I saw you at Sixty

I saw you at sixty, you still had your hair,
But the fire I'd known in your eyes wasn't there.

I saw you at fifty, your hair was a mess,
And asked myself why you would drink in excess?

I saw you at forty, your hair was so long.
I would never have guessed that something went wrong.

I saw you at thirty, your hair was tied back,
You were proud of the fact that your life was on track

I saw you at twenty, your hair was cut neat,
You stood ten feet tall when you walked down the street.

I saw you at ten when your hair was so fine,
And smiled when you said that "She'll someday be mine."

On the day you were born you barely had hair,
But those fiery eyes made me stand back and stare.

Karma

When you lose someone you love all that remains is the pain. Don't be fooled by those who tell you to cherish the good memories. Those very same good memories become your dreams at night. The hunt you down in your sleep. You relive them every night and they seem so real, only to wake up in the morning and realize they were just dreams. You realize that your heart is being squeezed in your chest and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. Reality floods back in and you remember what you did. You remember that it all ended as if it had ended only yesterday.

No. The fond memories will not save you. They were not meant to save you. The fond memories were meant to be building blocks in your relationship. Instead they are now the weight that crushes you when you try to go on with your life and see what you can do.

Move on. What a stupid word to say. As if you passed an accident and your curiosity made you slow down and look. Now you have to move on. Move on. How stupid can you  be? As if the years that you spent were not part of you, as if you're supposed to become someone else, someone new, and pretend that what you were a year ago was not real. Move on. The most cruel word you can hear.

You can move on if you were hurt by someone you loved. You can forgive and forget, or at least ignore the person that caused you the pain, you can move on if you were the victim, but not if you were the culprit of your own demise. Not if you were to blame. No. That crime's punishment is that you and your tormentor are locked in the same body forever. You will be entwined for the rest of your days. He will not let you forget, nor will he relent in his torture. You will be your own sadistic fiend that wakes you up at night and tears your mind from the inside out, depriving you of sleep, of thought, of a will.

What others don't understand is that you also become the grateful recipient of that torment. You accept the pain and cherish it. You feel the burning of the loss and would not let go of that burning because you know that to let go of that pain is to let go of the last remaining good thing in your life. The last remaining trace of a love you lost.

People say letting go is not easy. They don't understand that sometimes letting go is not an option. Letting go of the last trace of decency in you will leave you empty. Perhaps you lost your chance at being filled with bliss, and with your decisions allowed that bliss to leave you, leaving behind her the pain as a reminder of your mistakes. If you let go of the pain it will only leave the void.

We've been corrupted, as a race, as a species, as men, when it comes to love. We have been lead to believe that there was such a thing as absolute and universal love. A gargantuan ethereal repository of pure love in the Universe from which we draw our buckets and drink if we wish. A source of love that can heal and replenish our losses so we can be once again filled with bliss and "move on".

There isn't. It was all concocted by generations of marketing that sold us on to the idea of the universal healing love. A scam that lines the pockets of every self help guru, reiki enthusiast, holistic doctor, shaman, priest, and charlatan alike. They can use it to convince you that you have been replenished with love, and in fact you'd be living the fake life.

The real life says that when you do something wrong you pay the price. That is Karma. It does not change. It does not accept offerings. It does not offer redemption.

It is immovable, unwavering, forceful, and triumphant.

When you are the cause of your own pain you will remain its recipient to the end of your days.

It HAS been an eternity, and you HAVE been immortal. The world you feared would end someday, didn't. You dug your grave and waited for me, but I never came.

You let go of Love because you feared its end. You let go of people because you were afraid you would have to watch them go someday. You spent your thoughts on everything that mattered, except what really did. And now you come full circle to find only I am here to receive you.

Are you ready to tell me what it all meant? What did you make of it? Where has it led to?

Here. Now. This is what. This is where. This is all there is. All there ever was. All there ever will be, and this is exactly what you never expected. This is exactly what you never imagined, never thought of, never calculated. This is what never had cause to exist, but it did, because you did.

Am I being to cryptic? It must be the drugs. 

The weight you carried on your shoulders was only a ghost. There was no temptation. There was no pain. There was no wall. Now, look around you. As far as you can see, or you think you can see - because here you can see as far as you can think - as far as you can see there is nothing. No one. Except you, and I, and this endless void.

Now think and we - YOU - can fill this void with anything you want. There is the road to your house. There is your first tooth that fell loose at six. There is the pencil you borrowed for your final exam. There is your car, your keys, your jacket, your cell phone, your tickets, your bag, your books, your hat, your camera, your eyes, your mouth, there,there,there,there, 

Is that enough? Look around. We're neck deep in all that is you.

Now tell me again.

Why are you here, and not there?

Why are you here, with me at the end, and not where you are not?

Why are you not old? 

Why are you not sick?

Why are you not buried in debt, and worries?

Why are you not holding a child?

Why are you not crying?

Why are you not with her, instead of here with me?

Why are you immortal, spending an eternity, with me, at the end of a circle, instead of there, with her?

Age is the Cruelest Cage

Age is the cruelest cage. That Iron Maiden of the soul with its rancid breath and crooked face, and that catacomb's embrace which leaves nothing for desire, as ambitions expire with a twist of fate and tepid luck both conspiring to construct a fabric of a universe born of idle sighs.

Age is the cruelest cage, that draws its waters from a well of memories, as its daughters spin the yarn and tell stories of Kubla Khan and the Holocaust on Christmas Eve.

The night the World stood still of its own will on the edge of Its Awakening but slumped back into that abyss of Elysian slumber. When, from atop the shoulders of giants I saw the dawn rise above the brim of my teacup while Brahms and Bach stood face to face behind my back calculating the origin of the universe with their finger tips.

Under the bridge in Nan'an, sleeping in a box and waking to see the endless line of humanity carrying its womb on its back like a mutated tortoise in exodus from the city of salt leaving in its trail the bloody spots of human dreams strewn elegantly yet random on either side.

The old woman that smiled at me and then grimaced as sunlight poured down her face like molten glass. She was my granddaughter carrying my granddaughter on her back.

Down here under the bridge the sand is cool, and dark, and moist. It smells of Tinseltown blood mixed with molasses. Down here under the bridge the thralls of human industry never tread. Down here under the bridge, smoke and books still live on their taboos. Down here under the bridge it's always 1999.

Inhale,
Exhale,
and Discharge.

Stand on Buddha's palm and leap all the way towards the pillars at the edge of the world. You'll find your answers there, written in monkey piss.

Carry me back a thousand days and ask me when the world will end. I'll say "Around the bend."

"In a day or two when my words have run their course." Through and through I would say "The end is nigh" and sit in the corner waiting to die. But not today.

No, not today.

A thousand days ago was yesterday. 

Today I'll say "You wait and see.The end will come for you and me, and , what is more

"Age is the cruelest cage, an Iron Maiden for the soul. It will be harsh and cruel and long and infinitely more beautiful than you can imagine."