Tag Archives: inspire

When Love Spirals…

When love spirals, a feeling of being slighted kicks in and resentment follows. That used to be the flow of things, but something about that doesn’t feel quite right anymore. Feeling hurt, feeling slighted somehow doesn’t compliment the spiritually evolving consciousness. For however much we want to just withdraw and forget about the whole relationship, or the beginning of one, there lies that bit of conscience, that intuition whispering it’s not the answer, this is not the end. That despite the hurt or the slight we feel, perhaps it is best to stand aside and let love run its course. Because love is understanding; it is equipped with self-healing properties that, if we trust enough, will mend what is pierced, what is broken. Perhaps, it will heal the person whose pain trickles over to us. If we don’t give in and simply allow love in, maybe there’s a chance for survival… to soar instead of spiraling down.

your love
i’ve searched
beneath the murky
waters where i once
found gold. a nugget,
like early settlers
whose trace of
opportunity lies
in a motherlode.
cake, not. but gold.
necklace, gold. watch.
solid gold time never
runs out, never
depletes, how infinite
energy sometimes when
there is enough light
reserved in one
vessel, a light bulb,
you on a lamp i want
to turn on if you’ll
only let me twist
the switch

mrg©poem 3/27/17

your quiet attitude

your quiet attitude
and your mind’s will
both humble and amaze
simultaneously, each day,
as you forge beyond
exhaustion without means
of expressing how you
battle demons, wear many
armors of sacrifices
beaten, dented in pursuit
of integrity, the brave
on your face you wear for
my sake, for my sisters—
future warriors
you make of us all

poem©mrg 3/8/17

Happy International Women’s Day

When Someone Leaves…

The details of our lives need observation. These are the sentences, after all, which can rightfully say what’s going on in our lives. To hope is one thing, but to hope when we see the rightful answers before us is another thing. And the answer probably lies in acceptance of a situation, why certain people are uprooted from our lives and why others stay. It’s a gift either way. The idea that someone stayed means that there are lessons still to impart while someone leaving may mean that they have done exactly what it is they are meant to do in our lives. The latter is bittersweet, but the more I agonize over the why, the more I’m left to flounder in the neutrality of the non-answer. It is what it is. They left, uprooted. They are not meant to stay. And if this is God’s answer, then I’ve stubbornly questioned it to its demise. The silence is humbling, He is patient with me. And if I am to respond to this silence that slightly stings when I wonder about that person, I must respond with compassion. Extend the greatest patience upon myself… do not recoil, do not withdraw from the world. Simply accept the currents and motions of the rivers and follow it. There’s no use going against it.

the torment you leave
behind rattles my skin.
nervousness, anxiety
creeps into every crevice
denying me tranquility
which i have sought long
before you arrived and
monopolized my mind;
but you leave me without
trace to find even the
subtlest sound your voice
have teased me out away
from my hiding. and now
that i have shown my face,
revealed all my cards…
you throw down so easily
as though i’m a bet
not worth gambling for

poem©mrg 2/20.17

the light bestowed

the light bestowed,
the enormous responsibility—
God in His iridescence
communes with us,
closer than we perceive.
He is in every petal
of each edible flower;
He exists in the pleasing
disagreement between
sweet and salt upon
tongues… the granules
of sugar underneath fingertips,
occasionally, sweep across
stainless steel tables
in a race with the clock
against temperamental chocolate—
what cocoa i manipulate
from your agitated crystals,
only God knows…
only God knows…

poem©mrg 10/19/16

Note: My ode to pastry where kitchen life really began; where no one told me chocolate wasn’t the only one temperamental, but the French chef who tempered it. A rude awakening no doubt, but all good. Plenty of lesson there. Been revisiting some old poems. Wrote this one about a year ago. Didn’t realize until now why I had written it because entering it now feels a lot like letting go. So be it… only God knows a whole lot of these “goings-on.”

Perhaps, There is Purpose

There’s a purpose for everything, that much I know. A colleague shared his story with me yesterday. He studied architecture in college and was suspended for six months for defending a cause he believed in. He and numerous others were suspended for their rebellious acts. He was on his last year of architectural studies when it all happened. He remembered his mother’s disappointment and it was then he decided to visit his brother in America to distance himself from everything. It would only be a break, but it was at this point he met his future wife and never finished his curriculum. I look at him tearing into leaves and layering it with tomato slices… could he have been the next Gaudi, could he have been the next Frank Lloyd Wright?

Before my colleague revealed all this, my own path, and what I walked away from, crossed my mind: a master’s/Ph.D. program in literature. Of course I would’ve been settled taking this route, but a life in academia wouldn’t have necessarily allowed me to experience life. Would I bare witness to the human condition sitting up at the library of a major institution down south? It weighed on me heavily between choosing to commit myself to a respectable title versus drifting into a life of unpredictability in order to write what I needed to write. Two roads diverged…. In the end, I chose the latter. It’s been rocky, I admit, going from the high of studying Shakespeare, Faulkner and Toni Morrison to being overlooked as some shmuck in kitchen robes. To study and practice the art of writing everyday and still be mistaken for someone uneducated, only good with a knife. To not be taken seriously because I don’t possess a title before my name. And the only title I’ve really ever wanted was/is writer. A conscious one, a kind one, a compassionate one. Writer. To me it is a word bequeathed with the heft of a higher calling which I’ve only chipped at in mere fractions. Introducing the work to the world has been especially difficult, teetering back in forth between being good and not being good enough. No one will understand the path I took, but I’m hoping God understands. As long as He understands, nothing really matters.

I am thinking about everything today and how I believe we are where we’re supposed to be. The lives we walked away from, what we left unaccomplished or what we chose not to do despite the predictability of a financially stable path ahead of us, perhaps this is what is meant to be. Because even if the reasons are not quite pronounced, there is purpose. For my colleague, it is to survive a life away from his rebellious and almost political life with the love of his life who he raises two children with. As for me, perhaps it is written in the words, in all the poems and stories I’ve written. One day, perhaps, someone will take a look at the words I’ve written and judge me according to my thoughts, actions and the kind of writer I aspire to be in this lifetime. This is purpose. This is what is meant for me.

(What about you? What is meant for you?)

in the title i pursue,
perhaps, shames me and you
no matter what i do
how much i raise the moon
for you; in your touch
are places i left behind,
rightfully abandoned…
to survive myself beyond
the aristocracy full of
doubts and inconsideration—
i am only meant for one
so i choose you

poem©mrg 1/16/17