Color

What is it they say? “What you seek is seeking you.”?

And what if everywhere you look, it’s all the same color, the color blue?

As far as the horizon, once painted red, orange, many different hues.

And, look at your hands, same as the horizon, even the bird that past your eyes just flew.

How to differentiate, what is meant to be true?

If what you seek is stuck in a limbo of color, where confusion reigns, results the same across an eternal view.

-A.Garcia

Perfect Heart-Shape

Why the tears?

Why the weary look?

The heart, heavy as a block of cement

Why the fear?

Why the page from a dreary book?

It’s the soul, leaded with lament.

Do not bite the perfect heart-shaped pear

Do not silence words with despair

Do not sit and wait

Release your shoulders from the weight

If it’s a heart you are meant to sway

Pray to heaven nature finds a way

-A.Garcia

Walls

We build walls to safeguard our hearts, building high, no remorse for the future, heartache crumples your soul into parts .

Slowly, the rays of the sun give up, not daring to sneak through the cracks. Grassy roads around the wall disappear, not a friendly step will dare to trample, a fortress now beckons your heart to stone,

you succumbed to fear.

Pain is no more.

The face of what you were is torn.

You are safe, oh so safe…and alone.

-A.Garcia

In a darkened, lonely room, your mind or within concrete walls…

You think the sun belongs to you

Perhaps the fear you outgrew

Thought you hid the answer someone wanted to hear

The sun warms this way the same, dear.

You think the moon illuminates your path

The road ready for your steps to dash

The earth spins for us all, dead or alive

Certain things are not worth the cry.

-A.Garcia

Free

I fret at times over my words, on what they mean, how they’re perceived. On sunny days they’ve kept me caged, iron bars over the truth. Especially recollections of letters, the ones from the heart. Guilty of thinking they were always too much. Did they provoke a scare? An addled mind, that thinks and cares disproportionally, perhaps slightly out of touch. So silence comforts the soul, hesitation gripping the throat, breaking fingers, fear to speak and express.

Do you understand? Maybe you don’t and that is the point. It doesn’t matter if they are disregarded, brushed off as lint on shoulders. It doesn’t matter if they are slapped out of the way, treated like a mosquito that buzzes around your head looking for blood. If they are taken for granted, as easily as the air that fills your lungs, take a step forward, bask in the sun.

They were never meant for you or whomever. I’ve always believed words are spells, an energy for something that takes very long to return. Maybe it goes bust, it doesn’t land on a perfectly manicured tarmac. Ideas form and not always will they be understood, much like the meaning of love and life. It’s a whirlpool that eventually will draw what you put out, in.

Such is life, everything has a film on it anyways, a filter gone grey with dust. A mask that is worn so well, the real human of flesh and bones forgets to exist. It appears easier that way, not to dwell. But I digress, it’s the illusion that matters most, correct?

But those words have always been seeds for a much larger tree. And large trees take time to grow. Patience and care and love.

My words, they are meant for me, in all their joy and sorrow, they set me free.

-A.Garcia

Fleeting 2

The wind, how it caresses your cheeks
A wandering ghost
Just a mere passerby
Time, in a silent night it still creeks  

If only to catch the petal flying by
So you wait, you linger
Nothing comes, always late
Touched briefly by a fluttering butterfly

Time, with all its weight
How it comes and goes
Enthralling, how it all has been done
You there, staring at an empty plate

All you ever get is the fleeting warmth of the sun
All that you have to give is for you in the end, you alone
And that has to be good enough
Much has ended, even though it barely begun.

-A.Garcia

They put a gun to my head
All cloak and dagger, whispers in my ear
Secrets they wanted to hear
The sun rising again was all I wished to see
Not a word about clemency
Mercy or an appeal
Speak now and shed no tears
Life had a nasty habit of putting me in my place
But certain secrets died with me
Kicking my stomach straight through my rib cage, heart fluttering with fear
The blood pounding in my head
Was it the last thing I would feel?

To be continued…

Ghost Story

Story goes there was once a lonely ghost lost in a labyrinth of thought. For eternity he knew no more. Deep inside a dark forest, he lingered perpetually in a stupor, stuck in a limbo he never knew.

