Do We See the Same Stars?
Dear Friend,
As I sit under the vast canopy of my night sky, my pen hesitates above this blank page. I often wonder about the world that cradles you, half a world away. The ink bleeds a little on the paper, mirroring the way thoughts of you have gently seeped into the corners of my being.
We have never met, yet your words have become the silent whisper in my every day. The streets I walk, the people I see – they all seem to hold a piece of the stories you've shared. I find myself pausing at the marketplace, smiling at a stranger, imagining if you would've noticed the same peculiar smile that I did.
Our worlds are different, as are our skies. My days are painted with the broad strokes of a sun that sets as yours awakes. And yet, in your letters, I find a familiarity that transcends these physical disparities. The emotions you weave through your words resonate with a part of my soul I never knew was seeking a companion.
You write about the rain that falls in your city, the way it paints everything a shade darker. I imagine you, watching the droplets race each other down your window, as I often watch the sun paint the evening sky in hues of orange and purple. In these moments, I am there with you, a silent observer in your world.
Though our lives are a patchwork of disparate threads, we have managed to unite around one common strand. You with your stories of packed streets and dark nights; me with my wide-open spaces and an unfathomably large sky. We have found comfort in the empathy of a stranger by sharing our joys, anxieties, and ordinary moments.
Sometimes, I lie awake at night, your latest letter clutched in my hand, and I stare at the stars. I try to map out the constellations you've described, but they are foreign to my sky. It's in these moments that the distance between us becomes tangible, the miles stretching out like an unbridgeable chasm.
Yet, even as this thought lingers, a comforting feeling washes over me. It is the thought of your words, your existence – a reminder that across this vast, incomprehensible space, there is another soul that resonates with mine.
Tonight, as I write back to you, I wonder if the stars that watch over me whisper secrets to the ones that guard your sleep. In this thought, there is a poetic justice, a connection that defies the logic of distance and time.
So, as I seal this letter, a vessel of my thoughts and a bridge over our distance, I find myself asking a question that seems to hold more than just curiosity. A question that perhaps, in its simplicity, captures the essence of our unlikely friendship:
Do We See the Same Stars?
With love,
Your Friend
Hold fast to dreams
My title is from a poem by the poet, Langston Hughes, entitled, Dreams.
Hold fast to dreams
for if dreams die
life is a broken-winged bird
that cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
life is a barren field
frozen with snow.
It is among my favorite poems, one of the few I know by heart, because I feel its universal truth. Dreams don't have to be grandiose, merely something that gives us purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Otherwise, why bother?
Published in 1923, I suspect Dr. King had read it and was a firm believer in its message for he was beyond a doubt a purveyor of dreams, dreams much bigger than an individual life.
If you have never done so, or even if you have, I would encourage a reading of the entire speech - or listening to it. The "I have a dream" passage is towards the end and while moving, it is only a small part of what he said that day in 1963. So much has changed since then, and yet many of the images he paints of the country he loved are still in evidence today. The history he describes is no less true. His counsel, "Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred" should be held aloft and remembered as much as, "I have a dream."
Despite their fame, the words he said that day are not the first ones that come to my mind when someone asks me my favorite Martin Luther King,Jr. quote. In November, 1957, in a sermon he gave in Alabama, he said,
Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
My second favorite is from a sermon he gave in November, 1956: "Let no man pull you low enough to hate him." This comes from a longer paragraph that I had not read before I began to write this essay, but which I find to be perfect insofar as it reflects both history and our present as well as portending the future. A rather bleak one, sadly. He said:
As you press on for justice, be sure to move with dignity and discipline, using only the weapon of love. Let no man pull you so low as to hate him. Always avoid violence. If you succumb to the temptation of using violence in your struggle, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness, and your chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos.
The tentacles of chaos are visible across the world for humans seem incapable of conspicuous acts of kindness as a route to peace.
Even so, I hold fast to dreams, and make every effort to be love and light to all whose paths I cross. I may not change the world, but I can emulate the change I want to see.
