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2007-09-25 - 2:53 a.m.

This was initially called "Return" and ended with the line
"What I need to return"

But I have edited it and added just a few lines and now it has evolved into "Return to Love" (with respect to Marianne Williamson for stealing her wonderful phrase! Imitation is the greatest praise!) I was happy to find this poem scrawled on the back of an old bill. It was written last Spring for Art in an expression of why I did not want a physical relationship, and an affirmation of why he too was avoiding temptation at that time and HE TOO did not want to succumb. He shared that quest for something deeper and more lasting- seeking a strong relationship with God and a foundation of strength of self and his own values which is why we got along so well in our brokenness.

It is nice to see him actualize his talents and our friendship was positive for that time. But then it changed and I think I became more than a support, but an unhealthy object of his desire and he started to lose self in seeking a savior- seeking an enabler to take him away from the painful responsibility he faces in life. He was then seeking that elixer...and I think I responded to the release of tension and escape in that for a short time, struggling with our humanity as we all do. We became lovers for a short while, in addition to friends- but it was not a responsible choice for that time so I stopped that. Indeed however it was a beautiful relationship until he couldn't respect my boundaries and give me space for my growth- and it was clear he was losing his sense of self at some level as well as he seemed to think his happiness was dependent somehow on me. Yet I couldn't offer what he wanted, and he couldn't offer what I needed.

SO I thought of naming this piece "For Art"


Seeking talk with others
To fill time

So I don't talk to myself
in the compelled crazy way

If talking to self is a sign
of mental illness
I am far gone
and quiet listening is what I need
to return

It was isolation
which brought us to this state
of disconnected
broken, visceral existence

Basic instincts stronger than reason
Yet all suppressed
to the mirage presented to the world

My evenings of late
have been filled with temptations of touch
the escape of elixir of excitement
evoked through words woven on tongues poetic

seeking salvation of salivation
licking and lapping like dogs at the bone

substitute for being alone
avoiding writing
space for self

avoiding the painful process of
pruning away at the trunk
cutting open the cankers
fearful of what infection may ooze forth
and not be able to be contained

So seeking talking to others
so as to avoid talking to myself
For if talking to self is a sign of mental illness
I am far gone

Yet Quiet listening is what I need to return

Return to love
of self
of God within and without myself
To return to a state of grace
beyond both instinct and reason
in which true creation bursts forth

like the mystery of the blooming
Cherry blossoms, so beautiful and fragrant in their abundant glory
that we long to capture such creation
and each year anticipate their return
along with the thousands of others
drawn to the beauty we can not quite touch
but continue to try

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