The ghost could not understand why his oblivion seemed to continue endlessly, shuffling mindlessly from one spectrum to another, drowning in fears and paranoia. His world was all opposites, contradiction after contradiction. A visage of what he hoped for, yet was never brave enough to go for. His path was a circular one, the visible trail sunken from an aeon of the same decisions, left him stuck to a single, muddied, misty line. There was no end in sight, all possible options he always chose to ignore. Fear of the unknown held him back. On occasion, specters in a different yet similar track, would cross his way.

Visions flashed before his eyes, of the difference one moment could make. He refused to take the path his heart knew, permanently chose to ignore, like a curse laid upon him, driving him to be an eternal bore. Subconsciously, his mind spoke to him, of the answer to end the calvary, yet the heavy blanket placed over his heart let little of the light in. The answer lingered amongst a smoky haze just above his head, obscured by a halo of smog and deception. Every time his ghostly hand reached up, the smog thickened, obscuring the answer once again.

Tired, angered and in search of meaning, the ghost slowly tried to set a new path, to find a way to end this eternal slumber. As he looked back, the new trail seemed different, brighter. So why did he still hesitate? The circular, vicious cycle pulled and pulled, like a sick experiment on Newton’s laws of motion: objects in motion do tend to stay in motion.

Yet the force of that other mysterious path pulled, it exerted the same opposite force, pulled like a raging river, caved a canyon in a new, bright direction. Its impact so great, the ghost contemplated things other than the same. New possibilities no longer filled him with scare.

Slowly, something started to feel different, he felt it in his bottomless stomach, a feeling that seemed familiar yet strange. His heart beating wildly, drawn to this new energy, head spinning, flying high filled with a million buzzing bees. The dark forest seemed bleak no more, somehow, he felt a presence that kept him from the fray. An instinct started to creep into his senses, like a midnight wanderer intruding in his thoughts. A new life flashed before his eyes; it all started to sway. Clarity pulled the lonely ghost towards a brightness that would not give way.

The light grew brighter, a new sense of existence started to take form, for he was being born.

He was human once more.

-A.Garcia

Saudade

There is a Portuguese term that I love; Saudade.

It has no direct translation to English, because more than a word, it is a feeling, a perception of a longing and desire for something that may not even exist or something that may not happen again.

The awareness and sentiment is constant, lingering and ambiguous. There is no proper way to do justice in explaining, it has a melancholic nostalgia, both happy and sad. It is steady, eternal, ever-present. It lingers behind every breath. Behind the eyes it dawdles, the message it tries to convey lost in a sea of fear, misunderstanding and shrugged shoulders. Dead end streets past what you thought was the last turn, indifference it meets in every corner.

If only the term had a voice besides my own, it would drown your sorrows in longing, yearning whispered into the vessels of your heart. Its grip hugging your form, cradling with warmth and realization that nothing is how it should be, nothing was as it should’ve been, nothing will be as you dreamed. Find yourself awaken with an empty start.

It is a poetic sentiment, ingrained deep in the soul, no explanation enough to justify, no vindication waiting through a forest of bamboo. It sits in your heart, heavy as a stone and leaves you with a burden of thought, memories not yet told, or formed, languishing, all fractured, disheveled and blue.

-A.Garcia

Malfunction

A malfunction brought us here. An electrical discharge, way back in ancient time.

It’s all one big story with nowhere to go. There is no end. There is no beginning.

It is a cycle that repeats with voracious intensity, insisting to teach something; if only to be in tune with that frequency. Something is definitely in malfunction. A button pushed when it shouldn’t have. A door stayed open when it was better off shut. Swallowed whole by a giant black hole, we’ve tumbled into the profound and now are dust. Our misled desires tricked us with pain. In the eternal timeline, it’s impossible to move without making a sound, waves created with every thought, not possible to contain. Awareness alone is disrupting silence, leaving no sign and thickening the plot. Story says, that was the only way.

Eternity not enough to make up for the giant detour, a new reality is needed to stop going astray.

