my romantic tryst with cancer

one must be one to ever be two and if you were a day I'd find a way to live through you - by Ben Kopel, who says about it: "It's a love song because they're all love songs, and I mean every inch of it."

Enjoy the love you have, and make the most of it. "From opportunity, comes opportunity."- Ada

And now you're mine. Rest with your dream in my dream. Love and pain and work should all sleep, now. The night turns on its invisible wheels, and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber. No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time. No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon. Your hands have already opened their delicate fists and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move after, following the folding water you carry, that carries me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny. Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all. - Pablo Neruda

At the end of the day, the only questions I will ask myself are: Did I love enough? Did I laugh enough? Did I make a difference? Source: A share by Carol Borg on Facebook earlier today.

"Never allow someone to be your priority, while allowing yourself to be their option." - Mark Twain

This crest was designed for me and my descendents many years ago in another life by my dear friend Jaydev, an expert in heraldry. Rabbee sayahdeeni translates roughly to mean "He will guide me". These words are taken from Ash Surah of the Quran (Chp 26 Ver 62). The verse reads like "Qala kalla inna maaiya rabbee sayahdeeni". A big thank you to my friend, first roommate and a caring, thoughtful, beloved man with a lot of integrity- Jaydev Nansey. Thank you!

     Sunday mornings I would reach high into his dark closet while standing      on a chair and tiptoeing reach higher, touching, sometimes fumbling      the soft crowns and imagine I was in a forest, wind hymning      through pines, where the musky scent of rain clinging to damp earth was      his scent I loved, lingering on bands, leather, and on the inner silk      crowns where I would smell his hair and almost think I was being      held, or climbing a tree, touching the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent      was that of clove in the godsome air, as now, thinking of his fabulous      sleep, I stand on this canyon floor and watch light slowly close      on water I can't be sure is there. from New Letters, Volume 66, Number 3, 2000 - Mark Irwin

I'm in a little piece of Portugal on the west end of the old city Time has not stood still here, but it hasn't moved too far either, though the motorized heating fan warming me on an upside-down milk crate would not have been here when the old lady I'm sharing the table with, left her parents behind Her husband makes room for my coffee cup, passes me the sugar in an act of friendship, I pour some into my spoon and stir it in I'm the outsider. I take a picture of my fare for my love to see His own sits beside him They let me be part of their comfortable silence. None of us need to talk to be present The lady behind the counter asks me, pointing at my coffee to negotiate what she perceives as a language divide, "is good?" I smile and give a respectful thumbs up, unwilling to break the loving silence I am now a part of.

           after Henri Michaux Somehow it got into my room. I found it, and it was, naturally, trapped. It was nothing more than a frightened animal. Since then I raised it up. I kept it for myself, kept it in my room, kept it for its own good. I named the animal, My Life. I found food for it and fed it with my bare hands. I let it into my bed, let it breathe in my sleep. And the animal, in my love, my constant care, grew up to be strong, and capable of many clever tricks. One day, quite recently, I was running my hand over the animal's side and I came to understand that it could very easily kill me. I realized, further, that it would kill me. This is why it exists, why I raised it. Since then I have not known what to do. I stopped feeding it, only to find that its growth has nothing to do with food. I stopped cleaning it and found that it cleans itself. I stopped singing it to sleep and found that it falls asleep faster without my song. I don&#

Some of what we do, we do to make things happen, the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc, the car to start. The rest of what we do, we do trying to keep something from doing something, the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting, the truth from getting out. With yes and no like the poles of a battery powering our passage through the days, we move, as we call it, forward, wanting to be wanted, wanting not to lose the rain forest, wanting the water to boil, wanting not to have cancer, wanting to be home by dark, wanting not to run out of gas, as each of us wants the other watching at the end, as both want not to leave the other alone, as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone, we gaze across breakfast and pretend. - by Miller Williams from Some Jazz a While: Collected Poems, 1999