The Giddiness of Love's First Glances

Was it not a gentle eye to be sought
where canvas of love's truth is wrought
and in a counted sequence makes
the footsteps' course that hearts do take?
There he comes in swaggerous form
belying confidence through quiet horns;
trumpetting praise in crystalled eye
perceived the harshest in the night
and most at peace by brightest moon
whose rays we mirror in fragile swoons.
For shame do we allow our hearts to feel
the darkest part of night before appeal
in words that quest beyond the sigh,
but not, we pray, receive a nigh.
Alas, walk on 'til gentle speaks
of deeper thoughts that make us weak
without the last begotten phrases
to loves' ever forgotten hazes.

Winter is Come

Summer's breath goes West
As air pushes Eastward still.
Land turns snowy white.

Love as Dark Matter

The ever present enigma of swirling masses twists unforgivingly through the emptiness of the verse, sucking away meaning within the limits of its event horizon. Once inside the borderland, what happens to the self disciplined existence of the present if laws are shattered beyond repair? Spiraling into a chaos of disbelief along with every physical fiber condensing into a singularity of immense proportions and imagination causes enchanting equations of improbability of which dreams are barely conceived. A pulse quickens as the mind numbs when thinking of such unrealistic circumstances, even when the very enigma traverses the expanses of the next frontier.

Isn’t it here now? Aren’t we caught in the hole sucking away all laws already? Love has its entangling web stretching into and out of each soul in indeterminate forms. If caught, the subject of love’s illusion shades every aspect surrounding the victim’s life. All fairness diminishes into the chasm and existence sits back to the emotions swirling around the imaginary boundary between the two spirits caught by the inexplicable magnitude drawing them together; and may the powers that be forbid such numbers to grow beyond a duality. Matter and gravity condensing into a single point presupposing attraction of adoration breaks conditions imposed by the regulations of life, creating an event horizon of peril.

Once created, the brink of love lays seeds forevermore even if disillusionment wipes the slate clear of all colors. The pulse still strengthens when the object is mentioned. The mind still feels when a name is realized. The stomach fills with giddiness when their fragrance appears out of no-where. No amount of hatred overturns what once controlled the essence of a heart’s content. The pull of the hole can never be broken and delicate balances exist ever after --

Leaving even the strongest of will torn asunder by the violent intricacies of love. Herein does my world lie. The shades of day transcending to night, or the colorful dawn of the early morn, bewilder the progression of day to day affairs when others interpose personalities along the way. Several have I encountered, and their vortexes have begun the undeniable draw upon the strings already spoken for. I cannot deny the beauty of that peril, nor the adventurous intrigue they offer even when I cannot answer their unveiled aspirations; of which they suppose are hidden well enough. To what do I give reason for the attraction felt from me to their inner essence? Perhaps that is the question that should be answered, for the black hole I feel must reciprocate in some manner toward their draw, as black matter inevitably balances itself in a verse of indeterminate size.

And thus, I’m left unanswered. The feeling of falling even when claimed persists despite my recollection of the undeniable, if I were attempting to deny. I swirl in a delicate dance of shadows in a universe of light, skirting the event horizons of love’s cunning intent.

Faith

"I will not deny... I will not deny... I will not deny..."

He sat with his eyes closed, legs crossed, and palms together. The room sat barren around him, its cold walls lifting higher than the light of the candle could penetrate. Something about the darkness of the corners gave the sense of infinity within the enclosed space. The chanting continued.

"I know the truth... I know the truth... I know the truth..."

The nameless, robed in a fraying grey suit, remained motionless in the center of the room: arms before him in a closed oval, knees hovering next to the candle whose body never changed or dripped, face as serene as the limitless ceiling. His demeanor, aside from the persistence of his sayings, emitted power of sorts. Yet, the power was hampered by his will, clung near his body only and wound tightly to a specific purpose.

"There is only now... There is only now... There is only now..."

Powerful words sheered through the emptiness and the flame danced a little more wildly. The man pulled apart his hands and instantly the flame ceased its attempted flickering. The subdued light pierced cleanly to his face, brightening the pale features immune to time. He opened his eyes: pale grey rimmed with whitest white. The air grew colder.

"No one can stop life... No one can stop life... No one can stop life..."

