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?

Day 14 – You call this work?

The more I want to get something done, the less I call it work. ~ Richard Bach

I wondered what was going on. What a total freak I must seem, nearly leaping from bed most days. Of course, there are days where I am reluctant to return from wherever it was that I went when sleep came for me and began our walk into the liminal places between the worlds.

I often forget in these times to wash my face, brush my ‘one good tooth’ (an old West Virginia funny that my mom said) or otherwise do much other than pull on my pants… which I have been known to leave aside for awhile too. I sometimes realize that I have been working for a couple hours before the sun comes into my window with a pink and lavender blushing. I rush to the kitchen to get the ‘first boil’ done and make coffee with cinnamon (only the Ceylon, it’s the best) and fresh ground nutmeg, half and half and Lovers Lane Honey for my bride. We call it the first boil because sometimes I see a rose outside or get caught up in a ‘pet-a-palooza’ with Diego, our Siamese if you please and he will not be deterred. Then, I have to boil it again. It gives the honey time to work its magic in the cream. Now that, is delicious and it’s for the most beautiful girl in the whole girl-a-verse, so let’s make it perfect every day.

I was always this way. I would show up early for duty in my Air Force days and sometimes I would break the rules and not wait the required time off limits between missions because I was so deeply in love with flying and even more with jumping out and attempting to save lives. In my second iteration of working life, I was in the hospitality business. I started as a dishwasher and was really good at it. Not nearly as good as the Latinos at my side, but it was work. I had just been retired from the military with injuries from a combat related incident in the Philippines so I would have taken anything. I got the job from volunteering in a soup kitchen and was noticed that I left it spotless. I flourished there by asking questions, desiring more and yes, showing up early, staying late and from time to time, asking for more duties. I will open, I will close, I will come in for people that call out sick and of course, I will take the overtime. I once even had a gig where I had no schedule and people that wanted to give me their shifts would just call me and I would come instead. I had more work than I could actually do! It was a wonder to be there and I learned and learned and gleaned so much that I eventually owned 3 of my own places and worked with some of the best culinary talent the world has ever seen.

Now, what a treasure it is to be here. I find myself quite shocked some days that I am still alive. I have had many near misses and pushed my corporeal limits all the way out. Yet, I persist in my greatest effort and perhaps my final mission. Intentional Creativity and Shiloh Sophia. I serve so many, so much and it never tires me. I do tire more now than I once did, just like the song says “… not as good as I once was, but as good once as I ever was…”. I find that I have one of the greatest gifts that I could ever have, never have dreamed of. That dream is finding someone who really needed me and the spectrum of gifts and talents that I earned from a lifetime of open minded, real study and a willingness to work long and hard for that which I hold as valuable. I have discovered that I am truly in service, of service and have the skill and more importantly, the orientation to it. It’s one thing to know what to do, it’s another entirely to want to do it, to in fact, need to do it. It’s why and how I race to my desk, the garage, the garden and the studio. I have the greatest of luxuries in doing that which I am. I have left the farm, put down the gun and remain in the kitchen (but not everyday) all the while, writing poetry, creating film, running multiple technology platforms, hammering, sawing and shoveling. It’s fantastic.

In this moment, I am having trouble remembering the last time that I in fact…. worked at all.  

This Day

This Day

I listened to our mountain waking.

Wrapped in her cloak of rest amongst inky silks

She has made off into the night

taking my weariness.

Leaving me to the places and spaces that I will be from

when she returns for me.

 

She reaches for me through the open window.

Her fingers pale and velveteen.

Green gray caresses as soft as mother’s love

she whispers to me with mercies and promise.

 

In that which is the first moment

the darkness of slumber relaxes its grips.

Receding and dancing with the pale light she returns

easing on the color, tints and contrast

foretelling of the Sun’s love and hot coffee.

 

Listening is a wonderful way.

The all-too-soon has arrived.

The light will reveal, steal and render

my sleeping mother awake.

 

The sounds of her respiring quietly

gentle and soft in her rhythms

here on the dark side of her garments

encourage my eyes to stay closed.

They beg me still and silent for a few more moments

to hear and to learn from her transformation.

 

I shall use more stillness this day.

 

~ A morning at Terra Sophia. Autumn 2017