NAKED

I cannot tell you how badly

I want to be absolutely

Naked.

Cast away all my shame

And all my fear

And become pure

And beautiful.

Becoming the man

I always knew I was.

The clothes that itch

And the shoes that barely fit

No longer serve me

Any purpose.

I want to wander away

Someplace safe and loving.

Into the bosom of nature.

Here I would shed all of my

Clothing

And all of my

Trappings.

I would be as naked as

The trees

Surrounding me.

I want to be naked.

And I want to scream.

Long, loud, and hoarse.

So I can let go of the anguish

Of the world that I have left behind.

God, just to be naked.

Free of constraints

And prying eyes.

To be whole

And unashamed

And finally, firmly

Fearless…

open arms

Tenatively, the baby stands on her feet.

She looks around, and wonders who is there

For her to walk to.

Just in front of her, the baby

Finally finds someone—

Her Mother.

She kneels before her proudest achievement,

Clapping her hands and opening her arms.

Baby’s tiny brain, growing every second,

Knows one thing for certain—

Love is waiting.

And so Baby smiles to Mommy

And she takes the first steps.

One foot advances toward the other,

Uncertainly at first,

Then with greater sureness.

Baby instinctively picks up the pace,

And Mommy’s heart swells with pride,

Like a great big balloon.

Baby finally makes it

Into Mommy’s tender embrace.

And her face says it all.

“I did it, Mommy! And I’d do it again.

And again, and always.”

I walked to my Mommy in the exact same way.

And so did my sister.

And now she calls herself Mommy.

And for as long as she lives,

Baby will walk, then run, then stride

Into Mommy’s open arms.

WAKING UP

I woke up first thing this morning

And I found myself placing great value

On my own breathing.

Lying there.

Drifting in and out of the dream state.

Wiggling my bare toes and

Deliciously uncovered feet.

Valuing and reveling in

Each and every breath I took.

I wondered why I had not mastered

The art (I know there is one)

Of taking longer and deeper ones.

Wishing I could make it all

Last longer.

Enjoying being supine

And supple.

Loving being in my body,

In the moment,

In my glory and in my power.

And then I realized it was

Time to shower

And snap out of it all.

Realizing that soon I shall have to

Leave my cocoon

And join the world

Where you are not supposed to

Feel yourself breathe.

Where you wish time would go

Faster, not slower.

Where you cannot value your breath

As much as you are supposed

To value your clients.

We were not born

So that we could live

Like that.

My breath tastes so much sweeter,

My skin feels so much better

When I have nothing to lose.

SOFT THINGS

Soft

Is the breeze

Through the open sliding glass door

Of our hotel in Majorca.

Soft

Are my eyes

As they widen

And the sun shines upon them.

Soft

Is the volume

On the stereo

As Miles plays

“It Never Entered My Mind”.

Soft

Are your sweet,

Lambent lips,

Pressing gently and joyfully

Against mine.

Soft

Is your gentle voice

Purring sweetness

In my willing ears.

Soft

Is your belly

Against mine

As we make long, languid,

Magical love.

Soft

And loose

Is my blood,

I’m so relaxed here.

Soft

Is the water

And the waves

Lapping against our skins

As we go float in it.

the electricity I feel

coursing though me—

my legs, my arms,

places I dare not mention.

the desire to step

out of my skin,

free of my bones

and joints

and become pure,

undistilled,

wild

energy

the magnificence I feel

as I step down well-trod streets.

is this as close

to the divine

as I am likely to come?

am I nearer now

to nirvana?

am I beyond sex?

am I going

to the back of beyond?

how close am I to heaven?

am I already there?

Apollo Works his Magic

It is Easter Sunday.

Me and my dearest friend are

On a beach

Striding slowly towards the

setting Sunday sun.

The water is still too chilly

for our bare ankles.

So we walk where the tide

has tightened the sand.

Just before the sun touches

the horizon, we stop,

admiring the magical

glistening of the light

upon the Gulf of Mexico.

Apollo begins to work

His magic,

casting His orange light

as far as the eye can see.

We watch in outward awe

and inner contentment.

Just before the sun slips under

the water, A boat races past,

as though trying to beat the sun.

And finally, with a wink,

the sun dips below

the horizon,

and Apollo’s show is over

until tomorrow.

I turn to my friend,

someone who has loved me through

the darkest hours and the shiniest

moments in my life,

and we embrace.

I am as nourished and nurtured by her

as a leaf on a tree

is nourished and nurtured

by the now-sleeping orange ball.

And so we walk back,

into the uncertain dusk,

another possibility realized.

I wish for a lifetime

of perfect sunsets

shared with angels.

A perfect way

for a day to end;

hand in hand

with a beautiful friend.

The Water Tribe

For as long as human beings

Have had the means

To do so,

They have told stories.

The Aztecs.

The Bushmen.

The Comanches and the Sioux.

They all told

Their stories

Around a fire.

The rarest such tribes

Are the ones that congregate

Around and inside

Pools of warm water.

They have no formal names.

None are needed.

They come together only

On the nights of the Full Moon,

To soak in the warmth

And share in their glory.

Theirs are stories of similar

Bravery

And amazing achievements.

It’s not just the water

That binds them.

It’s the love of laughter

And the love of life.

Life flows a little better

In warm water.

The water tribes understand that.

They are the hidden population—

A nation of night and delight.