The flame before him grew in intensity, illuminating every inch of the room from floor to ceiling. The depth of the darkness vanished in but a moment and the grey walls became yellow. A smile creased his gentle face.

"Love is the Ether... Love is the Ether... Love is the Ether..."

The light changed to red and the warmth of his truth spilled forth from his body. All the remaining chill from before vanished and the walls became transparent, revealing the endless expanses of the universe in twinkling eyes eons away from his fortitude of solitude. With his essence, he pushed the warmth into the vastness, the emptiness, the loneliness until all he mustered dissipated into the cold, dark, solid room again.

His smile waned with tiredness. The pressure of darkness closed in around him again. He closed his eyes. The flame came back to life with struggling breaths of its own.

"I will not deny... I will not deny... I will not deny..."

Elements of Choices

Sunless setting in the west
Darkened skies awakening eastward
Reddened southern ways shout
To dirty northern stubbornness,
Of which chanting strengthens
Tears dropping from ocean's heart
Allowing wind's calloused sigh to
Warp the fiery passion searing
Landscapes of the Earth.

My Earth is mountainous struggles,
trembling beneath the watery hearts
of discontinuous aspirations
hoping for a reviving breath.
Circles of circles, three by three...
Till next moment of tremulous steps
the awakening enlivens my lips
to kiss hello, goodbye, to myself.

Finding an End

I wish the end was as clear as a novel where turning a page proves the finality of a period. Unfortunately, life doesn't grant such simplicity. A candle's flame, dancing in fickle illumination and warmth, can disappear at any moment and suddenly never work again. Even popular television shows aren't guaranteed a solidified ending.

What about things that really matter then?

Life itself is too deep to really try to find an ending. Who truly knows when life ends? Sure, the beating of a heart and intake of breath are classic symbols of sustained living. Neurons firing in the brain, still causing the eyes to take in the very last images of the world, is possibly a better scientific marker of life. Even so, no-one can logically determine what happens to our experience after our bodies die (if there even is an experience of 'living' after death...). This isn't what concerns me, though. This topic is far to philosophical for me to tackle.

The end I'm finding is a chapter of my life. I feel it coming. I understand the significance. I notice the symbols swirling around in mystical illusions so near yet buried from my perception. This chapter has no pages. There are no words describing the moving of time and shifting of my world. Only the arbitrary emotions, whimsical and fleeting, carry the weight of this end.

What's ending?

Honestly I don't know. Then what is changing?

Life. I'm understanding my desires on a deeper level day by day. I'm discovering motivation, ambition, and pride. I feel and comprehend a jealousy for freedom I didn't know I had. I know how to be happy, even when I'm not. (The difference for this was a matter of acting and suppressing. Now I truly am happy when I want to be.) I'm harboring a better sense of kinship with my loved ones and finally seeing who truly is friend. But I also feel shifts in relationships because of this. I'm wondering if these tumultuous emotions are playing too deeply when their existence should persist only topically.

I have fear for this type of change. I'm afraid of this ending, of this beginning. The steps that come are heavy... and good... Which pace will I take to get to the next chapter? And with whom do I discuss? My head? Heart? Soul? Or someone entirely different, unbiased, and detached?

I talk to words, and search inside their meaning. I see their intricate worship and fend off my decay. Perhaps I will see something soon in the lyrics of my life. Look forward to it, and help me research.

Beautiful Reverie

Awaking to a world of illusion:

The sky shimmers to the cadence of hearts: beating in, beating out. The rhythmic procession shatters the gentle clouds hanging below the fading lightness. The sun hangs ominously bright at zenith, the moon lithely winks in the eastern darkness. A shimmerfly dances in between the two celestial bodies.

Its wings flitter with the light, spiraling in and out of existence with the waves of light. Purple glimmers and green sparkles appear for the merest of seconds before leaving sight, but the shimmerfly's body hovers peacefully in the sky, gazing down at the empty grasses waving in the zephyr.

The stalks have faded to brown in the dryness of the fall, matching the mood of the air as it mystically swishes through the reeds and sings in a hushed whisper. The words feel familiar, but they don't say anything coherent to languages still spoken. It's a wise tongue, a harsh dialect, and a hidden language, however lost to time and the races. As I listen to the swaying I hear the familiarity and try piecing it together, attempt feeling out the lost words, but my ear keeps me away from the truth.

