I wouldn’t know him
or the men in this room
if it wasn’t for you.

[And yet, you're not here.]

Holding his head
between my hands
speaking softly if at all.

Eyes fixed upon eyes.

“I’m starting the injection” she said
calmly, squeezing the
syringe into his
femoral vein.

He felt no pain.

Eyes fixed upon eyes,
my soul attached to him.
Connected, then wafting away.

Both of us entranced,
unable to blink,
unable to miss the moment.
As a sweet dog’s life
[and you]
ebb away.

Missing the sensation of
washing your hands under
running water.

I took my time washing.
I savored every sudsy second,
imagining it for you.

submerging
sponging
rinse
repeat

I have the certain sense,
you’ll be all-right.

When you’re back at the sink
with running water
running water
running water

Going with the flow.
This riptide of knowing,
so deep,
invisible from shore.
Alternating between fighting or
letting it have its way with me.

“Help! – HELP!!”
No one hears me anymore.
I’ve rafted too far out.
Maybe if I shout…
or just let it carry me.

I don’t control the current.
I merely place myself in it.
And I’m not sure where
it will carry me.

Now I’m further than ever
from those firm, familiar sands.
Riding this riptide,
so I can see.

Once the love is gone, I have difficulty remembering any of the good times.

Once he’s gone, only pain comes into view. Nothing else. Just pain and sadness. And staggering amounts of justified anger, critique, and resentment. It’s interesting how memory is filtered according to my prevailing mood. If I’m feeling happy and secure, I can easily recall memories of other happy and secure times in my life, going back decades. But when I’m feeling depressed, such happy moments are inaccessible, walled off, not there. I have a feeling that they occurred, and can be reminded of them by reading my journal, or by looking at pictures or other reminders, but natural recollection is impossible when my mood opposes the feeling tone of the memory in question.

Example: Did M and I ever have moments of happiness? Of course we did. Lots of them.

Then why do I assume that since we’re apart, it’s best not to remember them? That I can admit that we had some good times, keeping it general and avoiding the specifics, as a way to move on to the real issue: how he left me, how he wasn’t as committed, how I should have seen it coming, etc. If I was able to recall vivid memories of us together, of me laying on top of him, suckling his nipple while he stroked his hard cock, for example, that would fill me with joy, connection, peace, and lots of other positive emotions. And that would be a good thing!

But he’s not here. We’re not together, and so EVERYTHING MUST GO! It’s a fire sale, we lost our lease, these are the final days.

Or maybe I’m more complicated that an expired lease on a failed business. Maybe I can allow – and be with – the passing of M and I as a couple and still have some good memories flash into view once in awhile. Can I relax my need to compartmentalize my emotions and feel the sensations instead? I’ve been trying hard not to think of him at all and harder still not to feel good about the time we spent together.

To spite the entire adventure.
To pretend it never happened.
To turn off my memories in that once spectacular arena.

Kill the lights and still, I can see the blazing night sky filled with distant stars. So why do I fight it?

Separation Amnesia – a psychological defense characterized by the forgetting of positive, happy memories of a loved one after physical or emotional separation.

What will I do with this newfound term? I’ve already tested the theory. I’ve seen what I’ve been trying so hard to do – forget him and us together – and it hasn’t worked out well. But it has consumed an enormous amount of energy. So from now on, I will look for positive memories of us together and allow myself to experience them again without him. Without feeling like a failure. Without any expectations. Just to access a part of my history that I’ve been trying to wall off, as a form of self-preservation and protection.

I appreciate the protective side of myself. The side that wants to protect me from harm. Now I see that I can open the gates of memory – my memory – and be safe there. There is nothing in the past that can harm me now. I’m with friends. I am in touch with my body, with love, with life. Consciousness breeds consciousness. Awareness breeds awareness. And so it goes. To the memories.

Hunched over in a wheelchair.
With your new boyfriend,
standing at the sterile gates of hell.

He’s the one you ran to,
burning the bridges that carried you.

And for what — Love?
I’ve done crazy things for love.
I’ve packed up and left,
only to leave again.

Nothing lasts.
Not even this connection:
so natural,
so destined,
so preordained.

It was a real tragedy.
You saw things differently.

A few weeks ago
I saw you for the first time
in a long while,
and you didn’t look good.

I wanted to help.
What else could I do?

I wanted to take you away,
I wanted to heal you forever,
to erase your pain once and for all.

Just by sitting next to you.

You’re so close, and yet
I’ll never see you again.

I’ll never see you
the way I used to:
tender,
trusting,
loving so completely.

Memories continue to rise,
impossible embers smoldering
under acres of ash.

This desolate land of lovers
reminds me of us.

The many faces of joy
I used to contribute to,
and now —
try hard not to remember.

Would I rather be smooth
than to see these scars?

Do I care to ignore it?
Could I ever endure it?

Somehow I’ll correlate
the joy and the pain,
the bond and its severance.

A series of tender moments
plowed underground by
slow-motion glaciers.

Watching it all in real-time:
Here. Now.

I just spent 4 days at Strozzi Institute in Petaluma where I completed the Leadership in Action Level I course along with a very important body work session a few days ago. In the span of an hour, on a garden variety massage table, I came to know the power of accessing and releasing a major contraction inside my body. I felt as if the energy from my heart was making an end-run around my gut to get to my legs. The 4-day course created a space of deep learning. My body is hereby transformed.I felt compelled to write some piano music with a vocal track before going to bed.

Updated with better vocal mix and lyrics. [2011.0619]

This piece came to mind while I was thinking of my neighbor attending a funeral for a family member who suddenly died. I was especially moved by the ending, which appeared suddenly and sweetly after an angry beginning.

Outside, it’s raining.
Beeswax candles burn inside.
Honey fills my nose
Lifting me up!
On this dark and cloudy day.

Recorded Sunday 2011.0515 and Tuesday 2011.0517. Edited using Logic Pro. © 2011 Eric C Forbes.

I wrote this piece back in 1989 while in the Navy at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii with a guy on my boat named Dave Cantu. Hey, Dave! This song’s for you…