Why and I

I had just come out of coffee shop with some Tea. The part of town I live and work in has never heard of such a thing as a Tea house; it could just be me, being picky and particular. I headed to my normal spot on the bench in the manicured, man made, open area park on the roof of the building I work at.

Today was different.

Today when the escalator brought me to the top floor (like it always does); I opened the door to the manicured, man made, open park area and inhaled the relatively fresh city air (like I always do) which is always better than the recycled air that circulates in my building.

Today was very different.

There was an old man flying a kite, or rather had already gotten the kite in the air and was now watching it glide, watching it’s tail whip and snap in the wind current. This old man was sitting down right in my spot. I made the decision to not care and to be happy anyway. I only get a half hour for my break and the majority of it I spend getting to the coffee shop and back. It only leaves me a few moments to drink my tea in peace, drink my tea and relax. It only leaves me a few happy moments during my busy day.

The old man said to me,

“Asking the question Why is part of being happy. Most people don’t live long enough to realize that to get to happiness you have to start with self, with I. They make it quite simple enough you know. They put it in the words; Happy ends with a Why, but to get Happiness you have to stop asking Why and realize I. Then you finally can get to the Ness the state of being. Realize I but first ask Why and it will lead you to that state of being. It’s different for everyone though. I think that confuses a lot of people too. They like to think that it’s the same for everyone and its not, but that’s part of realizing self, realizing I.”

The alarm on my cell phone went off letting me know that my break was over. I did not even get to drink any of my tea, but it was cold now so I gave it to the old man. The next day he did not come back, or even the day after that. In fact I never saw the old man after that, but I always ask myself and wonder what ever happen to him.

I don’t work in the building anymore but I still come back every now and then. Today I thought,

“What the hell”

and I brought a kite. I’ve never flown one before so why not today. I got it up really high I think for my first time. I sat down in my spot and tied the string to the bench.

This guy opened the door and looked at me as if I had said something foul to him but I did not care, my kite was high and had a steady wind. The guy looked so mad with his head phones on. I was not going to say anything to him but then I remembered the old man’s words and I though I would share them with him. They might have the same effect on him as they did on me. After I finished he grabbed his pocket and practically ran back out the door leading back into the building. He even left his drink.

I never went back to the building after that until they told me that they were going to get rid of the manicured, man made, open area park on the roof and put up cell phone towers. I made a promise that I would go back one more time before they tore it all up. The funny thing is I went back once a month with my kite, when it was not raining, and they never did, but the same guy whom always looked pissed did. He never spoke but I did. I told him the old mans words once more and what I personally learned as I applied them.

One day with my kite in hand I got off at my stop and saw that the whole building was gone. I’m going to miss that building and the manicured, man made, open area park. I’ll even miss the angry guy, but truth be told now that the building is gone it all really felt like de ja vu at times. Then again one of the things the old man said to me is that nothing at all is new under the sun, not even life its self so maybe I’ve done it all before and just don’t remember. Whatever the case may be I hope that angry man gets happy one day.

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

A Single Kiss

Embracing, caressing, stopping time, stopping motion.

A cold overcast sky is their backdrop so they emit their own sun. They generate their own heat.

Standing at the end of the dock they hold the other. Their lips mingle in their pursuit. Hands traveling from the back of the head to the checks, the neck, racing down to the small of the back; resting, abiding.

Ignoring the world with complete and total disregard they feast on the soul.

Embracing, caressing, stopping time, stopping motion.

They share such a simple small thing. They experience a moment, a single moment in the not so endless, not so infinite construct we call time. They give willingly to each other their most precious, their most sacred gift. They share their life; they share their souls in a simple kiss. They become a singularity.

Stopping time, stopping motion, while embracing, while caressing,

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Nature of Things

Forever changing, forever in motion we try to fight our nature and be still. Constant is the sound of the soul yet we seek silence.

Why?

If the natural order of the universe is motion why fight to be still?

If the natural order of all things is change why fight to remain the same?

If the natural or is to be then why fight to not?

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Balloons

Three pigtails enclosed by three pink barrettes shined along side her finely brushed hair, same as the color of a moonless midnight sky. Not at the age of self-consciousness she smiles her snaggeled tooth smile in an attempt to rival the sun. The oshbgosh overalls matched her three pink barrettes exactly. Her shiny white Mary Jane’s complemented her undershirt with the ruffled sleeves.

She had been a good girl and had kept herself nice and clean all day, even with the chocolate ice cream.

She laughed and smiled all day, sometimes sticking her tongue out part way.

Skipping down the street with father in one hand and her bright red balloon in the other.

Her teeth disappeared and her laugh turned to tears as the balloon escaped her hand, slipping her grasp. Gently it climbed higher and higher as she looked on begging father to make it come down.