A hawk squawks nearby, hidden in the shade of the forest trees that rose without notice.

A dog barks down the hallway.

Awaken to the world of truth?

3 Article Synthesis Paper for English Comp Class

On The Outskirts of Society

When does the choice of another have detrimental outcomes to the innocent? When do uncontrollable circumstances take away every personal right? When can one go through the public educational system, receive a degree, and then be prevented from contributing to their society? The answer is simple and disheartening: when the individual is a child brought to America illegally. Immigration is a controversial political subject which neglects mentioning children of illegal immigrants despite the severity of the problem. The inability to pass any sort of comprehensive immigration reform is taking a toll on a large population in America which is just reaching adult-hood. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not the answer needed immediately, but there exists a bill which has been forestalled that can help these innocent children earn citizenship legally. It is called the DREAM Act, and until it passes illegal children will suffer a life of fear, hardship, and inferiority. The social inequalities suffered by undocumented children must be addressed and solved through the passing of effective reformation bills in Congress.

To be illegal has always been referenced as a choice for the persons who hold the title. Child immigrants hold a special place in society due to this negative adjective associated with their status. This creates subjective intolerance which demeans the self-worth and aspirations the child may accrue while living in America. Unfortunately, the outcome of such denigration affects the society as a whole on many levels. Take, for instance, the complaint many Americans denote when arguing about illegal immigration which claims the illegal immigrants steal jobs away from natural born citizens. This very statement is causing a two-fold effect on children coming to America. The first is clearly engendering an attitude towards all illegal individuals that they should not be seeking out jobs that American’s desire. This then forces their search to mediocre work (in comparison to what ‘citizens’ should desire) and opens up opportunities in the janitorial, fast-food, and manual labor fields. As an assumption, Americans, who are instilled with the desire to always work upwards toward a better position in life, would never desire these types of work. The second effect directly influences many immigrant children to believe they cannot aspire to anything more than what their parents achieved: manual labor, fast-food work, and/or janitorial employment (as examples). As Thomas Faist points out, “Ethnicity is one of the markers that are often used to slot migrants into certain occupational niches . . . [which then creates] a basis of self-ethnicization [or self-engendering as a way of] typifying themselves as belonging to a particular group” (308). This very concept of self-engendering positions is not solely America’s downfall in social graces, but is a common practice in many Western civilizations.

Germany’s school system is possibly one of the most affective at determining a person’s place in society. This has also caused the German school system to be known as one of the worst systems in regard to immigrant children, and not specifically illegal immigrant children either (Entorf 642). At the age of ten, students are subjected to a test which determines which school a child will go to. The test is administered in German and spans a wide range of fields: science, mathematics, language comprehension, literature, etc. Now imagine immigrating (moving) to another country with your parents and shortly after arriving, having very little time to learn the language properly and assimilate to the educational standards of the school system, a test is given which will determine your place in society. Based on the test scores, the only option available is attending the school which prepares children for manual labor. Is this fair? Is it just to treat citizens who have legally immigrated to the host country in such a manner? Upon further reflection, is it right to even administer such a test to a child of manual labor parents, who were not given a highly advanced level of education because of a test they did poorly on when they were ten years old, who does not have the ability to learn advanced material from their caretakers? Understandably, Germany has a different view towards a life’s position than America does; for they take pride in the work they do as appose to feeling like there is something better to achieve. American standards would never allow this sort of system to affect its children, would it?

The answer is yes, America would and does allow such a test to exist, though few believe it is in existence. 1982 saw a distinct change in the attitude toward undocumented children in the Plyler v. Doe case which the Supreme Court ruled that “undocumented children are ‘persons’ under the Constitution and thus entitled to equal protection under the law according to the 14th amendment” (Gonzales 421). Furthermore, Justice Brennan declared that “while education is not a fundamental right, denying K-12 education to undocumented children amounted to creating a ‘lifetime of hardship’ and a permanent ‘underclass’ of individuals” (Gonzales 421). It was very clear that the Supreme Court saw the inequalities upheld by the denotation of a child as illegal in America, but the statute of the 14th Amendment, in essence, gives children of illegal immigrants the coveted rights of naturalized or native citizens. However, the provision only adheres to underage individuals, and when they turn eighteen the rights are demolished because of decisions made many years prior by their caretakers (Gonzales 421). The test then becomes about how well the child can hide his status from the institutions he wishes to attend. This is where the contradiction comes into play: a child who has been given rights and a free education through secondary schools is then thrust into society with a status that makes his very existence a federal crime.

The Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act can solve this issue and amend the huge oxymoron the United States of America bestows upon an innocent group of people. As it stands, illegal immigrant children are said to have the highest drop out rate of any minority attending high schools in America. Much of the reason behind this is the lack of opportunity once they have graduated. It is better for them to find a job and work hard to secure a minimum standard of living to help support their family. Most of these children do not attempt to get their citizenship status to be legal. The DREAM Act will undoubtedly inspire these individuals by allowing children two options to obtain citizenship legally. One option means further schooling, allotting five years to earn a Bachelors and then enter the workforce. The other option is to go into the military for two years and then apply for citizenship once returning from active duty (“Welcome”). Both of these options allow an individual to prove their merit (Gonzales 421) and therefore strengthen many aspects of America. Such a bill needs to pass through Congress and be enforced immediately. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not a solution feasible in the immediate climate, but the political leaders of a society which appreciates social advancement, equality and the American dream need to protect people whose choices were never considered when subjected to a life of hardship and social inequalities.

It is not enough to simply look at the social issues surrounding undocumented children. Action must be taken to stave off further social inequalities born from misconceptions surrounding this group of innocent individuals. Treating children of illegal immigrants as fugitives of the law or criminals is unfair to their circumstances. Furthermore, if these children decide to live in the United States of America after receiving a free education, it is imperative that they not impede any facet of American society. They should be allowed to contribute financially and socially with their taxes and votes. Government officials need to pass some sort of immigration reform and it is up to their constituents to push them to vote for reform; and if they cannot compromise on any sort of Comprehensive Immigration Reform then their focus must shift to the undocumented children of illegal immigrants. The DREAM Act is a short term solution to the complicated immigration issue.


Works Cited

Entorf, Horst, and Martina Lauk. "Peer Effects, Social Multipliers and Migrants at School: An International Comparison." Journal of Ethnic & Migration Studies 34.4 (2008): 633-654. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Faist, Thomas. "Cultural Diversity and Social Inequalities." Social Research 77.1 (2010): 297-324. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Gonzales, Roberto. "On the Rights of Undocumented Children." Society 46.5 (2009): 419-422. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

“Welcome to the DREAM Act Portal.” DREAM Act Portal. Web. 18 Oct. 2010.

Traveling

Footfalls continue along the corridor, their destinations sought in another time, another place. Minds reel in discontinuous thoughts, concerned with time, worried about the distance, doubting their own intelligence in the subject to which they run. Still they move onward, barely recognizing my presence as I watch and assess the flow of students.

Time keeps ticking on. I remain where I was moments before; but none of the people who've traversed this hallway make the same appearance as I with my computer in lab. They travel as I write.

A Crayon walks by, her green suit falling around her body as the green cone dons her head. Her smile is meek. Her attitude is gentle. She's neither proud nor discouraged to celebrate in the upcoming event. No one judges her, either. Their eyes acknowledge her presence and them continue down the hallway. Some smile and wave, mouthing "how cute."

The purple hatted wizard pulls out of the President's Office, a smile on her face as she leans, mockingly, on her walking stick before quickly zooming past me on her way to class. Her starry cape billows on the heavy air around her: a startling presence to her unsuspecting students.

Death walks by, as oft it does on normal days, with scythe in hand and head turned downward. The shadows around his hood seem ominous and playful. His abnormally dark hand contrasts with the expected white skeletal bones. Silence follows his footsteps as eerily as breath stopping.

Until Tinker-Bell finds her way. She's laughing with her friends, joking about the less fortunate student who was scolded by the teacher. Who knows what class they were in. Who knows what actually happened, or if we would know who the downtrodden student was. Tink's laughter is infectious though. Her wings glitter as she passes under the fluorescent lights. The friends don't look at her, as if saying they envied her willingness to participate in such a celebration.

