Beautiful Honesty

The meaning of Naomi, in Japanese, is Beautiful Honesty. In Hebrew, it means Beautiful and delightful. That's about right.

For me, Naomi means a true friend. A woman who honors me by calling me her friend. To be, Naomi means real and pure love, joy, and wonderment.

I met her years ago while living in DC, she was by far the best part of that place for me. And when I think of my time there, I think of her.

She is pure magic. To be around her is to be near this flame or energy. This being of natural beauty. Someone who was born with something very special.

The last time I saw her was at her wedding almost 2 years ago now- wow 2 years already. I cried the whole time during her ceremony, because I knew that not only had she found love, real love, but that the person looking at her knew just how special she was- and must have felt very special being in the light of her love, always.

As years go by, we talk less and less. That is just how it goes with distance and time. But we do stay in touch and promise to see one another before the year is out. A promise I very much hope that we do keep (I'm in if you are).

I write this as I think of her and begin to think of her talent and practice of yoga. How it is not just something to do but something to be. And I admire that endlessley. She brings this glowing light to those she meets and those she shares this practice with. And now, she opens her heart and her grasp farther by joining this part of the world we call Blog Land.

Not only can you watch her do this- and have her teach you how to do it.....

You can read her words wherever you like, and feel her glow wherever you are.

My dear, my sweet, my darling friend Naomi. I love who you are and who you are becoming, and am thankful everyday that I am invited in for the ride- and- that you have invited us all to share your beautiful world here.... Naomi's Blog

I Rallied

Just back from a wonderful DC trip. I had lived there for about 4 years, and have been back in New York for 3 years now. It's hard to believe it has been that much time. That city is always special in my heart. Any my friends there are doubly special. 

Some friends and I went to the Jon Stewart Rally- and it was the best time. After back surgery this winter, and hell this summer, I needed a restoration to sanity indeed. I snapped some memories. 

I found a new hero in this woman.

I read some great things.

I saw people defy gravity, and federal law.

I saw an artist seeing life and make art out of it.

 

And I saw love.

Sole Mates

For a long time, years, I have taken photographs of feet, toes, and shoes. 

Mine, others, singles, couples. 

Because they get you somewhere. 

To someone.

Take you along with that person.

I decided to make an ongoing installment here of those photographs.

And I made a promise to myself to keep taking them.

Until they take me to where I want to go.

Then I will keep on going.

 Brooklyn Botanicals

Long Island, NY

Love can be fantastic.

Sometimes Love is finding your match. 

Sometimes it means finding your ultimate soul compliment. And if you are lucky, Love can be playful, silly, and simple.

I'm not there.

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you' to is now married to someone else.

or if not married, very close.

But i'm still here.

They all think of me fondly, or at least that is what they say and how they cite it when published.

They credit me with showing them what love is and motivated them to do it. What it feels like. And showing them what they never knew they wanted.

But they picked someone else.

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you' to has killed me.

or if not killed, very close.

And i'm still here.

They tell me they remember my eyes. And remember what they looked like when i said 'i love you'. But they don't see them now. 

Those eyes are bloodshot.

And if not yet bloodshot, very close.

They all think sweetly of the girl who loved them dearly. Endlessly. Unending.

But she died of heartbreak.

And now they love someone else.

They talk to her through me. But she isn't here.

She died long ago. She died in central park on the large field looking at you while you slept. She died the day before you left. She died on an airplane heading east knowing she would never see you again. She died sleeping next to a stranger when you kicked her out of your house that night. She died when you came home on a coke binge calling her a cunt. She died after you told her she deserved everything her dad did to her, and that she probably liked it. She died when you cheated on her and lied to her face about it. She died crying over the song that played when she taught you how to dance.

She died of heartbreak. 

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you to' is sleeping next to someone else tonight. In the morning they will make love to her using the tricks i taught them without thinking of me at all. Then they will make her coffee and buy her flowers i once said i liked. 

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you to' is still in touch with me.

But she isn't me anymore. That girl is long gone. And they don't realize that they are talking to a ghost. 

That they can walk right through me, right past me, pass me by. 

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you to' is living the way i told them they could. Living the dreams i told them that they could do. 

But they picked someone else to do it with.

They are now living with the inspiration i gave them. Now inspiring someone else.

Everyone i've ever said 'i love you' to is loving someone else. Doing it in the way i told them they could, but doing it better to someone else. 

The Beginning.

I wrote this story before I could write it down. I wrote it in my head in my heart in my memory. I wrote this on park benches on gum wrappers on the soles of my shoes. I wrote this on the subway on metros on strolls on Wednesday afternoons. I wrote this story in the grass, surrounded by barefooted hippies. I wrote this story in my favorite jeans in the mall. I wrote this story.

            I told myself to remember to take mental notes and tie ribbons around my toes. I told myself to never forget my story since so much of it has already been lost.

            I wrote this story years ago in braces. I wrote this story on pot mescaline opium morphine shrooms and ecstasy. I wrote this in the bathroom in the hospital in the woods. I wrote this story for me. I wrote it to prove that I was here that my life happened and that I am real. I wrote this story for you. For you to read and remember me. To remember that you once read something that made you feel because you knew I couldn't. I wrote this story for us. For you and me and to take together on road trips with your family. I wrote this to be read at campfires, funerals, and graduations. I wrote this to get close to you. To sit in your house, on your bookshelf, in your bag and get passed along to your friends. I wrote this story to be read.

            I wrote this.