1) it had been a while since we’d seen each other. your hair is different but you still avert your eyes. i noticed. i wonder about the familiarity that still exists between us, it’s probably what makes things awkward.

i wish it wasn’t awkward. i hope you are well, i hope you are happy.

2) at the height of traffic hour seats are impossible to find, standing room is scarce. under times like these i have witnessed countless little spats. passive aggressive jabs. rolling of the eyes. tsking tsking tsking. sometimes i’ve been involved. but on certain days the same situation turns strangest in cramped spaces into comrades. the other day i watched a man sit on the lap of a man he did not know. i watched the lap put an arm around the sitter. they smiled at each other, they smiled at me, i smiled in return and wondered about how comfortable they were. on the same ride at the same time, a fourth woman chuckled and sat her way into where three were already seated in the space for two. we nodded in empathy and scooted to give her as much space as possible.

i have yet to discover what causes the divide between camaraderie and anger. whatever it is, i think i will marvel on it forever.

3) as my best friend once said, dreams are just there to fuck with your mind. i would have to agree as i remember the anger my sleep couldn’t erase. as i re-experienced the hurt and humiliation. as i caressed a face and then found my fingers tighten on a neck. i wonder what we are capable of. in the same dream, death threatened the security of my decisions and i woke up with nausea and confusion. it’s just a dream. it’s just a dream. it’s just a dream. but the emotions…they are real.

4) i wrote about stillness, but i am also in awe of movement. sometimes i stand on the side of a street, maybe i’m waiting for a bus, maybe i’m just standing. i like to watch life as it happens around me. these people. so many people. when there is a crowd i often find a line lingering in my head-all the lonely people, where do they all come from. maybe we all come from the same place. maybe they come from where i am. i watch these faces blend, i can’t always distinguish features. i watch women tiptoe their scooty into stopping. i watch men mount their motorbikes. i watch mothers haggle for change while keeping an eye on a child with a tendency to wander. i watch stranger after stranger call out a destination on a vehicle that zooms by.

but most interesting of all, i see the watchers. the shopkeepers. those with the time to sip tea. they watch the comings and going, the chaos and frenzy. they witness movement in various speeds. i wonder, where in their life going?

i wonder, how many times have i passed the same face without knowing. how many faces do i scan for only one time. of the millions who occupy and move through this city, with how many does a life intersect. how many am i connected to. how many are moving with each other, moved by each over, move together. i do not know. i do not know if i know this city.

5) sometimes i feel this hollow hunger. this gnawing isn’t satisfied with momos and chicken chilly, daal-bhaat doesn’t do it either, and burgers or pizzas feel like submitting to defeat.

i don’t know on what i want to feed.

i wonder if people have forgotten how to be still. when i wake up, i enjoy being still. the quiet of morning. the calm of my body awakening. i like to listen for the noise around the house, around the neighborhood. get a feel for a day and what the day could bring. the calm of it, it’s nice.

in the erratic hustle and bustle of Kathmandu i wonder if i get lost in noise. the soundtrack of urban living overwhelms. and the tragic escape is more noise, albeit that of my choosing. how many hours have i spent traveling around this city with ben harper, mirah, and an assortment of others in my ears? their voices sooth but they don’t offer the solace of silence.

sitting under a banyan tree with a friend, we chit chatted softly to the falling of rain and a dog by my feet. a few little girls with village life in their nail and hair come by. they hover and glance at us, soon they go their way. we watch the mountains darken into night. we watch them come to life under a blaze from the skies. we dream of buying a house nearby.

this time of year, i often close my eyes to the rain as i wait for sleep. the lull of the earth being kissed. with a soft breeze the rain lifts by i come to life. in the quiet. in the still.

and yet, it’s so easy to forget. take a deep breath. find it.

dear J,

if i hadn’t been the one to call, i wouldn’t have known your voice. i remembered it so differently, lower maybe. it felt good to hear your speech. it felt good to hear your joy when i said it was me. it seemed genuine.

we were immediate friends weren’t we. quick. witty. cutting. i felt love for you instantly. you were already endeared to me. i didn’t know why, i still don’t maybe.

your voice was so different last night. so sad. it hurt a little to hear you like that. dear dear J. you were always cheeky, you always had harmless mockery on your lips, there was laughter in you. i remembered you for it. the carefree gait. the effortless style. the air about you.

so different. so dreamy. so free.

“what’s it like over there?” you ask me. i don’t know how to answer that. how do I explain the process of the last few years. how do i put into words the context of the journey that has brought me here. i don’t know where to begin. you want to know about my apartment. i tell you little bits of it, the parts i love, the parts that make me happy. “it’s really nice to hear you like this” you said. “i like to imagine you there in your apartment, with your fruit trees, and your friends.” i felled tears when you said that. “it makes me happy to think of you there doing well.”

i was moved by something. your voice, so wistful, so distant. you, so far away. you, in a completely different place. i wanted you to be here next to me.

i wanted to sit outside on the patio and enjoy the evenings so especially beautiful this time of year. i wanted to roll a joint and maybe ponder over Bukowski again. i wanted you to be a part of the dinner evenings with my friends. we always laugh much. there is plenty of happiness. i wanted to show you that all of this comes. after the hurts, the pains, the confusions, all of this comes.

as we say our goodbyes nearly two hours in, i am frustrated that i couldn’t give you as much happiness. you tell me you love me. i tell you i love you back. friendships are the best place for love i think. i love that you’re my friend. i love that ten years melt away as two voices on a phone discuss growing up. as we remember the youth of our years.

i tell you it’s free, i can call again. i say this because i can’t let this be an end. i can’t even let it be too lengthy of a pause. “yeah, do, call me, check in on me” you say and i feel a tear in my heart again for you. i will i say, and i will.

