |
| She said, “I am the course that the river is winding I am the horse that the angel is riding I am the source of the love you are finding Do you know who I am? It is blinding, I am the star In the black sky shining.”* |
We are both creatures of the night, comfortable in the shadows and blackness that surrounds our
lives and yet, even in that darkness, Sara has always managed to shine with an inner light that
neither the gloom nor the horrors that so saturate our conscious moments could ever begin to
shutter.
For a long, solitary time, I thought Sara was the angel of my dreams; something I could only hope
to possess in that ethereal realm where reality dare not intrude. Lately I have come to realize that
Sara is slightest sliver of the waning moon, casting just enough light in my world to finally
illuminate the man she has always seen within me.
Eyes still closed, she turns her face towards me and slides around the pillows and tangled
sheets in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Her injuries are rapidly healing but
every now and then a faint line of pain will crease her brow or cause her mouth to tighten before
she once again marshals the strength to push it all away. Forever scarred by pain, Sara has
suffered deep channels in her soul and has never been defeated. Yes, she has been severely
tested to the point of breaking but has always fought back time and time again with a grace and
ferocity that is breathtaking in its utter simplicity.
lives and yet, even in that darkness, Sara has always managed to shine with an inner light that
neither the gloom nor the horrors that so saturate our conscious moments could ever begin to
shutter.
For a long, solitary time, I thought Sara was the angel of my dreams; something I could only hope
to possess in that ethereal realm where reality dare not intrude. Lately I have come to realize that
Sara is slightest sliver of the waning moon, casting just enough light in my world to finally
illuminate the man she has always seen within me.
Eyes still closed, she turns her face towards me and slides around the pillows and tangled
sheets in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Her injuries are rapidly healing but
every now and then a faint line of pain will crease her brow or cause her mouth to tighten before
she once again marshals the strength to push it all away. Forever scarred by pain, Sara has
suffered deep channels in her soul and has never been defeated. Yes, she has been severely
tested to the point of breaking but has always fought back time and time again with a grace and
ferocity that is breathtaking in its utter simplicity.
| There was a child I saw on the road I asked, “Are you lost with nowhere to go?” He said, “No, I’m not, I believe that you are.” And told me to sit On the hood of the car.* |
I shift in my uncomfortable chair and lean forward until I am able to faintly graze the skin of her
wrist with my finger. I carefully feel for her pulse and let her inner rhythm soothe me, the familiar
beat of her life tamps down the despair that still arises when I allow myself to consider what
might have been had any one variable been just slightly skewed another direction.
Her gentle fragrance, a crisp cool melon reminiscent of freshly laundered sheets floating on a
soft summer breeze, coils around me. My persistent melancholy loosens a little more and I
realize that those furrows etched by pain have become the pathway to our future. We are not the
same people we were when we met. We have changed and grown and shifted against
ourselves and each other.
Just as time and experience have refined us, so too have my perceptions of Sara become
clearer. For so many years I saw her as an angel, a lovely gossamer waif full of mystery and
desire. I don’t see her that way anymore.
Despite the fact that I am not exactly Catholic anymore, I am a spiritual person. One does not
need the trappings of organized religion in order to find wonder among the smaller rituals
associated with daily living. I do think about angels and demons, both the living we encounter as
we pass through our lives and the fantastical/mythological beings of my youth. Sara is no longer
the angel of my lonely dreams; she is much too powerful and strong for such wispy classification.
My vision is clearer and my dream comes to me when I am fully awake. I now realize that Sara
as the driving force behind our guardian angel, the guiding spirit we have together created to
personify the hope we share for everything that can be and for the now limitless possibilities I
allow myself to contemplate when I grant my mind the freedom to explore what the future might
hold for me, for her, for us.
wrist with my finger. I carefully feel for her pulse and let her inner rhythm soothe me, the familiar
beat of her life tamps down the despair that still arises when I allow myself to consider what
might have been had any one variable been just slightly skewed another direction.
Her gentle fragrance, a crisp cool melon reminiscent of freshly laundered sheets floating on a
soft summer breeze, coils around me. My persistent melancholy loosens a little more and I
realize that those furrows etched by pain have become the pathway to our future. We are not the
same people we were when we met. We have changed and grown and shifted against
ourselves and each other.
Just as time and experience have refined us, so too have my perceptions of Sara become
clearer. For so many years I saw her as an angel, a lovely gossamer waif full of mystery and
desire. I don’t see her that way anymore.
Despite the fact that I am not exactly Catholic anymore, I am a spiritual person. One does not
need the trappings of organized religion in order to find wonder among the smaller rituals
associated with daily living. I do think about angels and demons, both the living we encounter as
we pass through our lives and the fantastical/mythological beings of my youth. Sara is no longer
the angel of my lonely dreams; she is much too powerful and strong for such wispy classification.
My vision is clearer and my dream comes to me when I am fully awake. I now realize that Sara
as the driving force behind our guardian angel, the guiding spirit we have together created to
personify the hope we share for everything that can be and for the now limitless possibilities I
allow myself to contemplate when I grant my mind the freedom to explore what the future might
hold for me, for her, for us.
| He said, “I am the cry of the woman who’s dying I am the wings of the sparrow who’s flying I am the hope of the child who’s crying Do you know who I am? It is blinding, I am the star In the black sky shining.”* |
A part of me wishes she would wake up. The world never seems more right, more real, when
viewed through the thousands of promises reflected deep within her beautiful brown eyes. The
best and brightest of all of those promises is love. The most precious gift she has ever
bestowed upon me is showing me my own reflection and teaching me how to love in return.
I don’t mean loving Sara; loving her was at once the easiest and hardest thing I have ever done.
She showed me how to love those who have been conspiring for years to build a family around
me and to not only see within myself what she has always known was there but to also learn to
love myself a little as well.
She looks so peaceful, so serene. I cannot resist the temptation to lean just a little closer and
inhale her exquisite scent before dropping a feather-light kiss on her temple She breathes a tiny
sigh and a small grin graces her features before she is pulled back into deeper sleep.
I feel her unconquerable spirit surround me and let her slip back into those silver dreams and
black stars because I know that she will always find her way back home to me. And I will be
sitting right here watching over her, lighting her path and awaiting her return. She is my beacon,
my hope, my star in the black sky shining.
viewed through the thousands of promises reflected deep within her beautiful brown eyes. The
best and brightest of all of those promises is love. The most precious gift she has ever
bestowed upon me is showing me my own reflection and teaching me how to love in return.
I don’t mean loving Sara; loving her was at once the easiest and hardest thing I have ever done.
She showed me how to love those who have been conspiring for years to build a family around
me and to not only see within myself what she has always known was there but to also learn to
love myself a little as well.
She looks so peaceful, so serene. I cannot resist the temptation to lean just a little closer and
inhale her exquisite scent before dropping a feather-light kiss on her temple She breathes a tiny
sigh and a small grin graces her features before she is pulled back into deeper sleep.
I feel her unconquerable spirit surround me and let her slip back into those silver dreams and
black stars because I know that she will always find her way back home to me. And I will be
sitting right here watching over her, lighting her path and awaiting her return. She is my beacon,
my hope, my star in the black sky shining.
| “I am the heart of the warrior child I am the moment the beast becomes mild I am the part of the soul that is wild I am the answer you’re finding I am the star In the black sky shining.”* |
*“The Star in the Black Sky Shining”, Music and Lyrics by John Stewart. The song is available on
iTunes on the album HAVANA.
iTunes on the album HAVANA.
 | |  | |  |