Father bent down kissing her forehead and whipping her tears he said,

“My sweet baby girl everything goes away one day.”

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

seeds

I had a dream about this old man. He had a seed in his hand; it couldn’t have been bigger than a poppy seed. I got so scared I ran. I ran so hard and fast but I could not get away. His hand just stretched out and grabbed my shoulder bringing me down to the ground. He held me down with his pinky finger while he put the seed in his mouth. He said something, kissed my ear and vanished.

I woke up got dressed and sat at the bus stop waiting for it to come like I always do. I looked up in the sky and watched the clouds pass by on their blue road and a lady bug landed on my shoulder.

 

Just then I remembered what the old man had said to me.

I got up and went back home. It was Sunday, my day off.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Cold hearts

Unique as the distant fog blanketing the hills, bridges, and valleys while I stand in eighty degree dry heat.

 

Universal as the child reaching up, trying to grab the balloon that has fled from them.

 

What we discern as good or bad the sun shines and rain falls on all alike.

 

What would make them choose rain, cold, and fog over the sun and its warmth?

 

Is their heart so cold that the sun’s heat would melt it?

 

Is it that in the rain they can hide their tears in plain view instead of the dark?

 

Have their souls become so clouded by the hardships of life that the winter sky gives them solace in its similarity?

 

Schadenfreude I think it is; dancing, calling down thunder and lighting to interrupt the children playing in the park. Schadenfreude I think it is; delighting in old man winters bite, in his season of desolation and death, delighting in Demeter’s sadness where nothing new can be and all things old cease and deist. Schadenfreude I think it is; smiling with pleasure while those not equipped for cold try to bear, bundling and together to stay warm.

 

Maybe, just maybe that is the cause. Maybe, just maybe that is their only way. The simple need to be touched by another. The cold, the rain, the grey skies, only offers that one advantage. The warmth of those whom love blue sky, the sun and the heat is stored in their hearts and in their smiles. When the season of death and stillness comes they still remember the sun and people draw near to them and share in their touch, their warmth, their sun.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Confinement

I feel, sometimes, like my body doesn't fit my soul. It’s too tight. I feel like its going to pop out my eyes or fall out of my mouth.

 

Gravity is the force that keeps our bodies on Earth with our souls trapped inside.

 

Twisting around my head then to my toes seeking solitude one moment then joyful companionship the next. Sometimes it leeks out with my tears. I felt it those times I shed blood.

 

There are times when I feel it pour and drip from my fingertips.

 

The other day I held my mothers hand in my own. It was the first time I noticed that they were the same.

It’s too tight in here.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Confused delusions

Am I wasting my time or is this time well spent?

 

“Pack it up and call it quits.” Or “Hang on, just for one more day.”

 

One more try maybe?

 

Does the promise of ten fold await or am I finally grasping my hallucinations of aspirations?

 

Dreams and delusions are the same; steam and smoke, nothing more than vapor of the mind. Which ones do I hold on to? Which ones do I let fade?

 

I’m lucky to be alive and that is the extent of it. If I knew that I sucked I’d be the first to admit it. Assholes and some random mutha fuckas I can’t really trust. While friends and family don’t say anything at all that my paranoid ears hear correctly.

 

Confusion.

 

I sigh and exhale still wondering, contemplating what is real or what it is that I want to be real. So many words in my head and I try to quicken my hand while placing them in some order that not only makes sense, but sounds to the ear like sweet tastes to the tongue.

 

Sometimes I believe it works sometimes I throw it all away knowing trash when I see it. Watching miracles happen around me I question,

 

“Is mine bearing witness?”

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009

Shadow eyes

Shadows surrounding me; surrounding us all; holding our mysteries, our secrets, and our lies.

 

We know they are there and we choose to push them to the left, push them to the right, just push them wherever we can not see them. The problem is that we just can not push hard enough to push them away.

 

They move when we move, stay when we are still.

 

Have you ever looked at your shadow? If it had eyes to look at, to stare and peer into deeply what would the soul of the shadow be like? What would it feel like?

 

The soul of the shadow; is that the place where those corners and recesses lie? The soul of the shadow; is that where those thoughts and urges hide? Those urges deep in the soul of the shadows heart, those ones that “normal”, “law abiding”, “respectable” people do not mention in public or polite and casual conversation.

 

I’ll share a secret, when I think people are lying to me or when I meet new people for the first time I look them directly and deeply in their eyes. There are things there that the soul says that the mouth won’t (or are not allowed too.)

 

What if shadows had eyes?

 

Would I want to see those things that people hide from other people, even from themselves? Would I want to see the things that even a person’s soul does not want to acknowledge?

 

Thank God shadows don’t have eyes.

 

©Christopher F. Brown 2009