Good Morning I Love You

It's what I say every morning.

Yes, every morning to my lover. I usually wake before her, even by a few minuets. Her hair falls to her pillow and into half of her face and I find myself forgetting to breathe. She suspends reality for me, just for a moment. When she opens her eyes and as her senses come online, I always, always whisper to her in my most clear and gentle voice, "Good Morning. I Love You.". There is a pause between the two phrases. Just to convey the gravitas of what I am saying and to give it that soft lilt that I mean it to carry. I am grateful, yes, that she is there. I cannot think of her not being there any longer. As you, the reader shall see, this will be an exercise in love that two can share. The love and devotion and care that I feel for her is astonishing to me. I am lucky to share it with you and even more lucky to think that she is in love with me and wants that to remain in place for the rest of our lives. My intention here is to allow you to dream freely. Let yourself be taken from your place and time, just as we are. Suspend disbelief that the ordinary is even allowed to be. Replace reality with a snapshot to a dream. Join us for a moment as we turn phrases in love to one another and with and for you. Welcome traveler. Will you rest and dream with us for a while?

#13 Lucky Street – Frida and Diego

#13 Lucky Street – Frida and Diego

I watched a ‘lost’ film today. You can watch it yourself here on my Facebook Page if you wish. Rarely do I find myself watching the screen of things, I rather to look directly at them. The pot on the stove, the apple on the table, the texture of my pillow or the aqua and teal visitors from the Sun’s retirement party each early evening. So, it’s rather odd for me to notice at all. Yet, I did and here is what I saw, which speaks to me posting for the day, this day.

#13 Lucky Street is a real address in the Mission district of San Francisco. I have been there a couple times. Once, in about 2010 or so, it was for sale. I noticed it on the way to Philz coffee for my daily dose. I stood and looked at it for some time. I considered the arrangement and several immediate smiles left my face towards that sign. #13. Lucky Street. I had to have it. I had no money to buy anything of the sort. I would construct a deal to buy it, yes, a consortium of like minded investors that would help me land the luckiest of places at #13. Well, it was sold already. #13 struck me out but I never forgot the way it made me feel. The tensor between odd fellows that bind them in a dance with each other. Like a quantum entanglement constructed by someone just for me to witness somehow.

When I watched this video, the ‘lost’ or forgotten video of Frida and Diego, I found myself smiling at that sign again. I remember that smile, which I also used (employed but not fabricated) when I stood inside her home and studio at Casa Azul in Coyoacán of Mexico City. There is a cascade of effects that this place causes to the heart and mind that enters with the story of them in place and time. It can be/should be/might be very sad and it often is. There are subtle energies that remain glowing on the edges and in the cracks of the floor. They cannot be stamped out of the plaster or timbers by the feet of millions of tourists or out of my memory of them.

You may know that the story of these two beings has a poignant end, along with epic heartbreak and body break for her. I could feel the metal in my body hum and my scars ache in epenthetic chorus with that kind of pain. In the presence of her home I felt her. All of her. In the colors, the vibrations and the scent and I could see the luminous phosphorescence in the cracks of the floor, the walls and the marble of the steps and kitchen table. It ran into the former bedroom where Trotsky stayed until he moved nearby and met his death at the end of an ice pick sent by the hand of Stalin. There was a stillness that I mistook for something it was not. It was not depressed, suppressed or repressed. It was the blue blood of her house, living in it’s tissues. Still celebrating her and that which she wanted to celebrate as often as life allowed, which was him. The sadness and sorrow will give way to the joy of that moment. The pain is forgotten and distant when the moment of her love descends on him.

I watched the film. Glorious. Scripted and staged except for one thing; Her spirit. This woman played along and went along and yet, owned herself doing it. The gentle touches from the back of the hand. The playful and coy glances that are not the product of the director’s instruction. The truth.. of her love for him, his reluctant acceptance and obvious discomfort in it. She often takes his hand, kissing it and coaxing him in an attempt to draw one not-so-nervous look while on film so that the whole world would know what was bursting from her heart. She takes his peck on the cheek and then commands her placement of a luscious full mouthed kiss.

Casa Azul lives in my mind in the same way as #13 Lucky Street. A purposeful contradiction of sacred and profane. Increasing my ability to understand life’s contradictions. In the quiet moments of the earliest possible light, I often touch my sleeping wife’s face with the back of my hand and kiss her shoulder tenderly. I saw it today again, in the face of another human and I feel her azul blood flood up in me. I will never mistake the sullen moments that come to characterize a life. I will look for the moments from whence the back of my hand touches the face of my beloved, a child or even you, dear reader. In that moment I can cause you only beauty and from that, no harm can come. The rest I leave to you.

There is no quote for today. I have gone rogue for the sake of doing it. I find delight in the freedom of the container. The container of the task and the freedom of what to create within it. I agree that all beings who create with intention do the same.

Always Young – Day 12

Always Young – Day 12

“A heart that loves is always young.” – Greek Proverb

A wry smile is what I get when I read this. It’s a perfect example of what Werner Erhard calls a “Linguistic Abstraction.” I have really come to love that term.

If you will, consider that what you are mumbling about all day, these ‘words’ that you are muttering are utterances that you learned had meaning. (Mommy) When you learned to say them, they were associated with things, people and places. Then later, more abstractions like idea, concepts or beliefs. They all are small capsules of potential that open possibilities behind them when used with the correct intention. Certainly, “I love you” opens a rabbit hole like no other phrase, especially when employed for the first time and consider the devastation when used with mal intention. Such power.

So.. where will this portal lead me? I tend to look for the ‘operative words’ in phrases. When read and when heard. I have led a lifetime of service to others (and to myself, let’s not mince here…) and I listen to them (and to myself) when the words become stepping stones that are carefully laid, each end to end with the intent of clumsily conveying amongst us that which we have only these crude utterings to help us manifest them and that create a pathway we lay to lead you, the listener, to find that what is true for us is also true for you and thus some small part of our integrity is preserved between us.

Operative words are those that cause me to say these lovely things today. Love and Young are certainly places to start. Heart hangs it’s hat nicely when it enters the door. Have a seat and some tea dear words, let’s riff. My mother Caron loves words. When she gets here, we will all wrestle with taxonomy and get all worked up with tears of laughter when we get back to the grunts of the proto indo-european horn-on-the-hat wearing types… stop it.. you’re too funny! Snargflaggon? What the hell does that mean? Really… I almost blew my soda out of my nose when you said that. Knock it off…

We discover, dear reader, that the portal is upon us when we read the caption. I do not wish to be young for love or because of it. I do not wish to wait for love until I am unable to truly make the shapes that one’s body and soul make when it arrives. I do not need my heart to be young when I am not as it’s not a true state of what is. This phrase seems to indicate that if I am in love, then I will have a young heart and that I will ?? live longer/be more alive/have the energy of my youth?

The wry smile sneaks in again. I am alive in that now that Creator has set. I am more alive in the love and life that I have than I have ever known because of access to love and choosing it. The chances that you have access to this same way is real. Choose it. The Greeks were alluding to a state of being that feins desire but the truth is that that here, in this moment, Creator has made me precisely what I am and I am Creating that which I will end up being. Your turn.