There Will Be Blood

Five o’clock in the morning. How I wish I could be sure it’s really me who turns you on.

Crickets chirping, cicadas quieting down. From out of a dream, whirring down a hill on a bicycle, feeling free in the wind whilst trying not to lose control. Headed to where, I don’t know. Someone else in the picture, on a bike, too. A guy. It was so clear and vivid whence I awoke. Not sure why I didn’t get to writing it down. More discipline. Always a search for more discipline. If I were more disciplined I’d take all that rush of excited, clear early morning energy and rise, face the East and begin a morning prayer – yoga – meditation. I’d do something every day to be somebody in this world other than a man living alone mostly in his head without you and only a virtual place where I can go and read up on inspiration and maybe from someone else’s glass a tender sip of Hope. But, it’s so darn comfy here with the dogs both on me. Something about being needed and loved is so . . .comforting. . .addictive. . .healing.

Alas, discipline. A lost or never found art form within. If I were a rich man, I’d be disciplined. I’d be in control of my emotions as women so brilliantly can be, so says Robert A. Johnson in SHE. I’d be the person who is living present with a full day and a full life instead of wallowing in a grief that You, My Life, are gone. In a Year of Second Chances, where I found you 26 years later and We became my unfathomable reality beyond anything I might have ever imagined, how is it I don’t have any second chance with You within the actual construct of Our Love? In waking, my first thoughts retrace my dream state, the one I’d write down if I were more disciplined: parked car;  getting jammed by an old lady walking with a cane, choosing selfishly to walk on the street-side of the cars, cursing at her; then as I finally get free and into the flow, trying to maneuver around a bus; switch lanes around the metro, a different, younger woman jaywalking across my green light. I actually tell her ‘Get out of the way, you whore.’ Wow. Even now I’m startled by that subconscious demon of hate. But, onward to at first a murky dream transition then the crystal clear views of a nighttime, dirt road bike ride, freedom of that whirring downhill into the wind. Then a sudden and immediate return to the cell of my head – isolation. I think of you and how you are not here. I guess on my lonely island I only have an occasional break for food, water and exercising the dogs. Where does one go to ‘get away from it all’ when the only thing I need to get away from is me?

I don’t understand why my thoughts tend in the immediate waking of such a lovely day towards images of you with another, with several others all overpowering You to your delight and, in spite of their belief, at Your Will and command. Maybe you were the jaywalker and this is the next part. Like so much of My accurate intuition, is this right? Or is this my madrugada fears, blurring sleep into wake preying on and finding me? Did I know that You were a geyser, an oil reservoir and all this talk of spiritual, emotional and psychological Love between Us is poppycock, that it was merely sex, really good, unrelenting, blinding sex, mutual allure, seduction and conquest? For you, I know this was a sexual healing but was it (and you secretly kept it to your self) a passage somewhere only you can go? Is that why you revel in ‘no hay camino solo caminando,’ Soltando Equipaje, Love in the Time of Cholera, and other maddeningly emotionally detached journeys? It’s just Your kaleidoscope and we all are passing through.

Our Field of Dreams: The drill bit tapped a repository of abnormal pressure, unleashing a cascade of steam: untapped longing; desire; and need. The explosion burst the walls of Your damned Heart open, flooding passion into every membrane of your parched marrow, mind and muscle, slaking years of unsated thirst? With me as your immediate object of desire, hurts You felt from so long ago played upon your imagining brain and told You to get out before you get hurt again. So, You took the preemptive strike on We. Or, maybe You knew You well, deep down in this middle-aged moment I was not going to be enough. Either you weren’t going to let me conquer You or I wasn’t strong enough and You just couldn’t tell me – you acted like my aggression and anger directed at You set off an allergic reaction to any violence real or perceived but in truth you needed more violence, unquestioning, unrelenting conquest so long as You had the say and control. So, bring in as many as it will take to damn up every part of you that needs satisfying, restoration and release. All the while, on your morning tour with the derrickman and motorhands hard at work on your reservoirs, tapping every last reserve of your repository, they don’t realize you are the rigger.


As my mind streams away into a confrontation with an old classmate, a real dirtbag who abused my good nature and manners, I wonder how did I not more succinctly and directly out that guy instead of being so polite? How do I act so diplomatically with him and with you I couldn’t find the patience, regardless of what I sensed your shortcomings, rise above and draw you out so that I can gain peace of mind and help you, help We? As I ponder this futile point, one of the dogs, sensing first light, comes forth from under the sheets to welcome the day and greet me in her excitable way: unrelenting licks and the desire to thoroughly bore out my nostrils, so intensely her love hurts. I recoil, push her off and gently say No because she’s interrupting my fantasy world where I finally had you back all to myself with none of my demon usurpers to abduct you. You were all mine and pleasuring only in my diamond bit and she comes along to interrupt us.

When I toss her aside in frustration, shouting STOP!  and her ears fold down, I flash back to the same irascible moment yesterday where the other one refused to listen and raised his leg to mark a bush I did not want him on. My anger, messy as always, lost its grip for enough of a moment for me to strike terror in him as I yanked his leash. It makes me wonder about your intense deep kisses. Is it possible maybe how like this sweet, docile beast you are so needy and demanding but in a primal, innocent way? You just are who you are with no ability to gauge or respect a boundary? For some reason I thought about how every picture of you, your eyes strangely always had the same reflection like that of an animal – quite unlike normal human red eye or like most clear, easily visible eyes in digital fotos. You always have such wide pupils and irises I wonder if you are just such an untamed soul trying to live obedient in a civilized world. I don’t want you to be civil nor do I wish to be your or any other’s master. It’s just a matter of respect you excused. I declare it’s about trust. And respecting this one boundary of mine, a time-sensitive temporal distortion that you simply, IMHO, did not want to accept. This was the singular and only place where I had truly set a limit to you and it was not even to be permanent. Just a matter of doing it my way with no say on your part. When you couldn’t accept the no, wouldn’t ‘obey,’ I unloaded. Again, I say you were a spoiled little nena. You ran in fear. Unlike the little one, though, whose heart is resilient and forgetful, you are behind your dammed Heart again. Or, maybe letting a whole seamy team of roughnecks loose on your fields.

I try not to be swallowed up in the cyclone of this dread, knowing it is my dark mistrust and lack of self-esteem I was enough for You when I know I am. I try to say Ssh, the Universe is listening before It catches on and sends that permission to You, permission I know you foolishly have within if you choose. Even as I told you in writing I love you enough to let you go if that is what you need and it would be tough to take you back, I am deeply possessive of you, attached. Western Mind, Eastern Body. Your jealousy I tried to dismiss is – as i told you – the same as mine. As Krishnamurti might say, love with jealousy, attachment is not love. So We never existed. We didn’t truly love each Other, only what we wanted out of Our Self each of us saw in the other.

I think about that beautiful girl on the bicicleta, smiling and sunny at my side on that bright blue April Dania Beach boardwalk morning where our dreams were in full Spring bloom. Me whirring, careening, trying not to lose control or wipe out and loving the rush all along. Downhill all the way.

The wind is kickin’ up today. Sunny, clear skies. A bit of that autumn chill as the squirrels store up for winter. The dogs are ready for a morning of adventure. The only thing missing, mi Pastora, is you, juntos. Caminando.


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