MISC

Valentine

For those who know

how to access to their hearts

For those who know

how to extract from it

their peace and love,

For those every breath

could be their Valentine. ;)

Stoyan Svet

Off the Coast of Love

My wife tells me I should pay more attention to details —
the house, the car, the lawn —
there’s a thousand things, by sunset, that need to be done.
She’s right, of course.
It’s true.

*

If only I wasn’t floating three feet off the ground today,
caught in the updraft
of a single gaze from you,
spinning like a thousand cyclones
off the coast of love.

Love Is

Love … when I am feeling it I am complete.

Gratitude is a natural by product, because the outlook is good,
whether or not everything is going my way or not.
If clarity fills my sight, I am happy, sadness has disappeared,
and hope rises brightly on the horizon.

I find the fluctuations of our emotional terrain to be like the weather. However even if it rains, I have an umbrella to protect me, regardless of what is happening on the outside.

The mirror of my lover

As I search your face, I am drawn to the depths in the pools of? your eyes. Shyly,? hesitatingly, fluttering butterflies of small fears, half hidden, I am very much the secret watcher.

I am temporarily held captive by the feeling of the silky softness of your skin against my own. I am in awe of the pounding rhythm of your heart which carries? mine, to places that alone I would never dare to go. I catch my breath with the beauty of you.

There is something so pure, so innocent, so much of the truth of love reflected here. A man is not supposed to be so open, so vulnerable, so true, I hear that nasty whisper spoken in my? mind. But, I am the one whose breath is stopped.

You are the one who is capable of remaining in the pure breathing space of in and out, accepting the truth of….. that you love, with no boundaries imposed on your heart. You are a seeker of? freedom’s spaces, a lover of love itself and all of her faces. I am the learner here.? Where did you gather such courage? How did you muster such will to circumvent the mirage of no one loving?

Yes, I will stay with you awhile. Resting in the miracle of the mirror. You, who is reflecting the open ended possiblities of? my own heart.

It is my desire? as well, to discover. To take this? journey into the depths of myself. I will rest here for just awhile, joined in breath with you as a secret watcher. Until my own true lover comes, rising from the sea of love within. I will be a drop in my own ocean, until the ocean takes from me all seperation. I will celebrate with you this dance of secret mirrors. But only still for awhile….

May I Stay Here Forever

May I stay here forever in this perfect place of peace with you —
the sacred space between in breath and out,
the final coming home,
timeless moment before the need for anything has risen,
Buddha enjoying his late afternoon nap
with no around to extract any meaning from it.

First, there is a breath,
and then, there is a second.

This is how I begin my long walk with you by the water’s edge,
cool white sand beneath both our feet.

The Book I Wanted to Buy For My Mother

For many years I wanted to buy a book for my mother — a book that would explain everything: what I hadn’t or couldn’t explain since I had been old enough to notice my mother wasn’t all that happy and, Lord knows, I wanted my mother to be happy and if not “happy” per se, then at least aware of what it was that made me, her son, happy — the “thing” that for so many years she thought was a phase I was going through and, even worse, some kind of heartless rejection of her and her way of life.

Yes, I wanted to buy my mother a book that would explain it all — the whole “New Age thing,” the whole “Guru thing,” the whole “it’s OK that I don’t eat your veal parmigiana any more because I’m a vegetarian thing.” Somebody must have written it. Somebody must have noticed the market niche of “mothers over 60 who worry why their high performing sons have gone “spiritual”.

And so, I went looking for this book. Like some people look for God. And though I never found it, I did find some reasonable facsimiles. Cleverly titled books displayed by the check out counter, conceived by marketing geniuses who somehow knew my need — the need a son has to make his mother smile and nod her head approvingly. The book that would keep my mother company during those long nights when her husband was working late and her children were asleep and there was nothing good on TV. The ultimate self-help book that would remove her worries, her doubts, and her exponentially growing fears of thinking her son had gone off the deep end for “receiving Knowledge” from that young boy from India.