None stop to chat. None reverse their direction. Time continues ticking even as I write what I see, what I hear. The hallway is abnormally ordinary, even as costumed students get ready for their Holloween Contest.

The Time Traveler

Alone. Thoughts are gone, sight is somewhere else, and the breath of the world has frozen over for but the merest of seconds. The deepest of emotions are alone, lost in neverwhere as if a gentle breeze swept away the foundation of the present. Everything is thus transparent. Nothing is simply true, given the circumstantial evidence surmounting against reality. All that remains are the past interwoven with fiction.

Daydreams surpass the vision in realm space-time, both past and future weaving in gentle patterns. Images of another place, another time, another being emerge superimposed upon what should be. And thoughts are lost, sight is inward, and the breath is submerged and shallow. It's real, and for a moment the dream has surpassed reality and smells, sights, sounds and feelings are overabundant in the mind.

The question, then, is what is truly remembered if the mind could be replayed for a larger audience? Is it the mindless gaze into the air somewhere beyond the envisioner's face? Or is it the beautiful mindscape? Is the dream real for memory? In which case is it reality of its own accord?
'
Thoughts to ponder as more comes.

Finding Yourself in New York City

New York City. It's magic, truly, though the distinct lack of magic provides gentle reassurances it must exist everywhere. You can become lost in New York. Not merely lost among the tangled ways and hidden tunnels and flashing noises surrounding every fiber of this City, but you can truly lose yourself, your existence, your meaning. All of you swallowed up by the permanent fog drowning the spires soaring to heights attained in another time. Hope turns to desperation pacing the tunnels in waves of sardine-packed aluminum vessels, swimming through the blackness of the future. Dreams feel beyond reach with the myriads of cultures swarming around like hornets on their own missions.

This is not the magic of the City.

On the exterior, from the boat wading the waters of converging rivers, the City looks still, calm, peaceful, and beautiful: a facade of aspirations, the image of triumph, one profile of freedom to build whatever the heart desires. Magic! for those who see it for the first time. Statuesque imagery miles away from the truth of the teeming streets. She is alive despite the dead steel and captured glass. The onlooker doesn't know the majestic truth hidden from that elegant distance. Frames can't capture the lively views on the water, where clean scents spray across the bow and bring a smile despite the polluted air. Pictures can't overwhelm the senses surrounding the viewer, even from a distance, of the skyline mounting the shores. No amount of words can truly describe the humbling awe of the City's existence.

And yet, this is every man. It's the magic of an outward landscape of you, and me... of everyone in existence. I wait on the boat, looking idly at these masses stoically surviving in a place that's surprisingly hostile and even more surprisingly friendly. It's magnificent, the mirror New Yorkers refuse to regard.

Once landed, disembarking the protecting distances which fostered such beauty, the mind reels in awakening. It's a shock first-timers know about yet cannot fathom. Life bursts from the darkness in quickened steps, hastily seeking a journey's end somewhere else. Their eyes are distant, unfocused. Their faces terse, annoyed, disappointed or asleep. Rarely do underlying personalities reveal themselves on the streets, but they exist, screaming for companionship in a city built for loners traversing the rows on the way to work. Every so often, an eye might catch in the chaos of 'go-go-going' and a smile might spark that flutter so common to the unexpected. Yet, they move on until a haven is entered, when you can relax the tense body and free the mind of tis growing barriers against the onslaught of noise, pollution, images, and people. Only then are you free to meet. Only then can the truth of the City be revealed. Tourists lose this ability to attach to the city and can experience solely the bustling tragedies of the masses.

Quirky clubs, fine dining, random bakeries, quiet shopping, and the gentler populace are easily attained outside the touristy 'bubbles' within her streets. Sometimes, even New Yorkers can't escape them, those bubbles of easy to get to places. Sometimes, reality can't escape these scenes. Sometimes, the soul gets trapped by Times Square, in that fortitude of mass media blaring down upon the mind. You become lost, entrance by the movement constantly ebbing and flowing... but then you discover the quiet of the upper east side at night and wonder how the hell you got there. You break, spiraling down a tunnel of despair  mirrored by the subway that must be mounted to find the way home. Lost, mysteriously, in a city so easily navigated. The distant bodies feel cold, the shiny railings look infested, the stifling humidity covers your skin.