Stuck in this enduring story, with nowhere to go, a new existence is being traced out. Deep in the malfunction possibilities reign, because in endlessness, creation is bountiful, not merely clout. All along the way you will find more than one clue. In the emptiness, breath is exhaled, every mistake turned into something new. Our strongest wish, to be, is awarded a million times over, cascading, overflowing everywhere, like that misty, morning dew. Officially, existence is waiting, the answer we have to our plea. A tidal wave of possibility, frenzied with appetite, like the fury within a raging banshee.

So that story, the one with nowhere to go, is just a circle, where much we repeat, but much we see coming. Flower by flower, going along once again, the bee feels its hunger. Lessons learned, possibilities opened with every single choice. So with malfunction and all, that electrical discharge back in ancient time, by a spark of luck let us all be.

-A.Garcia

Lightning

Just the other day

heaven cracked a smile

A rolling light across a black and purple sky

It rolled through with a thundering sound

Surely the gods wicked at play

Masters playing a game

Much to earthly dismay

An electric show

Melting the toughest layers

The only way to cleanse the way.

-A.Garcia

Gods Folly

Been enjoying these free form spewings of nonsense. My silly little rhymes and prose that come out with no pretense. Words I hope may have some mischievous wisdom in them for you. Some pieces taken from notes in a journal, riddled with incoherences and contradictions. I fear someone will see them and think they were written by a madman. Each letter, carrying weight beyond its size, an alphabetical army ant.

Also sprinkled here and there are manifestations, yes, manifestations. The deepest desires that I know will come true. So I hope, that they will find a way. It is what my fingers in writing want to communicate to my mind anyway. Hoping to form something out of pure energy, atom by atom until it forms a full corn kernel. It’ll pop one day under the volcanic heat of my heart, into a piece of popcorn, a quantum energetic popcorn, that i’ll throw in my mouth and hope the knowledge has no way to ever come out. For what reason? I do not know. Maybe it’s a control thing. To be able to tame something, even something atomic and energetic, like our soul. Much of what we experience in life is hilariously beyond our control. There is a shackle on our minds that do not let us see much, perhaps let us glimpse only a fraction of a precious illusion.

A massive beating could form out of nowhere, a giant club on your beautiful head from an ugly troll, is more likely than our illusion of control. A mystical creature is more likely to rear its head and pummel us whole, than for us tiny little humans to have some sort of domination over circumstances. Especially ones outside our inner world, it’s a fish tapping its head in a neural fishbowl. Because that’s one of our biggest fallacies, that we can restrain the spirit of what surrounds us, knowing eternity salivates to swallow us whole.

I did warm you before, long time ago, and once again with these words, coherence isn’t much of what composes my brain and form. And what exactly is it that i’m trying to tell you? That maybe, that which you call destiny, or a gods whimsical ways, is an excuse to give agency to something other than our own souls. Our magnetic fields thrown in disarray.

Because when you reach inside and wonder why you don’t do what you must do, why you don’t express what your heart wants to spew, and you wander through life callously thinking the outside will give you the big breakthrough, you fail to realize the only control you wanted must come from the spirit inside of you. Or is this ultimately gods folly? Is it even possible for a god to have follies? A god tripped up in absurdities of his own. Hey, why not look around you and let me know.

-A.Garcia

One O Nine

One O nine

One O nine

Set of numbers I see all time

Catchy tunes and perfect rhymes

Could it be something sublime

One O nine

One O nine

A message that seems divine

Is it the number to the light in her eyes

Behind the curtain there must be a sign

One O nine

One O nine

Be sweet to me this time

-A.Garcia

The River’s Flow

A path chosen took me where I did not expect it, dead-ends riddled every turn, concrete walls high as old growth forest trees. Such a terrible heartache, I felt stuck looking for an exit. The outcome different in my mind, perplexing beats of my heart, longing for a gentle breeze.

Stuck in a wandering mind, the path I kept choosing was one I believed would set me free, take me to a desire that burned inside of me. Other paths crossed my way, but I just said, “maybe another day.” As the saying goes, “the trouble is, you think you have time”, and it kept passing me by.

A patchy green, moss covered path became my life, rigid in choice, stuck on outcomes, and not the road. Next to the path, sometimes moss, more often dirt, a river flowed, sometimes cold, sometimes warm.

