The incomplete story of someone that used to be someone

(Read to “Out of It All” by Helen Jane Long)

I was once someone.  A person of value.  A person present, a person in the moment.  I knew who I was.  I was certain.  It was me.  I knew me.  I knew her.

Now, I live under the shadow of what I used to be.  Some have told me that I must let that person go.  That I need to move on.  But how can I break up with myself?  How do you let go off the one that you loved?  What if it was you whom you loved all along?  Should I let her go?

She is still here.  I can feel her inside of me.  There are traces of her in my house. Yes, I can definitely feel her in the mornings.  I can feel and see her.  I can see her making her favorite breakfast in the morning.  That seamless smile when she tastes the fresh cup of coffee in the morning.  Many don’t know this, but I do:  it is not the taste, but the scent of a freshly brewed cup that makes her eyes shine.  She used to say “My coffee is not a drink.  It is dessert.  Shh”

God, I miss her so much.  I was jealous of her, you know?  She knew who she was; and I didn’t.  She was not afraid; this feeling was a waste of time for her.  She was powerful, and she walked like a person that knew her future.  But, did she?

One day, her steps faltered.  She fell, out there… in the rain.  It was a mess.  She fell, and she could not get back up as she used to.

Today, she walks with a limp.  There are times when she has to use crutches, because she is afraid of the rain.

She is afraid of the fall.

I am afraid of the fall.


The night my enemies loved me

(Read to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” as interpreted by Midnite String Quartet)

Last night I dreamed that my enemies were my lovers.  Well, not really.  I dreamed that every single one of my enemies was very attracted to me; they all wanted to flirt with me.  They wanted me sexually.  They wanted to be my friends.  I was a magnet, and they were in my magnetic field.

And I wanted them to want me.

So we flirted all night, yet we looked at each other from the ends of a room.  Not a large room, not so small either.  Just right.  We could had walked to each other, but it was better to miss each time.  From afar, we laughed and danced.  I believe we danced all night.  I don’t remember.  The wine was…

But this night was different.  I was beautiful, and they were attractive.  We were in that space because of the cold outside.  They approached and wanted to love me.  And I wanted them to want me.  Because this night was different; I was beautiful.

That night I was the one.  Better yet:  I was the one within the one.

But I didn’t let them love me.  I didn’t let them want me enough.  I didn’t want to dance with them, not closely anyway.  From far away things seem so much better.  I am braver this way.  I am beautiful this way.  I don’t have to escape from the cold of the wind.  Because it is warm inside.  Let’s stay inside.

All I wanted was my drink.  I wanted their eyes off my body.  Yet, it was not my body that they wanted.  What did they want?  I think I knew all along.  Towards the end of the evening, I realized that either I gave them something, or I would go back to ordinary.  No one prefers the ordinary; beauty is so much better.  The wine was…

My eyes.  They wanted the light in my eyes.  Once they knew about it, they needed it gone.  I wondered what I should do:  let them take it, let them ask for it, let them steal it, let them…drink it.

My enemy wanted a drink of my eyes.  Because then, from afar, I would be trivial again.  No one prefers the trivial; beauty is so much better.

…they wanted it all.



(Read to Beethoven’s 5 Secrets by the Piano Guys)

“For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality.” 1 Corinthians 15:53

When are you going to breathe the life that is inside that living body?  Look at the sky, count the stars.  Find something that amazes you, that takes your breath away.  Can’t find it?  Go for a run.  BUT GET UP and be ALIVE.


Don’t be a bitch to destruction.  You are not a toy to your enemies.  You are alive.

RISE AGAIN.  And if you fall again?  Get back up, rise, and RUN back to the living.



Open wounds that do not heal

(Read to Michele McLaughlin’s “The Druid’s Prayer”)

They hurt.  Wounds that are open cannot easily heal.  They remain open to the infections of this world.  Recovery, are we capable of it?  They hurt, they ooze out what is left of our souls.  There is no redemption for the stupid, for the lonely, for the deep inside.

Open wounds that do not heal.  You have gotten used to the idea and some of the pain.  Pain is pain, how can we ever get completely used to that?  If it hurts, well…it hurts.  Yet, you are wondering when will these wounds heal.  Close off.  You have tried all sorts of methods.  Stitches, gauze, bandages, they stay there.  Open for all to see.

Open for all to see.  The open wounds that do not heal.  It has been so long, you wear shame on your face.  You try to hide your face and your eyes from the world.  But you just can’t remember that the world is not a forgiving place.  The world enjoys seeing you injured.  The world enjoyed see you fall on your face in the battlefield.  It cheered to your mistakes, it laughed until it cried.

You fell.  You hurt.  You injured yourself so badly that the wounds will not heal.  You look at the sky and you pray.  First, you pray with your heart.  Second, you pray with your brain.  Third, you pray in your pain.

But the wounds.  They do not heal.

Rising above…but when?

