Tranquility

Her hair peeks at me shyly from under the covers.  With a smile, I pull the remainder of the covers around her, as she sleeps on.

The Sun is bright this Sunday afternoon.  Outside the balcony, I can see the leaves quivering slightly in the Santa Barbara breeze.  The streets wind along, spelling out an indecipherable soliloquy that embraces a still drowsy city.  Opening the glass door gingerly, as not to upset her sleep, I step outside, the slate cold against my bare feet.  With a sigh, I plop down on the deck chair, sinking deep into the cushions.  The breeze caresses my warm cheeks, brushing my hair aside.

It makes me remember the previous night, running hand-in-hand, yelling at the top of our lungs like children through the empty streets.  “1-2-3″ she yells before jumping onto me.  Surprised, I instinctively cradle her under my arms as she chuckles under her breath.  She leans up, kissing me on the cheek, before letting out a sedated sigh.

There were those times, where we sat solemnly on the swing under the willow, the drooping branches swaying as gently as we rocked back and forth.  The good times, I guess, where only the blood coursing excitedly throughout our veins took care of the talking.  Her spring time youth had a way of mollifying my tendency for rigidness, making the edges of my lips crease with smiles.

She understood my deepness without really understanding it.  Once upon a time, I thought myself a White Knight.  Once upon a time, I could save the world.  Once upon a time, I cared much more. I don’t want to save anyone.  I don’t want to change anyone’s life.  I don’t want to be a giver, without being a taker first.  In a way, I’m content with the here and now.  The future, they say, can wait.

Movement

His dark eyes don’t betray him.  The trials throughout the years have dulled their brightness some, yes, but there is still a certain intensity about the underlying gaze.  He still lives his life one tank of gasoline at a time, the product of a restless mind and soul.  From one place to the next, peace seems to be elusive, one step ahead of him.

But there are a few places; the lonely beach bracketed by cliffs, the hills above the city, the quietness of the mountains, carving lines down a windy road, that somehow bring solace.  It is here that he breathes easily.

There’s this thing he learned in years since gone, and it’s that the slow life is worth living.  Good companions, good food, the laughter and chatter that whispers into the night.  The rustling of the fireplace, that seems to sing a quiet lullaby for a troubled soul.  Throwing his head back, accompanied by Steinbeck, Ellison, his lips slowly musing to Ginsberg and Plath.

He prefers small groups, intellectual conversation, art and soul moving literature… perhaps a production here and there, things that the fast moving life of Los Angeles often leaves behind and forgets.  As a child, he had a penchant to approach total strangers, striking up conversation with simple, open-ended questions such as, “what’s your life all about?”  From these multitude of people, he’s learned a lot about life; his views stitched together from bits and pieces of his experiences.

But still, a deep realist, there is a certain understanding of how things should be, and how things are.  Somehow, for all the travels spanned across 44 countries, there’s still a feeling of loneliness in the world where not many people take the time to reflect on even the most mundane things anymore.

So there he is, alone by the beach, the crashing of the waves deafening like a rising concerto grosso, there is real peace.  Perhaps one day he’ll share this with a beautiful woman, but for now, he prefers to rise and fall alone.

Don’t We All

There was a time when I felt like I understood myself, that I was sure of what I had to do in life.  When my worries were eased, my thoughts light-hearted.

In this world of 4.5 billion people, I always wonder if others strive to understand, too.  Even now, I find myself wandering, still.  Searching for meaning, trying to find the Truth.  And sometimes, it’s a daily struggle that I consciously choose to numb out through both my action or inaction.

Sometimes I wonder what exactly I’m searching for.  No…  It’s this clarity of soul.  It’s this ubiquity of desire.  It’s this essence of thought.  Beyond the rag-tag rabble of my daily life, that sometimes makes me forget what I’m looking for, in the quiet moments, I remember exactly.

Thing is, it feels so unbelievably hard to even connect with someone nowadays.  People live their lives, disembodied from their true selves, just drifting around in the uncaring void of consciousness.  It’s excruciating, but somehow we still stay alive, even if just on life-support.

But why…?

It’s like eating fine Mediterranean cuisine without tasting the crisp coarseness of the salt, the tangy olives, or the tart sun-dried tomatoes.  Like kissing a lover deeply, without smelling the subtle hint of her light perfume or the way her dress flows around her slender legs.  Or trying to understand someone, without first, listening.

Maybe I’m just the kind of guy who either puts it all in, or nothing at all.  Maybe that’s the wrong way to do it.  Maybe it’s right.  I don’t know myself.  All I can share is what’s my own, what I’ve seen, touched, smelt, tasted, experienced with my own senses.

And tomorrow’s always another day.  I still swear to myself that it gets better.

But for tonight, I still wander, not out of want, but out of necessity.

And I Still Wonder

The lonely nights in Coronado lighten my heart.  There’s this ocean-facing bench overlooking the beach that gets me every single time.  Hotel del Coronado is to my left, gracing the expanse of sandy dunes with Victorian subtlety.  Along this road, few cars pass by each hour, their headlights cutting through the dusky night like beacons in the darkness.  Here in this place, like so many of my usual haunts, is steeped with memories and fragments of the past.

I remember the first time I passed over the Coronado Bridge, with the bright lights of the city shimmering on either side.  The walks along the Silver Strand in between the sage scrub and wild roses.  The way the moonbeams glanced off the ripples of the waves.  A bohemian pod of dolphins passing through alongside the isthmus, stopping momentarily to salute a fellow wanderer.  These melancholic memories still mollify my soul, in the years that followed.

In life I put up a perfect façade.  On the outside, I’m successful, confident, engaging, and seemingly without worry.  But only a few know my true perturbations, and because I’m a natural worrier, I think too much.  God forbid if the world in general knew this, because in a sense I’ve carefully constructed this image to protect myself from whatever perceived harm or anxiety.  These quiet nights give me a chance to come back to a sense of equilibrium with myself.

With so few, I’ve shared my hopes, dreams, and wants.  With so few, I’ve expressed my needs and desires.  With so many women I’ve dated, they were attracted to my brash arrogance and care-free attitude.  But did they ever know that underneath I worry just like everyone else?  I have so many fears, and I guess some of it is growing up with a strict ex-military father, some others from the culmination of my relationship experiences.  I fear of becoming a failure, success being something my father always made seem so easy.  In a way, it’s pushed me to work harder to ensure success.

I strive for the crazy consistent inconsistency to soothe my normal high-strung self.  In my mind, I can see her.  The tips of her short hair resting on her milky neck, her eyes wide in simple amazement of the world around her.  How her arms stretch out with yearning for the impossible, the here and now.  The simple dreams she cherishes and holds close to her breast.  Or the childish appreciation for everything surrounding her.

But then I also want to know that she is willing to work for her dreams, and not just coast on the work of others.  There’s something about smart women that totally attracts me.  In a way maybe I demand this because I’ve never felt that I was really good at taking care of other people, because sometimes I feel that I can barely take care of myself.

Maybe I’m looking towards a “her” that doesn’t exist, and I need to change my worldview.  But as always, I’m often uncompromising and don’t want to give up hope in the chance that it may be possible.

So tonight, as its always been, I’m alone on these dreamy sands.  I quicken my pace and walk in stride, my heels and toes sinking into the wet sand, with only the soft throaty cackle of seagulls and the thundering wash of the surf to play a symphony to my restless heart.  And I continue to walk onward, with a smile, to the unknown.