The sun
may call in sick sometime,

Gray clouds
may permeate for days without a sign,

But rain
or shine,

The skies
though in great heights apart
remain faithful to seas–keepers of wishes and memories–
all the time.

Knitted words
may sound obtuse,

Stringing notes
may be low and loose,

But be
in FM or iTunes, an old song will play,

And eyes
will end in haze
for an old feeling
about to resurface.

Photographs, letters
may end up in pieces,

Promises, vows
may be broken,

But to
memories all real are bound and committed,

They are
the dwellers of pillows
and old songs
keepers listen.

Featured Song: Old Songs,
by Barry Manilow

(Courtesy of YouTube)

https://youtube/zDvLGQJB54E

I can never be somebody–not even a germ.

I can always be under anybody–unworthy of nobody.

A dust can bury me alive.

A gasp can blow me and strip me of dignity.

Casper can question my character.

Poltergeist can mock my existence.

A tear can wash away my dreams.

A frown can bring me to my knees.

Fear is. . .

. . . the smith of our Pinocchio lives perfect-fitting caskets to our own demise.

. . . the root of all hate.

The father of all evils. . .

The mother of all falterings. . .

. . . making peace impossible. . .

. . . making love fail. . .

. . . the worst disease of our minds;

. . . the very norm in the wilds.

Fear is the only enemy of mankind.

World could have been a better place,

If only fear didn’t get in our ways.

It has been three months since my last journal. I have not been returning likes and comments for no justified reason other than battling with depression. Perhaps the death of two world beloved celebrities namely Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain have resonated in me that I get stuck in deep solitude while missing due reciprocity to all of you. Forgive me.

Thus, reflecting on Bourdain’s and Spade’s passing, I am in dire to find ways to get through my own battle from this medical condition, which I once belittle. The good news is now I understand that depression is not mere sadness.

Because folks, going through this debilitating condition since last December, I experience falterings, twisting every goodness I know of myself. It’s tough. But while I struggle, I pray harder than hardest and continue to reflect.

On Spade, perhaps she died regretting selling her brand in millions of dollars to Nordstrom. She tried to create a new line named Kate Valentine, but maybe she couldn’t wait for its success. I guess knowing her self-named collections are now valued in billions and owned by Coach, Spade’s depression was warranted.

On Bourdain, from being a trailblazing traveler (according to Travel Channel) to a rock star chef and storyteller (on TV and published books) who touched many lives and cultures, Bourdain was phenomenal!

Sadly, following his death, allegations that he was an alcoholic have surfaced. And some even believed he was broken hearted too (separated and apparently on not-so-mutual relationship with a younger Italian actress).

But as a fan, I only noticed the dramatic change in Bourdain’s aura after changing network channel (and work assignments). He started with the Travel Channel for his documentary No Reservation; and considered a career advancement as he joined CNN for a more profound documentary (an Emmy awardee), Parts Unknown. I was thinking the pressures of success and continued success were too much for Bourdain. Regardless, none of his inner circle saw his suicide coming (perhaps everyone was blind sided). Global communities mourned.

And as I try to connect the dots with a little hope that I still can overcome this, I see the common denominator I share with Spade and Bourdain, which is either the estrangement of dreams or annihilation of hope, or both when depressed. For what is worse than living in absence hope and depriving ourselves of dreaming? It’s devastating.

At first, I had a hard time reflecting since Bourdain and Spade were very successful–and I have nothing to be proud of; I have so much to be soured and bitter. I only have this passion to make me happy. But unfortunately, even from this—depression has been pulling me away.

Before, I can write poems instantaneously. But now, I have to scour my thoughts and playlist to come up with a poem. And for the first time in my life, I fear losing this passion to write.

Before, I can read post with fast scanning eyes, like like a bot, and comment as if I am close to Dalai Lama. But now, I fear, I am not welcome to any sites and posts, thinking I am a liability to many; and isolation is my only recourse. I cry in silence for the guilt of abandoning my WordPress friends: They are all nice people–I know. I cry for not being there for anybody; as I am not even here for myself.

So, where do I go from here? Where to? I honestly don’t know. But I am fighting like hell. I rely on exercise and prayers. I have out grown my love for music, which I know is a great therapy too. I even distant myself from everybody even to families and friends. I have been in almost total isolation for months; and I have no explanation. I pray for healing and forgiveness.

Thank you for bearing with me. To God be always all the glory.

Warmest Aloha to y’all.

From the baby blue skies

to indigo seas;

From the indigo seas

to vanilla sands;

From the vanilla sands

to four nude feet walking together,

And two bare hands

are side by side,

As hopeful spirits immerse

in a journey for two—

Heaven

comes to life.

It takes sets of eyes

to see joy.

It takes hearts throbbing for each other

to find happiness.

Featured Song:

All of My Life

Vocals by Diana Ross

Written by Irving Berlin

1973 (Wikipedia)

Video courtesy of YouTube

https://youtube/9eR8b0jlMNE

. . . is a book

Written day and night

With a pen that throbs light

And an ink mirrored by eyes.

In joys and cries,

Write

And make it right.

Every chapter must be scribed

Legibly with might.

Though time is the antagonist not in sight

Blunt and crude, sigh

Burning all the pages, sigh.

Avid Reader with no face, smile

Is above the sky–

Hi!