A
poet much wiser than I recognized that journeys never undertaken and roads
never traversed, nonetheless have the power to burden. I find myself looking
back over the decades, forever ambivalent about those uncharted journeys. And
although I celebrate that I did take a less traveled road, which, in fact, made
a difference, a wonderful difference, the shadowy vignettes of a past unlived
on occasion haunt me like the dripping of a faucet on a silent night.
poet much wiser than I recognized that journeys never undertaken and roads
never traversed, nonetheless have the power to burden. I find myself looking
back over the decades, forever ambivalent about those uncharted journeys. And
although I celebrate that I did take a less traveled road, which, in fact, made
a difference, a wonderful difference, the shadowy vignettes of a past unlived
on occasion haunt me like the dripping of a faucet on a silent night.
He
and I never danced; we never touched; we never spoke of the drives and passions
that might have lubricated our lives. It was a different time, a different
place. It was a time when to unsheathe our souls to judgmental eyes could have
thwarted careers, made futures bleak, and shattered lives like frost descending
upon tender blades of green grass. And though our connection consisted of two
twirl-a-cups gyrating around a circular orb, I have come to believe that had we
lived in a freer world, a more inclusive one, he and I might have given light
to secrets destined to remain forever occulted, held hands on blustery winter
nights, and charted voyages that alas never sailed away. In retrospect he was
my first infatuation, the first man with whom I dared to dream that somewhere,
someplace we could make our peace. We could have been oblivious to a sanctimonious
Brokeback Mountain world beset on
sacrificing us, for no other reason than our souls quested after forbidden
dreams. But we never danced; we never touched; we never found the courage to
challenge the consequences of reaching out to thwart ingrained fears. Thus, we
never transformed hope into possibilities.
and I never danced; we never touched; we never spoke of the drives and passions
that might have lubricated our lives. It was a different time, a different
place. It was a time when to unsheathe our souls to judgmental eyes could have
thwarted careers, made futures bleak, and shattered lives like frost descending
upon tender blades of green grass. And though our connection consisted of two
twirl-a-cups gyrating around a circular orb, I have come to believe that had we
lived in a freer world, a more inclusive one, he and I might have given light
to secrets destined to remain forever occulted, held hands on blustery winter
nights, and charted voyages that alas never sailed away. In retrospect he was
my first infatuation, the first man with whom I dared to dream that somewhere,
someplace we could make our peace. We could have been oblivious to a sanctimonious
Brokeback Mountain world beset on
sacrificing us, for no other reason than our souls quested after forbidden
dreams. But we never danced; we never touched; we never found the courage to
challenge the consequences of reaching out to thwart ingrained fears. Thus, we
never transformed hope into possibilities.
We
were so different. He was passionate about Ché Guevara and César Chávez, about
the injustices of Chilean tyrants and brutish money changers. I was passionate
about my intangible world. How often I would find myself walking alone,
surrounded by the voices of poets and dreamers, philosophers and stargazers.
While immersed in my rhymes and rhythms of far-off melodies, I would focus on the
intricate cobwebbed anatomy of elm leaves, on the oceans mirrored within raindrops,
on the starry convolution of heavens above. Thus, in those early years, we trekked
in diametrically different worlds. We allowed our fears of the unknown, of
ourselves, to silence what in retrospect I now know nestled within us. We could
have, we should have, but we never did speak of our cryptic secrets, and time,
like a shape-shifting cloud flitted out of our reach.
were so different. He was passionate about Ché Guevara and César Chávez, about
the injustices of Chilean tyrants and brutish money changers. I was passionate
about my intangible world. How often I would find myself walking alone,
surrounded by the voices of poets and dreamers, philosophers and stargazers.
While immersed in my rhymes and rhythms of far-off melodies, I would focus on the
intricate cobwebbed anatomy of elm leaves, on the oceans mirrored within raindrops,
on the starry convolution of heavens above. Thus, in those early years, we trekked
in diametrically different worlds. We allowed our fears of the unknown, of
ourselves, to silence what in retrospect I now know nestled within us. We could
have, we should have, but we never did speak of our cryptic secrets, and time,
like a shape-shifting cloud flitted out of our reach.