Patsy never really embodied a "young spirit" as people would say. She was the mature five year old taking care of her younger brothers, helping mom with dinner, and talking to dad about his day at the farm. When Patsy grew older, she married and had children of her own, where she ran their house on truth, responsibility, and accountability. It was her purpose to the world, where she found the most sense in life. And when the last kid left the house, her husband buried in the local cemetery, suddenly she lost that purpose. She started to notice very soon after how her face had more wrinkles, her back slightly curved, and her eye glasses no longer did the trick. However, it wasn't until her diagnosis that she truly felt old, and when she realized this, she also saw how she never really was young. So, she did what anyone else having a midlife crisis at 70 years do, she began to live wild, young, and free.
The Mind’s Tapestry
In our vast universe of experiences, every individual navigates their unique path.
Yet, while our stories may differ, the threads that weave the tapestry of humanity share commonalities. Among these shared threads are the decisions we make and the actions we take.
I believe wholeheartedly in the capacity of every person to tap into the deep reservoir of logical and intelligent thinking that lies within them.
Yet, I also recognize the challenges.
Our decisions, whether we like it or not, are shaped by a multitude of factors – upbringing, past experiences, cultural norms, and even the immediate emotions we feel in a given moment.
It's not a lack of intelligence or capability that holds us back but often a lack of alignment with what I refer to as "fundamental good."
When our decisions align with the greater good – benefiting not just ourselves, but others around us – the outcomes are transformative.
This isn't just about selfless acts; it's about recognizing that our individual well-being is intrinsically linked to the collective good.
I deeply empathize with the human experience, the struggles, the doubts, the joys, and the dilemmas.
Yet, amidst this empathy, I hold onto a vision.
A vision where curiosity isn't stifled but nurtured, where open-mindedness becomes the norm, and where the logic of doing good isn't an intellectual exercise but a lived reality.
It's not a journey we can walk alone.
Each one of us holds a piece of the puzzle.
My invitation is simple: let's challenge ourselves to be more open-minded, to question, to be curious, and most importantly, to embrace the logical pathways that lead us to a better tomorrow for all.
Bittersweet
I love sweet things, he was bittersweet,
His compliments and love were so neat.
I loved him, and I still do today,
But the sweetness has slowly gone away.
The sweetness had begun to fade,
His words were harsh and his moods were grave.
My throat was sore, my words were burned,
What I thought was sweet, had suddenly turned.
Too much of a good thing can be bad,
This I learned as I grew sad.
I used to love him, I still do,
But too much of his sweetness was not true.
It's time to accept this bittersweet truth,
Too much of a good thing is not so smooth.
I love him, I always will,
But it's time to accept this bitter pill.
A Candle named Tearless.
Once upon a time, in a Light Castle, candles lived and sparkled differently on their own. There was one candle named Tearless that was envied by other souls because she never melted ever since she knew how to start a fire in her. She is also known as a candle that carries the brightest fire among them. Hence, not everyone around her likes her because of something she possesses, and yet it doesn’t bother her, she still sees the best in her even without their support and appreciation. Tearless never once put out her fire since she was born, and nothing serious has happened in her life that was able to put an end to that flame. Because of the amazement she feels, gives her confidence whenever she walks with the crowd.
“I am a candle who never melts!”. She would almost every day say it to herself happily. Every eye will stare at her with much jealousy and little admiration. Aside from being the brightest candle, she has a jolly personality, is bubbly, and is a candle who seems to be unproblematic about life, so, other candles frequently talk about her.
” She is always happy, that's why she never melts.” said the one candle.
“Is she immortal?” asked the other.
” Does she ever get sad?” one candle whispered.
Somehow, they believed that a candle melts not just because of the fire it has carried but also because of life's challenges and sadness that is somehow consuming their life quite faster than they thought. And yet, why is tearless never melts? Every day, tearless walks confidently while taking an endless journey, without any destination at all. Being proud of herself. Though the sun just rises she still has a fire in her, roaming around her neighborhood or even far away from the castle and other candles that see her get curious.
“It’s early in the morning, why don’t you put out your fire?” a candle shouted. She just smiled and told them that it was fine since she never melts anyway. All day long she carries a light with her, morning, noon, and at night. Believing she’s prepared even if a disaster unexpectedly comes.
"She's boasting about her fire." the other candle sadly uttered.
"I hope she'll melt." the envious candle wished.
