Tag Archives: love

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… the fourth …

How funny, to be here in July, when I am writing about this date.
I honestly haven’t thought about Alcir on this July day for many
years, and yet now July 4th in 2005 is not just in my mind,
but in my writings.  And so is the one in 1986.

Being an American… Alcir didn’t like me using that term, and
reminded me that Brasil was American too!
Being from the US, we are so self centered, and think of the
whole world celebrating Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July,
but no… They are ours and ours alone.

But I read from my friends that that picnic that happens every
year up on the ridge, in Northern California, in the summer warms,
with music and oyster bar and good beer, the one when I sang
in that Blues Band, and watched him watching me…
It’s going on right now….

The fireworks are no longer on that long beach, my favorite
beach, with the bonfire and the sparks flying into the night sky
to join the stars, and us sitting on that log.

They’ve been on the pier in Point Arena for many years, the Pier
that he loved, in that little town that he loved…
And it’s a great show.  Everyone sits on those giant rocks they
brought in after the massive storms took out the old pier.
And they sit on the balcony of the newer building down there,
the one built over the old cafe…Sophie’s Cafe, with the
Greek dancing at midnight.
The one I was sitting in when we were new, and he came by to
say hello, before going out to dive for our dinner.

The parking lot is still there, where he displayed his catch along
with the other divers, and he peeled off his body suit in front of me.

And that night… the first night… is still there, hanging in forever,
frozen on fire, a warm glow of coals and sparks to rekindle my
spirit and remind me that magic does happen, and life is good.

Alcir recently wrote
” …It’s 5 am and I am in Norway having a “few” 1664 Kronenbourg,
some shots of Glenmorangie, smoking a Jose Piedra Vuelta Arriba,
watching “The Man Show”, and the Venus passage in front of the sun,
in MY BOAT…..”

And now today I send this, my favorite quote from “Castaway”,
to him, and imagine him on His Boat, with that great big grin…

“And I know what I have to do now.   I gotta keep breathing.
Because tomorrow the sun will rise.
Who knows what the tide could bring? ”

 

———————————-

 

 

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… talk …

After she got off the phone, after his terrible confession,
she sat for a while.
Her hands were shaking horribly, as they had been since
he’d begun telling her.
Just by his tone, she had known what was coming, and her
body had begun quaking just a bit, as her mind stood still.

And now she cried.  Of course she did, and for a long time.
The words escaping from her mouth were only for herself
and the sky, but they poured out none the less.
She cried so much she wondered if the sobs would ever leave,
but of course they did.  They washed out with the rain, and
then the journal came out.

Pages of rants, cries, whys, how could hes, how will it evers,
and so forth.  For pages…

Not that she was not experienced at these sorts of things.
On the contrary, she had been married to what had turned
out to be a sex addict, although she was too naiive to know
it at the time.
She thought he was just figuring himself out, in that cute little
sixties way, and she being in the Hippie mode, thought it was
healthy to let him.  She had trusted him implicitly.
They were going to be completely honest with eachother…
Although actually it was the seventies, and not quite as
innocent anymore.
The worst part about it was not the sex with others…
it was the lies and hiding for a month, and then the confessions,
the tears, and then realizing that a month had gone by with
his hiding it and lying, and eventually it just made her mad…
….Mad…as in Crazy.  Eventually All Trust was Destroyed.

Well, at least he told me, she thought….and quickly.
But I’m not there, and I don’t know when I will be, and he’s
way to cute and crazy Not to stray once in a while, even when
I Am there.  That Latin men thing.  Male privilege.

The ole double standards thing, which is one of the two
worst things ever, as far as she was concerned.
The other is being taken for granted.
They sort of go hand in hand, don’t they.

It was 5 or 6 when the phone rang, insistently dragging her
out of her solitary sad, forcing her to clear her throat,
put on the smile voice, and answer.

“Hello…?”

“Well… do you have anything you wanna say to me?”
the Voice came.

“Not really.  I guess that depends on what you have to say to me…”

“I’m not doing too well…. I drank almost a whole bottle” …
…she knew this meant scotch, his favorite imbibement.

“I can’t sleep, I’m not feeling too good about myself,” he continued,
“and I want to apologize.”

“What are you apologizing for?” she ventured, honestly unsure
of where he was at in all of this.

“For breaking our agreement to eachother.  I knew it was wrong
when I was doing it.  It meant nothing.  There is no relationship,
no time spent together, only sex.”

“Does she know about me?” she now wondered, as she really
didn’t know this side of him, nor how he behaved in these times.

“Yes, she knows about you, of course, what do you think?
I’m not a scoundrel.  I’m not going to tremble before you.
I’m not going to sweat…. well….
this is not a video phone, so if I do sweat you won’t know…”

Well…she thought…. he’s doing pretty well so far.  Saying
the right things anyway.  It’s just the trust thing.  The not
knowing what was true, and what would be true, especially
at this distance.  No eyes to peer into.

