an itinerant observer

Jack did not have much of a childhood to write home about. That obviously did not hinder his meteoric rise; as a young professional, he was already on top of his game. He was quite successful, with a salary in the six digits, vacations pre-planned for a year in advance, and stocks and bonds neatly sorted out. While he could hold on to investments with alacrity, what he couldn’t hold on to, for dear life, were relationships. Friends, men or women, would come and go from his life, with surprising frequency. To him even his biological family, the little he had, felt like it was on borrowed time. I think the lack of long-term connectivity with human beings wasn’t particularly bothersome to Jack. I gathered this over the course of half-a-year when we crossed paths several times. Notwithstanding our differences as obvious as night and day, including our respective skin colors, we shared a common interest: salsa. It was over salsa that we first met. We were both enrolled in a week...

Yesterday I wanted to ask the beloved for some understanding, but I wasn’t quite sure how. So with a heavy heart and heavier eyes I walked into my garden. It was raining outside. To seek refuge from the deluge I walked to the side of my house. I had the urge to run my hand against the wall of my house (it’s a rough brick veneer). It gave me the earthiest sensation! It grounded me and it curbed the downpour. I looked up at the sky and then I let my heart approach the beloved. Today I got the answer. The re’s a yearning to dance and thus create a whirlwind.  Yet the beloved is not around to partake of the ecstasy.  Because the only time given to me is the present, I did and do dance – albeit, intermittently. When I pause for breath, there’s agitation of the head-heart that time is limited in the sea of timelessness. So I asked the beloved: what next - where do we go from here? [from rambling of an itinerant ] Acknowledgment: First published ...