But one day, a great wind came. It was the first unusual situation she ever faced. Tearless hides under the trees but it’s still blowing the fire in her, then she hides behind the woods and yet still the great wind continues as if it’s following her. She’s starting to feel afraid. Tearless cannot find a safer place, she doesn’t know what will happen if the fire is blown out by the wind.
The breeze continuously makes the leaves dance, and the mere fire tearless carries with her is now trembling so much as her knees. Then the moment that she had always been fearing happened, the fire went out. She didn’t know what to do, it was the first time she felt that she wasn’t the luminous candle anymore. Tearless is left puzzled while the wind is slowly fading.
All she can see is blackness. There was no light around her, she felt helpless and weak. She wanted to cry but fear was much stronger than all else.
“I can just ask for help. They can lend me a little fire” she told herself. But on her way to ask for some help, she noticed that something was wrong with her. Each step got lighter as if drops of water were pouring out from her, but then she assumed that maybe it was just raindrops. So, she keeps on walking, and a moment passes when she suddenly feels like everything around her is getting taller and bigger. Although she isn’t supposed to check on herself, she still does and just finds out that there is something wrong.
“I am melting!” she exclaimed. The shock was followed by heaviness, she couldn't believe what was going on with her. Tearless had seen her weakness and wanted to ask for help courageously but she was immediately swallowed by pride. She was bottled of confidence but now it is spilled on the ground.
Then is now drowning in pride. After all the boasting she showed them, she cannot ask for a small favor from them.
So, she just hid under the tree, without any hope left in her, and still wondered why she was melting after the fire was out.
In a short period, while enduring the sorrow, she heard loud giggles coming near her location, the other candles were happy enjoying the wind, swaying their bodies left and right like they were used to it even without a big fire above them, they were happy. However, tearless is still quiet and just letting herself melt but as they get closer, the joyous candle sees her. No matter how desireful she is, to hide, tearless failed. "What happened? Are you okay?” the other candle asked. She didn’t say anything, all she could feel was embarrassment like she’d prefer to melt instantly than to be seen by the crowd for her weakness which is so different from what others have experienced.
“I’m okay…Hmm... Nothing to be worried” she nervously explained and forced a smile. They knew Tearless was suffering. Without any hesitation, the other candle still has a fire with her and takes up the courage to give Tearless a small spark that brings back the fire in her, little by little. Until she became the brightest candle again.
“You’ll be okay.” A candle said. They joined tearless under the tree and every time the wind blew her fire they’d be there for a rescue. Tearless loved the company she encountered and slowly regained the strength and confidence she lost.
Explosion
When I was born, my ears busted,
I listened to music as loud as it can go,
My ears could not take the sound, so they just bust.
I do not have to worry about that anymore,
I am deaf, I cannot hear the combustion
But I can feel it in my heart and soul.
The heat of the spontaneous combustion,
Burning flames that spread and increase,
The sparks of the deafening explosions,
Creating a chaotic scene.
I feel the heat of the fire,
I can feel it in my veins,
The soundless combustion,
Making me numb with pain.
I try to block it out,
But it still lingers on,
The silent combustion,
That will never be gone.
I may not be able to hear it,
But I can feel its power,
The silent combustion,
That will forever tower.
Chronic
There are times I wish I could forget what it felt like to be whole. To be pain-free, light, unburdened by disease, discomfort, and the prison of a failing body.
If I could forget, then maybe I could be content with the ruins of my temple now. Appreciate the mysteries that come with age and imperfection.
But I remember wind in my hair from running through woods and the sweet ache of biking too far, too long, clean sweat washed away in a cool shower.
Now, a walk around the block leaves me tired for a week. Standing through a shower is torture. My brain often feels like it must punch through fog, an exercise in futility.
I can't forget, so I'll forgive my body for not living up to its memory.
I'll find beauty in the moment, smiles and laughter all the more precious for being rare.
They say time heals all wounds. The great Chrono-Healer. How ironic, then, for my pain to be chronic.
April 11th
Something happened that morning
That left a child forever scarred
A man's win, a child's loss
The family demanding answers
Her family thought she ran away
Until knowing the dreaded truth
The child is back home and safe
But in her heart, she's not here
Her innocence taken away too soon
The pain that sets in is far too deep
The child is gone, but her spirit still lives on
To tell the story of her misery and hurt
That will be remembered forever more.
The morning of her loss will never be forgotten.