The conversation closed on a neutral level, he having said
what he needed to say, she unable to move forward, let go,
believe again, but now at least  in a place where she could
see beyond the darkness, the light out there at the end of that
terrible tunnel beginning to grow just a little….

 

———————————

 

 

by

… the anniversary …

It was the day they got together… hooked up… did it
for reals … and she always had remembered the day.
It was easy… the Fourth of July.

People joke about it, how getting together with someone
was like the Fourth, skyrockets, all that, but it was that
too… and on the very Day, with the sounds and flashes
still reverberating in the night skies.

That was a long time ago.. 1987… yet it was clear as spring
water on a summer’s day.

It’s 2005, and she called him all day.
It was the first time the date had come around since
they had found eachother again.

She called into the night, but no answer.  The phones
were often out in Brasil, but it was odd that no one
answered for so long.
It was mid morning on the Fifth that he picked up…
he’d not been home that long.

“How Are you?”… his jolly voice barked at her.
“Sad and lonely… not good this week” she drifted off.
“Really?” came the response.  Quiet…

“Where have you been?” she asked quietly, the first thing
on her mind, relief and strange wondering mixing in her.

“Oh, I was checking out a job, I was visiting a friend, I got
a haircut… I Knew it was our Day …blah blah …”
…..the list went on, but she wasn’t hearing the details,
only the tone.  A certain manic thing…

“Listen… I have to tell you.  I wasn’t looking, but I got
a haircut, and I ran into someone I’d known before…
(her heart suddenly went dead)

“well, I don’t have to tell you do I?
I’m not going to apologize.
It meant nothing…

“….Say something…!”

She was without words.  The sounds were there, but nothing
came from her lips.  Her breath came in shallow whispers.
(please allow me to absorb this, she thought, but could not say)

“If you go out and do something to retaliate, it’s over!”…
…he shot back at her over the line.

“It was just sex, tits and ass…”
Quickly he evaporated the subject, and his hurried voice
filled in the hollows.

“I want to buy a ticket for my wife to come here…
I caught a 30# fish, I’m good, you’re gonna be so
proud you chose me…”

Still she could not form words… everything was floating.

“I’m not going to say it was the alcohol or the drugs…
I wanted her, she appealed to me …
I’m being modest here…
I had a hard time.  I decided I needed a reward….

“Do you want to think about it and call me later…?

His voice went on in her ear, she doing her best to just
hear what the words were, and put them away for keeping,
to interpret them later…

“If you don’ wanna speak with me ever again, just let me know…
I’ll pay you back what I owe you.  I’ll sell my car, my watch…”

….”Do you love me?”….

While he waited for her to breath again, he started singing
Lou Reed’s  “Walk on the Wild Side”, and when he got to
…”an’ the colored girls sang do de doo de doo…”,
she almost threw up.

“I can’t do this right now” came out of her mouth instead,
and she hung up.

 

————————–

 

 

by

… time alone …

There are no days of the week, no time to be somewhere,
just waking with the sun, and long invigorating walks.
At home I make jewelry, clear out the jungle, wash
windows, and let the days drift.

Talks with Alcir are sporadic… time zones collapse time into
different worlds… he’s not home when I call, or he’s sleeping
and doesn’t want to talk, or he forgets my number, and calls
my daughter when he’s drunk…
…and she’s getting annoyed with his ramblings.

Sometimes he thinks he’s called me, but he never did…
and I wonder who he did call, because there was no message.

It’s all in a fog, but as usual, just when I drift away, he
comes back with clarity, telling me his deeply amusing
stories, or reminding me of his real self.

His experiences pile up with pain and disillusionment…
His grandfather gave him a house on the coast.
While he was gone, his father took it and sold it.

Another time he gave $30,000 cash to his uncle for
a house in Ibicui….that idyllic place we want to live…
He never got the deed, and now his uncle is selling it again…

Again and again, the knife in the back.  Since he was small,
the public beatings, and humiliations before his extended
family have created such isolation for him, such mistrust
in someone so naturally trusting…. and such disrespect
from the relatives, who used him as the scapegoat of the family.

There was/is  deep inside of him, this pure childlike trust…
a clear sense of what’s right and wrong… a fury at the travesty,
at the viciousness of humanity.
He sees things in such clear terms, as a child…or an indian…
might see them.

He truly doesn’t understand how people behave the way
they do, how anyone can be so untrue to the most basic
elements of kindness and justice.

“When I see stories of slaves being beaten, I think …
…This is nothing.  This is what I go through all my life.
Til one day I stood up and said…. NO MORE !
If you touch me one more time, I will break your neck…
I was 14…. and they never touch me again.