(Read while playing Carly Comando’s “Everyday”)

Ever had a situation that seemed so completely unfair that it left you speechless?  I’ve had that feeling many times.  We always seem prepared for the unexpected, until the unexpected happens.  This is especially true if you are a person of your word.  If you give your word because there is honor in you, then you may assume that others have the same capacity.  The truth is that honor and giving our word has become something of the past.  It even seems like ‘giving your word’ has become an expression, figurative speech, not serious.

Then betrayal happens.

Suddenly, you remember all the words.  They come to you, at you, through you furiously fast.  You replay every moment.  You’ve never been paranoid, but today you are a master at it.  Because…

“What did I do to deserve this?”  “How could they lie so easily?”  “He was there, he saw everything!  Why did he lie?!?”

Perhaps it is not as bad.  You’ve been wronged, or at least you feel you have.  At first, you feel that you’ve made the right choice in leaving a bad situation.  Yet now, you wonder.  Why did YOU have to be the one to go?  Why did YOU have to be the BIGGER person?  Screw the bigger person.  Fuck the bigger person.  Can’t we just be trivial for a second here?  Can’t we just bitch and complain one more time!?  Can I just rant for a second here and empty my soul into your ears??  CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING!  SCREECHING!  HOLLERING!

Pain, depression, sweat, sleeplessness, paranoia.  FALL ASLEEP, START OVER TOMORROW.  REPEAT.

It had to be you, because you are the daughter of light.  It had to be you, because you are the son of justice.

It had to be you.  Thrive, rise, come back, move on.

The words.  They mean something.

“The ones” and dreams

There’s usually a hard-earned story behind every dream that comes true.  A dream is that one thing that is so completely unbelievable, yet we look for it in almost everything that we do.  If we are not watchful, things can go from dreaming to obsessing.  I am not speaking of social issues that make our hearts stop, our eyes burn, and our courage to surge.  I am speaking of the thing that burns a hole in your heart with desire, with the want, with need, and with hope.  No, not the sexual desire.  The “thing” that makes you look to the horizon with wondering.  The one thing that continues to make you feel small  The reminder of the impossibility that our human capacity holds.  The thing that makes you catch your breath because it is so far away that you can only dream of it.  You can only hope for it.  You can only reach for it, but never touch it.

If I could just…If things were different…If time were on my side, I would…

The truth is that we are never prepared to receive the dream as a reality.  To achieve the dream, is to move it from the ‘want’ to the ‘have.’  Yet, a dream is so much more than a ‘have’…even when you get there.  Even if you dare touch it.  Because this dream is never about achieving, but about having something to hope for.  To have the one thing that you can never ever reach.  Because if you reach this dream, then you will search for another one.  Dreams are our enemy; dreams are our friend.

Think about the ones.  What happened to the ones that did not achieve their dreams?  Their most esteemed dreams.  The ones went on to a better life, away from here.  Away from you, away from me.  They will never know what would’ve been, if only they would have…

Life is fair, yet unfair.  Because we cannot get everything that we ever hoped for.  Because if we did, what would be the purpose of hope?  What if you could achieve every single dream that ever crossed your mind, soul, and heart?  Where would you place your hope?

You see?  I believe that dreams are the very thing that keeps you and I going forward.  Because we will never stop chasing our dreams.  Because we don’t know that we will never get there.  Because we don’t know that getting there, achieving the entirety of that dream would also mean the end of us.  Because the ones never intended for us to get there.  It was intended that we would dream up another dream so that we could hand it off to the next one.

What would you chase if not a dream?  Ask a next one.

The voices

The voices.  They are never gone; always present.  These are the ones that attempt to remind you of who you are.  Nevertheless, all they do is tell you who you are.  I say “tell you” and not “try to tell you” because we usual listen to the voices.

Do not give in.  Close your ears.  Shut down their volume.

Do not give in.

To the ‘too-soon-to-be-yellow’ leaves

I have felt like a failure for such a long time that I feel that all motivation has completely left my body.  There are two sides of me:  the one that wants everything to be okay, and the one that believes that something went really wrong with me.

I started to question this thing that’s been happening to me for about 2 to 3 years.  I used to be so strong, almost invincible.  I have been through so much that I always felt the need to fight for what I wanted until exhaustion.  Fighting and motivation are very important elements of surviving, but I do not think they are helpful in truly living a life.  This is because having a defensive stance at all times makes you be naturally dependent on being alert.  That same level of heightened alertness soon becomes the only way in which you can live your life.

You start questioning EVERYTHING.

If someone does something nice for you:  you question their “true” motivations.  If someone says something good about you:  you question whether its real, or you simply laugh it off.  If they want to do something positive for you:  you question what exactly they will want from you in the future.

Soon enough, your self-esteem is pure crap and you end up asking yourself:  how did I get here?  And that, my friend, is where I find myself today.  Some of the questions that I often ask myself:

  • How the heck did I end up so on alert?
  • When did it start?
  • Who did this to me?
  • When did I decide to think that I’m not good enough?
  • When did I decide to stop believing in myself?
  • When did I start believing that everybody hates me?
  • When did I start diminishing myself?