“you’d want to have sex with your muse?”
“YAAAAAAH”
“wouldn’t that devalue her?”
“no man. it would be the ultimate thing to do”

it seemed an odd thing to be discussing. the craving we have for a muse. the desires that would take hold should the muse be found. the fulfillment that would come from attainment. achievement. we chit chatted after i slipped into the lull of a voice, words, and the story that keeps playing in my head. we chit chatted as hours slipped away. as i slipped.

i understand the want of her. i understand needing a muse. i understand the ache for inspiration. the instinct to fuck her. i know it all too well. i have waited long.

in waiting, there is the side affect of forgetting. simple things become unknown. clarity is distracted by bokeh. wouldn’t you know it, but between your words and a hug i thought i remembered something. you hugged me but you did so by holding me. you did it without drama. you did it without any implications. you did it without any adverted intentions. maybe it was in my head, but did you hold me for a moment longer than necessary? it was just a hug. the most innocent of affections. but you reminded me of something.

you reminded me of love.
and i remembered i used to think love was my muse.
and then i remembered how love is actually pain.

i remember the pain that remained. i remember that it didn’t leave me with words, it only left a fool who choose love when love didn’t choose her.

but you, you with those thoughts and those ideas. you and the way you use those words. the way you bring Maya to life. the love. the illusion. the deception. the possible truths. you, you made me remember envy. you made me remember lust. and i thought to myself, yeah, if i found her, if i found my muse, i’d fuck her, i’d fuck her into abuse.

disconnected. discontented. disjointed. a repeated, slow, painful degeneration. the death of the myself i know.a lingering darkness that dulls the mind, numbs the heart, cripples the soul, and weighs down the body. from where i stand now, i see it as the leprosy of what makes me me.

it consumes so thoroughly, it’s so damn fucking greedy, it takes away everything: the motivation to get up. the will power to see people. the responsibility of work. the comfort of family. the health of relationships. the love of lovers. takes, takes, takes, and takes. greedy fucker.

if that wasn’t enough, it eats of the self i posses. the joy of companionship. the meditation of reading. the outlet of writing. the pleasure of learning. the care of family. the loyalty to friends. the dedication to my love. they strip away. inch by inch. leaving you so limp. listless. loveless. lonely. oh so lonely.

loves true test is this. those who know. those who flee. those who anger. those who distance. those who confuse. those who help. those who help. those who help. those who stay.

it’s difficult to understand. it’s near impossible to explain. it’s a defeat you know is so absolute. time gives you just enough time to heal so that you can be broken back down completely. rewind. repeat. rewind. repeat. where is the learning in this? where is the wisdom? where is the worth of endurance?

it’s hard to say. it’s hard to see. i’ve stuck around this long anyways.
rewind. repeat.

what has this past year been to you?
maybe mid-life crisis is one way of saying it. quarter-life crisis anyways.
that year of hitting a wall of infinite possibilities. decisions. choices. consequences. the map evolving, detouring, rerouting, second by second. thought by thought.
jobs. career. relationships. family. boyfriends. lovers. marriage. friends. the list goes one.
falling into a confusion so deep it leaves a bed and darkness for solace.
not wanting it anymore. not wanting to do it anymore. no longer seeing the point.
so much to learn but sometimes the culmination of the human experience is like a budget tour package. you would have been better off not going.
but how are we to get off this ride?
i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. how then does this make me wise?

how do you get off the ride?
death. seems like the obvious answer. but nobody wants to say it. i don’t get why.
in Mexico deities and saints concerned with death are not viewed as “good” or “bad”. light vs evil. death is neural. maybe if we didn’t see this as one big fucking loss it would be easier to jump off. easier to let go. easier to be let gone of.
but we tend to seek alternatives.
words appear: happiness, dreams, love. they confuse me even more sometimes. maybe this is why i’ve found such growing appeal for the hippie life style–weed. peace. love. don’t need to worry about armpit hair. enjoying nature. making music. living art.
i think they’re onto something. the world sees them as mad, but i think there is more truth to their insanity.

why wisdom?
‘wisest is he who knows he knows not’
maybe i’d like as my epitaph. other things only add to wisdom- broker hearts. hurting families. lies. disappointments. love. happiness. none of them are truly lasting. they all give to wisdom.
pursuit of wisdom is eternal learning. learning to know you don’t know. seeking anyways. i heard something funny not too long ago, “God created man. Man created God.”
wouldn’t you like to know?

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