The icy waters crossed my steps from time to time, the icy waters where fishes swam. Tired of longing and unrequited eyes, I wanted to jump in the current, think no more and have a good cry. I stepped in and slowly let go, diving deep, lack of air was never in the plan. Wet myself from head to achy toes, welcoming the icy flow. Clear waters, always sweeping by my side, grounding a racy mind, heartbeats slowed in tune with time.

I know a choice was made for me a long time ago, a distant precedent, way before the big bang. Trust was key and in my past I did not know, to be free of outcomes and just let the river flow.

-A.Garcia

Diatribe of Nonsense

I see a ray of light that comes in through a crack in the drapes. It pierces the darkness, minuscule motes of dust float amongst diagonal lines of shine. It doesn’t seem real, whatever real is.
What is reality anyway? Is real, or reality, that which we perceive with our senses, or what is chosen to be objective? Is it agreed upon notions? Concepts that what surrounds us is authentic and tangible. Real; a word that seems elusive, it doesn't hold the sustenance it had before.
Now, what if we all agreed to not take what we perceive as there or here, we can join hands and exclaim, "nothing is anymore!". Would we all evaporate into atoms, a charge that could somehow emit photons? Puff! Back into the realm of the outer universe. Is that what beholds my sensations, that light is another humanity that puffed into energy. Would it really be that easy, just every single human holding hands, hoping, praying that reality is no more. I don’t know, seems like it would be an interesting experiment, someone should take that up and give it a try. Doesn’t seem so bad, it sure would relieve a lot of pressure.

Anyway, back to light. Is light just brightness? Traces of electromagnetic radiation, and all that madness. I do appear well within my senses that I'm as far away from being a physicist as I am to being a horse, so take the frugal words exuded here with a grain of salt, or a spoonful of dirt. Quite frankly, it all seems like magic, so please do not kill me over such an oversimplification.  

So, is that it on light and its definition? Is that the final term. A conclusion with no argument or defenses.
Could a song be light? Some tunes do tame the darkness.
Could it be love? There is certain light-ness to it and holds the power to bring some out of the shadows. Only some though, and I do sure hope my turn comes to step out of darksome.
What is light to a blind person? Can a proper description be enough to capture its essence.
What about light for the painter, when they use the color white, or yellow, or whichever they choose to represent the dazzle of a star's brilliance.

How much could I go on to find the perfect expression, to define the dawn, that after a night with no moon ends, it brings perfection. When the horizon is dressed in colors produced by light's reflections. I see the traces of luster that come in through my window, and think of the brilliance the dark universe sends with no questions. It seems that permanence rules on a scale that dwarfs all perceptions.
And, annoyingly so, I keep finding spells and rhymes that leave me knocking my head with no answer. It can't be helped. Such as when I look into eyes that do not glimmer back with affection. Because there is a light that shines in two magical orbs, stuck inside a head and mind I wish to know, the light I wish to see and it does not show.

-A.Garcia

A Song

It happens; the sensation when you hear a song that astonishes the very depths of the soul. The rhythm in tune with your mood, heartbeat in sync with percussion. It demolishes feelings, crumbling an already fragile psyche.

And you are left craving more.

The lyrics both haunt and elevate you, seeming ethereal. Focus is hypnotized, the hijacked neurological faculties mesmerized by the shear force of musical notes. It’s on repeat, staying on track, constantly pounding in the canals that run through the ears, a heart perceiving that perhaps you will never have this pleasure replicated.

Such as love in the midst of a deep, dark lonely well.

Nevermore will a sound so exquisite bless the senses. It melds together with such perfection, you’ll wonder if the spirit died and it’s dancing in heaven. Such harmonies must only be reserved for the gods, right? Oh, what a blessing.

You will never feel the same again.

But then you do, another song meanders into your spirit once more. On a journey through the mind, it lodges itself deep in the vessels that carry blood through your core. The heart! It’s on fire and it can feel again! The sensitivity to a tune you accepted would stay foreign. It happens; the sensation when you hear a song that astonishes the very depths of the soul.

-A.Garcia