Whatever you do, do not fall into the trap.  The world has a lot of problems and ugly things, but you must admit that there are a lot of awesome things going on in the world.  Even the worse life can find a ray of hope in something small.  I even believe that the smaller things can bring so much light and wonder into a life.  I can share a very personal thing here:  I love the leaves in the Fall.  But not just any leaf.  I’m talking about the ones that you discover at the very beginning.  The tiny yellow leaf that peaks through all the green ones.  The leaves that decide to be different at the seemingly wrong time.

yellow leaf

Because change happens little by little.  The smaller times are the biggest ones.

Cheers to that ‘too-soon-to-be-yellow’ leaf in you.  Things will change.  I have to believe that for myself.

The withering sun


Dried and shriveled are exact verbs that describe the decomposed state in which I find myself today.  There is no music that can make me want to dance, laugh, or see the sky.  I finally understand why I have always believed that the stars never existed.  I can see why the stars are (‘are’–this is a fact to me) just bright things that we can only perceive from far away.  Fool’s gold.  Mermaid tales.

Today, as with many other days, I attempted to touch the sun.  I saw the rays shining outside of my window.  I dared and thought that perhaps today I could.  I rolled down the window of my wondering mind, and reached my hand towards the ocean.  I could not touch the ocean, I knew this, but if I could only feel the sun on my hands as I tried to reach it–it would mean the world.  To touch the sun.  Its warmth, the promise of life.  But there was nothing out there for me.  Because when I reached my hands out, it was cold.  Similar to the hug from my father that I imagined, but never came.  Like that one night that I dared to imagine this embrace so vividly that I felt it.  But he was like the stars.  Warm up in the sky.  Beautiful and bright.  Unreachable.  Unreal.

The sun; the sun was gone.  The sun was there, but not for me.  Hands like these never get to touch the sun.  At least not for a long time.  Just for a bit, so that I can treasure the memory deep inside my very hidden and secretive heart.

Yet, I reached for the sun.  There were shadows, and these shadows were not caused by the small presence of a light source somewhere.  The shadows were caused by the same imagination that causes the stars to be seen from down here.  Warm up in the sky.  Beautiful and bright.  Unreachable Unreal.

And I screamed at the sun, and I reached my hands out.  I screamed at the sun, because if it is such a powerful force…why couldn’t I also feel it?  To feel the warmth, to burn in it.  To die in it.  But I could not bare that I could not feel the sun.  I could not see the rays, I could not feel the breeze.  Because it was over, and my spirit was dying.  Because I caged my spirit away, in an effort to protect it from the rays that would never come.  From the waves that my soul would never see.  From the clouds that would laugh at me because they would always be all I could see.

Yet, I tried to dance.  In the darkness.  I raised my arms high above my head.  I moved to the nothingness of the empty stars.  Warm up in the sky.  Beautiful and bright.  Unreachable.  Unreal.

And I lived!  I lived one more time!  At least for another night.


I lived because tomorrow the sun would come.  And perhaps tomorrow, I would reach towards the sun instead of the waves.  I would go searching for my fool’s gold.

I danced.  I felt ridiculous…but I danced.

I did not dry.  I was not shriveled.

I was the sun.  I was the warmth.  I was the ray of light.

Mighty Eagles

When the other yo* takes over things become unpredictable.  She cries, smiles, and gets angry all at the same time.  The faces of post traumatic disorder can be confused with those of depression.  This is potentially why the depressed, the suicidal, the traumatized tend to speak similar languages.  They try to encourage each other by getting angry at each other.  Ever seen a suicidal person encourage another to live?  I think this is because they are looking in the mirror.  The image in the mirror is not as pretty, but if you put another face on your image then it can be easier to backlash.

This is why I am not afraid to share the rants that consume my soul.  Because if this energy is not let out, something else may emerge.  But yesterday…I was great yesterday.  

Opposé à formidable

Getting back is not the cure.  It is not the cure because I always come back.  There are times when I wonder if I will ever make it.  Those days when my faith is predictably strong.  Those are the same days when I question if my faith is as strong as it should be.  My steps in the Christian life have been methodical; I have detected how to prove and disprove things.  Perhaps not the most intelligent way, but the way that has kept me sane and present.

I blame the machine.  The machine?  This dangerous machine that has been given to all of us:  the brain.  

How do you control it?  It is constantly running, pumping, spitting out information, shitting out dreams.  I know…that last one sounded pretty gross.  I just couldn’t find another way to describe it that would hit the target where you’d understand.  Sometimes the painting of graphic pictures is what it takes to get attention.

Attention…the thing that introverts hate yet have to get used to.  It doesn’t matter at all…we are all still eagles

mighty eagle

*yo:  Spanish for “me”