This is every man. At least once in life, down some street you've taken, I've taken, we all have taken, a turn arrives with detrimental determination. The choices sitting beside you are unfriendly and you forgo asking for their support. Aspirations for your won success feel abandoned in your own chaos of trying to decide which way to go, and perhaps you'll settle into the dingy, overpriced, one bedroom apartment in China Town. Getting to such a low allows one thing.

A reprieve.

Nestled permanently in New York City is a gem, one disturbed only by history, paths, and feet. Woven greenery, quiet minds, and manifesting art populate this sanctuary from the dead minds and loud life. The sun shines brightly across the lawns overlooked by the Castle. The corridor of trees opens to a circle protected by a fountain. The maze rambling through the center ensnares the will of haste. Central Park puts the soul back. it is the soul giving life to what seems so lifeless, where peace is touchable, even when people walk by and the skyline looms overhead. The gentle breezes and hushed voices replace perspective, allowing you to see yourself once more. Quiet surrounded by noise surrounded by the perception of quiet.

Magic exists here, in every footfall, in every turn, in every tree surviving despite the smog. It remains the best place to be lost because you'll always find your way again. No matter which way you turn, you'll find yourself among the trees. The mind quiets and resets, relinquishing stress to strength, turning the tarnished face into a beautifully intricate bark, subtle vines, and a smile from yellow flowers. This serenity of nature's truth touches your own truth, rediscovering in what place you belong: in or out of bubbles manifested on the dirty streets.

This is every man. Interplays of dichotomy present on three levels: exterior, interior, and subconscious. We present the mood of calm, collected motions through life where we drown in the plethora of ways tormenting our steps without the realization of our inner peace where truth will vitalize actions. Society has us focus on two levels, forgetting the third. We are tourists to our own lives, neglecting our park's potential. The City is all three ideals, and more, and can teach us how to balance life with ambition and loneliness, to mold emotions with freedom and necessity, to harmonize industrialized ethics with imperfection and love, to relieve perceived honesty of impressions and denote nature in magical revelations exercised within. It seems like far too much to express in a City already providing a magnitude of museums stocked full of priceless education; but to learn these lessons while vacationing stimulated a hunger to build my own expertise in the balance of New York City.

I've struggled with my truth, and I thought it was thrown in with the interior of my being, my subconscious mixed with the chaos of the streets of my existence. I was lost in New York City until we sat in the park, peaceful in thought and quietly reminiscing about the experiences that brought us somewhere in the middle of Central Park. Now I understand something I care not put into words, something the City helped me find. I want that loneliness associated with  peace in the park: knowing a delicate balance of association to others while remaining myself, having time to be me while walking the streets with others, being free to do as I please and regard my others as bystanders along for the ride. Selfish? Perhaps, but it's been forever without that sense, and it's a desire lodged deep in my psyche, on that I've repressed for so long.

To Notice an End.

The wind blows from western hills, lifting death from the plains overlain by leaves and twisting them gently in the air. Autumn in cyclones invigorate the eyes, coloring the brown earth in hues of golden end. It is all cherished, by every man and woman who steps past their door and waits for the sight to flow around. Change has come, and for the patient and appreciative all the hidden secrets of life are seen in the cascading colors fluttering on the breeze. No limbs can hold tight to that which must be released; and bare are the trees who flourish as they come to rest. Though the leaves have perished, it is known death only takes away the visage of life, beneath which remains the heart and truth of the world that all remains for the next cycle to begin. As the pronounced elegance comes to its season, we see a world of splendor and wait for the whitest to cover this plane. How short it all seems.

The Whisperer

It was almost a tragedy without even realizing the delicate nature of the circumstance. Simply sitting and listening wasn't enough to encompass the support needed for such honesty which poured out in quiet, hushed, and secretive divulgences. All I could do was reiterate what I would normally advise when regarding the magnitude of the presented variables.

His blue eyes, slightly hidden behind his magical darkening glasses, continuously looked around as we spoke, his red rimmed fear piercing the air in discomforted and embarrassed glances. When he feared his words would offend in some manner, his cheeks reddened and his eyes wandered past the window into the parking lot as if he wished the world were as peaceful and simple as parked cars in precisely measured lines. And still I felt at a loss except for a near subtle infusion of experience from drastically different events.

