Beneath a Willow
I gush so many words for fear that each one may someday be my last. This is a terrible and a wonderful fear.
Visions of the Self
To be seen in a way that is breathtakingly rare—to be understood in places no one else ever touched. Sometimes it feels unreal, like a vision; and yet, more real than anything I have known. To be loved through mania, through wild swings, through imperfection—that is a priceless gift, and I am grateful for it every day.
The Night Sky
The sky is not inky black. That shade of darkness belongs to the trees, spidery masses blotting out the heavens. The forest is revealed only by the halo of night—a deep, dull red-gray punctuated with little pricks of light stuttering in the wind.
The lake is a glassy reflection of that universe. A perfect mirror, until a frog or fish breaks the surface with a soft splash-plop. Crickets and cicadas compete with one another; the crickets seem everywhere, omnipresent. The frogs are gathered in chorus along the shoreline.
I have always considered lakes inferior to oceans. Aesthetically, emotionally, the sea will always triumph. And yet, here on this quiet shore in the fourth watch of night, I find myself admitting that this lakeside is one of the best moments of my life.
Transcendental
Only one of me is spoiled by the cool breath of an air conditioner. The other is spoiled by the Creator, out here beneath the sky and trees. My body is here, peck-peck-pecking at plastic keys, but my heart left hours ago—soaring out over the water, brushing the surface with astral fingertips, spinning upward into the gauze of night.
This is joy, chiseled into me. Creation, transmitted straight into creation. The systems of this universe breathe like the dials and gears of a timepiece—flawless, never wound, never faltering. Expansion, contraction, expansion again: the universe’s breath.
And though I cannot stay here indefinitely, I fly through wormholes, black holes, stargates, time-rivers—every celestial passage—only to return to this moment, this now.
I consider, for a moment, stepping back through the time-doors to the beginning, to love more and longer with the eyes I have now. But the selfishness of that thought crushes me. How could I wish away the lives already lived? Better to hold the memories: together—wonderful; apart—tremendous.
Dark edges, yes. But how much glory, how much beauty, in the countless small moments—like this one, on the shores of the lake, with the stars above and the frogs in chorus nearby.
Coming Home
Living out of doors is a special kind of wonderful. It brings us closer to God, grounding us in who we are meant to be.
I find my way back past Kesil and Cygnus. Orion has loosened his belt a little—too much hart after a good hunt, old man?
There I am: a wanderer wrapped against the cool of the night, fingers furious to capture the sparks firing across synapses, even the unintentional ones. I exist in past, present, and future tense, with tired energy at the start of the fourth watch.
Coyotes interrupt my reverie, their howls piercing the dark. But a wolf in wool (or out of it, as the case may be) is unmoved by their serenades. Howl on, little dogs. I am here with you tonight. Call, and I will run with you as a pack, or circle overhead as your solitary companion.
A Nocturnal Guest
“Ooh! A big raccoon has come to visit tonight. He wants to know if we have any Twinkies and marshmallows.”
“Mr. Raccoon…” I begin.
But he interrupts me. “Mr. Raccoon was my father’s name. I am Randy.”
“My apologies, Randy! But Twinkies and marshmallows are a terrible diet. You’ll live a shortened raccoon life if you eat that way. Would you like some vegetables? I have noodles and vegetables.”
“I love vegetables. Are they sautéed in butter?”
“Of course. The best butter—Amish butter.”
Randy throws back his head and laughs. “Ha! Silly human! The best butter is not Amish butter. It’s unsalted European butter!”
And then, as dreams will, Randy transforms into a giant raccoon steed. “Let’s go for a ride,” he says. “I’ll show you the shoreline.”
So I climb on. We circle the lake together, meeting snakes and owls, bats and birds, even wild dogs. “Not worth our time,” Randy sniffs. “Noisy curs.”
The Fourth Watch
I think again about us—two souls, you and I. How unlikely it was that we should have crossed paths at all in this wide world. Billions of people, infinite combinations—and yet here I sit, heart entwined with heart(s).
There are no easy answers. No free lunches. Technology bridges distance, and yet keeps us chaste—two middle-aged teenagers suspended between longing and restraint.
Yes, oxymoronic, but true.
And does it not make you marvel, that two people can carry on like breathing, and think thoughts like I would collapse if they were gone or I am addicted to them? If human connection can feel like this, how much more so the connection to the Divine—where even a thought is enough to be heard.
Celestial Radio
Think about the most incredible place you’ve ever been. What have you witnessed there? What have you felt? What is the deepest, most profound experience your soul has ever passed through?
And yet—even those moments are eclipsed by our connection with the Creator. That bond does not diminish the arc of our lives; it enhances it. Especially in struggle, He becomes the guiding parent.
Until I understand the full depth of a parent’s love, I will be content with my two-way celestial radio—sending thoughts, receiving comfort, thanking Him for this perfect arrangement of molecules that is my life. And asking forgiveness when I forget how wonderful it all truly is.
Visions of Desire
Desire itself can be beautiful, even noble. The longing is often more perfect than the reality, for once desire is acted upon, flaws intrude—jealousy, betrayal, collapse.
It is the beauty of the unresolved, the endless almost. The never-ending story.
Still, wherever this leads, I know this: connection, even in fragments, even in imperfection, feels like magic.
Just like tonight does. With the cool breeze on my skin, the hoot of the owl, the chants of frogs and crickets.
I wish I could share this moment with everyone I love, and everyone I will ever meet. It is simple perfection.
Good night. May your dreams be as blessed as this moment of reality.
Next story: A Letter to the Twins
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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