“Beating a slave is one thing… beating someone you
don’t know, who you have no feelings for…
But to beat your own flesh and blood……”
…and he sadly let the memories drift away…

And now, although some of that pure knowing remains
deep inside, he is an island unto himself.

Being one he trusts is an honor and a deep commitment.
I do my best to be clear and true, to remind him of who he
really is inside, beyond the distortion of carnival mirrors
shown to him as a youth, those wavy, untrue reflections.

“The first time I laid eyes …and lips… on you.. oh good lord…
how you changed my life.  I tasted what could be…”
…he told me once again, this time with different words.
“I want to remake myself with what’s inside of you”

I hoped that this desire for rebirthing was true.
And I hoped I could live up to his vision.

—————

by

… the we of it …

The islands have always been good to me.
From the first breath I took when in 1987 I visited for
the first time…flowers suspended in moist clear air…
I knew I was home.  It was the Garden.

The body knew too, and health and peaceful days always
followed me there, even when Hurricane Iniki in 1992
included me, and devastated Kauai…. still it was all a gift.

This time, in the summer of 2005, was no different.
Things fell into place, and the inundation of nature only
proceeded to lead me to the core, to the very soul of my
existence, and my heart, mind and body followed.

By being on my own path, separating myself from the
attachment I was feeling for Alcir and our life together,
my vision cleared, and I knew what I wanted in my life
besides him.
I could see clearly what was him and what was me….
…and isn’t this something that is Always needed
in a relationship?
We All need our Man Cave, so to speak, and it needs to
be OK to want that, and to take that…. for Each of us.

There is no judgement here.  We each have our path, and
things we must do, promises to ourselves that we must keep.
The problem is our expectations, and our programming,
particularly when it comes to relationships.

We have been told that when you are in love, you blend,
merge, combine, and fall into roles that have worked for
millennia….  but is this truth?

Respect for self and other demands the together
AND the Apart…

And because of these histories, teachings, beliefs and
outdated roles, we are caught in guilt and confusion.
The options are not made clear to ourselves, or to society
as a whole, and so we bang our heads against these walls,
while trying against hope to fit between them.

When it doesn’t fit, doesn’t feel good, isn’t working like
we Think it should, it falls apart or blows up.
But shouldn’t we be Creating other ways of being with another?
And shouldn’t this creative endeavor be a Good Thing,
even a commendable one?

This is what I was thinking about, and had been thinking
about for many years.
And this is the gift that the islands gave to me….

Space to create anew…..

 

——————-

 

 

 

 

by

… waiting …

Expect the sun to rise

and it will not.

Ignore it, and it

comes to you willingly

crying sun drops…

wanting cloudlings to

hide its loneliness.

Wait only for the one

who waits for you

which is you, waiting

endlessly waiting

for you

you waiting

forever waiting

waiting

without

a magazine.

——

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…khalil gibran…

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed…

For love is sufficient unto love.

And think not you can direct the course of love…

if it finds you worthy, it directs your course.

Love has no other desire

but to fulfil itself .

…..Khalil Gibran ♥

—–

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…longtime island time…

The days fall into place as she settled in to the new space.
The dog was a wonderful excuse to walk long distances,
down a rough red clay road, tropical trees lining each
side.  The walks got longer each day, and she sped up the
pace to where they were going first one mile, then two…

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Although the dog was older, he adapted quickly, and the
two of them worked towards strength and stamina.
In the afternoons she rested, the midday heat slowly
lightening with the trades blowing in.
Writing, reading, dozing.  Very island time.

He was back on track now, after the stressful times, and
was making plans for his future, their future.
He tells her he wants to gain his Captain’s License, and
classes, though expensive, begin soon.
He’s getting excited about another future, one that
He makes for himself.
Lazarus Rising….

He’s on a roll this time, seeing the door opening, seeing a
Path with Dignity, an escape with his head held high.

He talks of the North, of the oil fields, the Tundra where
trees can’t grow, the perma frost, the Caribou.

He tells her about Bowhead whales that follow the ice,
and take 20 minute dives, and how Balooga whales
can turn their heads.
Of the Inupiat, who look to the ocean for the majority
of their food, the whole of their life.
He speaks of 12 foot thick ice, often for many square
miles, and what shorefast ice and sea ice are,
and how they’re different.

He tells her that Lemmings stay active all year round,
one of the only mammals to do so…
He is so fond of extremes, of challenges, of adventure,
and she wonders at his long held courage.

They shared the thought that in these times, it was
Get Your Shit Together Time for each, and he seemed
ready to face his emotional homework that he knows
he’s run away from all his life.

She meanwhile, faced her own demons, largely making
her own way, creating money out of nothing, and
remaining steadfast in their pledge to eachother.

The future looked brighter, and the meantime held
magic here…. and there as well, as his
magnificent clarity returned.