He said with an infusion of betrayal toward himself and acknowledgement of the truth, "I've been having some issues with my sexual orientation. And I guess I've always known that I've been hiding it from the world."

"Well... What's made you want to be honest now?" I asked cautiously.

He smiled sadly. "I had some health issues a few years ago and the doctors gave me another five to seven years of good health. Ever since then... I can't seem to... I've noticed my eye isn't caught by girls anymore. Even if she's got really tight cloths on and a nice body, I'd probably be looking at her boyfriend..." He's not looking into my eyes anymore. "I'm drawn to notice strapping young men like yourself before I'd ever notice a woman..."

Trying to disguise my rolling eyes with the shaking of my head, I looked into the parking lot. The first thought to rush through my head rang out clearly, Shameless! How marvelous age is..., before I could figure out something appropriate to say.

He obliged by continuing. "And since I have so little time, I need to know if it's even worth it to tell everyone that I'm attracted to men." The word gay never came to the table. "My wife wouldn't be supportive, I don't think... And I have four kids who all have families of their own. Nine grandchildren... And I feel like I'd be throwing that all away if I was honest with everyone."

"Discovering how little time we have really does put things into perspective, doesn't it?" He nods, a smile of a different sort gracing his strong features. "I mean... speaking from my own spiritual beliefs, when we discover that we have so little time, we become ourselves and suddenly feel it's that much harder to lie to anyone, especially ourself, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know if it's Buddhist or just something I believe, but it's obviously playing a role in your mind right now." We became silent for a few minutes while my thoughts organized themselves better. He seemed unsettled by the depth of my sudden notion. "And on another note, not that I'm saying you need to do this right now, after all it's completely your decision; but being honest with people really allows a relationship to grow and be more than it was.

"In your circumstance, however... it could be an issue." I could tell he hadn't said everything yet, and I knew probing a little would reveal the whole story.

His entire family was raised to be conservative Christians with an ideal in mind for the future family units they would inevitably create. He, himself, came from the same stock of characters; a slightly abusive father who disciplined freely, driving his son into the military where being of a 'gay' mindset got you in extreme trouble. Something in the way he spoke, though, told me he never hit his children. Ever since his bout in the military, he forced himself to conform to the 'norm' of society. He married thirty-some years ago and immediately started building the ideal family and raised equally conservative Christian children to match his and his wife's beliefs.

"... and I know they'll distance themselves from me if I'm honest with them... I just need to know if it's worth it," he says once more.

"That's something you need to decide. You need to know that deep down your wife will always love you, no matter what happens. If you come out to her and she decides this is abominable, or whatever, no matter how much she tells herself and the world she doesn't love you, it'll always be a lie. You have children together, and that creates a bond on the deepest of levels that not even she can relinquish. And your children... They're living their lives and will, and must, accept you for who you are. What you have to decide is whether or not you want to risk the life you have now to further acknowledge the truth you've discovered." This is as far as I can help, and I know I've reached my limit without pushing this man to destroy his life in order to reveal to the world the truth about diversity.

He's flummoxed, torn between two worlds that have so completely engrained themselves in his psyche. "God has always taught us to love ourselves and each other. I know this and believe it to the end. I also know that my church won't accept me..." Tears fill his eyes, but his strength holds them back.

A thought comes to me. "You know, I have a few friends who are out and very Christian. I don't know if 'very' means anything, but they're Christian. I think I should have them get in touch with you... perhaps they can help out a bit more. I, unfortunately, can't really relate or understand a Christian standpoint with being out cause I'm pagan... But if you want, I'll talk to them?"

"That would be great."

The rest of our chat seems superficial in comparison to the ground that was covered. I offered to talk with him anytime he wants and the casual personality seems to don upon his face finally. Worry and doubt are still hidden in his eyes, in the way he shifts his shoulders and holds his hands on the table between us; but the carefree nature of two guys talking visits his tone. I can't help but feel that half of his relaxed state was due to revealing a secret. A secret that's whispered even in public. A secret that's held from all who would know, until the time is right.

A secret that even I can't truly help, despite the similarities in myself.