Over
the years, I finished my studies. Over the years, I lost my innocence in foreign
lands. I thought of him often, but I allowed myself to believe that the past
was but an epitaph on crumbling sandstone. Years later, an act of serendipity
became our swan’s song when upon my return home from distant shores, I prepared
to root my life. Acknowledging my forays into the future, I celebrated among strangers
at my favorite restaurant. As fate would have it, he was there too, alone,
following a day of toiling in this world of the mundane. Instant recognition erupted
in our eyes, and although we spoke so briefly about things so trivial, we never
unshackled the chains that bound us. After all, the world still remained
dangerous for men like us. Thus, what needed to be said remained forever
fossilized within our respective hearts. Saying goodbye so long ago, I now
recognize that he wanted to say more; I can only hope he knew I too longed to
reach out, but instead with a quiet desperation I stifled my longings. Even as
I walked away and turned to look at him, I could not break the insidious spell
spun by those who had authority over us. And thus, we never danced; we never
touched, we never let the sun break through the storm. We will never know what
could have been. Suffice to say, although the road I took directed me away from
him, I remain forever grateful that this traveler did, in spite of himself, step
toward a wondrous journey. I can only hope his path was likewise emblazoned
with innumerable constellations.
the years, I finished my studies. Over the years, I lost my innocence in foreign
lands. I thought of him often, but I allowed myself to believe that the past
was but an epitaph on crumbling sandstone. Years later, an act of serendipity
became our swan’s song when upon my return home from distant shores, I prepared
to root my life. Acknowledging my forays into the future, I celebrated among strangers
at my favorite restaurant. As fate would have it, he was there too, alone,
following a day of toiling in this world of the mundane. Instant recognition erupted
in our eyes, and although we spoke so briefly about things so trivial, we never
unshackled the chains that bound us. After all, the world still remained
dangerous for men like us. Thus, what needed to be said remained forever
fossilized within our respective hearts. Saying goodbye so long ago, I now
recognize that he wanted to say more; I can only hope he knew I too longed to
reach out, but instead with a quiet desperation I stifled my longings. Even as
I walked away and turned to look at him, I could not break the insidious spell
spun by those who had authority over us. And thus, we never danced; we never
touched, we never let the sun break through the storm. We will never know what
could have been. Suffice to say, although the road I took directed me away from
him, I remain forever grateful that this traveler did, in spite of himself, step
toward a wondrous journey. I can only hope his path was likewise emblazoned
with innumerable constellations.
© 28 Dec 2015
About
the Author
the Author
Cervantes
wrote, “I know who I am and who I may choose to be.” In spite of my constant quest to live up to
this proposition, I often falter. I am a
man who has been defined as sensitive, intuitive, and altruistic, but I have
also been defined as being too shy, too retrospective, too pragmatic. Something I know to be true. I am a survivor,
a contradictory balance of a realist and a dreamer, and on occasions, quite
charming. Nevertheless, I often ask
Spirit to keep His arms around my shoulder and His hand over my mouth. My heroes range from Henry David Thoreau to
Sheldon Cooper, and I always have time to watch Big Bang Theory or Under the
Tuscan Sun. I am a pragmatic romantic and
a consummate lover of ideas and words, nature and time. My beloved husband and our three rambunctious
cocker spaniels are the souls that populate my heart. I could spend the rest of
my life restoring our Victorian home, planting tomatoes, and lying under
coconut palms on tropical sands. I
believe in Spirit, and have zero tolerance for irresponsibility, victim’s
mentalities, political and religious orthodoxy, and intentional cruelty. I am always on the look-out for friends,
people who find that life just doesn’t get any better than breaking bread
together and finding humor in the world around us.
wrote, “I know who I am and who I may choose to be.” In spite of my constant quest to live up to
this proposition, I often falter. I am a
man who has been defined as sensitive, intuitive, and altruistic, but I have
also been defined as being too shy, too retrospective, too pragmatic. Something I know to be true. I am a survivor,
a contradictory balance of a realist and a dreamer, and on occasions, quite
charming. Nevertheless, I often ask
Spirit to keep His arms around my shoulder and His hand over my mouth. My heroes range from Henry David Thoreau to
Sheldon Cooper, and I always have time to watch Big Bang Theory or Under the
Tuscan Sun. I am a pragmatic romantic and
a consummate lover of ideas and words, nature and time. My beloved husband and our three rambunctious
cocker spaniels are the souls that populate my heart. I could spend the rest of
my life restoring our Victorian home, planting tomatoes, and lying under
coconut palms on tropical sands. I
believe in Spirit, and have zero tolerance for irresponsibility, victim’s
mentalities, political and religious orthodoxy, and intentional cruelty. I am always on the look-out for friends,
people who find that life just doesn’t get any better than breaking bread
together and finding humor in the world around us.
