A message in a bottle.

Was reading recently about a man who found a message in a bottle that swept up on the shores while he was walking the beach.  At first glance he thought to himself at the odds.  After inspecting the bottle and having “experts” verify the bottle it seemed that the journey of those words was near its end.  

What the experts realized was that around the late 1800’s or early 1900’s someone at sea decided to write a message and placed it inside the bottle and sent it on its way.  Upon learning that the words bottled up inside this bottle had been lost at sea he decided not to open the bottle and read the message.  

All my instincts would have agreed with this man.  Without the voice behind the words, did they still have a meaning?  Matter of fact this man either died lost at sea or through the grace of God, in time.  I find the notion of inking my soul in words, sometimes so personal that they only find the repetitive voice of a conversation for two by one.  My message in a bottle is when I reach inside to lock it away.

Such a romantic expression of faith in life.  To believe in someone, somebody, so much, that which one uses to protect our inner being is exposed to letters placed in front of one another to form words that cohesively enunciate the raw emotion inside.  

Most treasured stories about finding a message in a bottle are about a lost man at sea sending his one love reason to smile.  Reason to understand the bloated heart within him, letting her realize that in his final moments it was she that filled his soul.  A fairy tale.  Well let me tell you, fairy tales are bullshit!

Sure there is drive to find perfection in our lives.  Some go to great length to find love, to scale the alters of life and find the end of the road.  This past weekend I spent some time, actually fuck it, some painful time realizing the weakness that is within all men.  There was a time when boys idolized their fathers and would sneak in to the closet and put on their boots and walk around the house trying to be them.  Then we turned 13 and the eyes within witnessed the scar that will never heal.

We make a conscious effort to be different.  To not be the wrong that we experienced.  King Lear was not a fool because he wore his heart on his sleeve.  He delved into his inner being and within his own insecurities craved to quash them.  This my friends drove him to madness as it will anyone who fears loneliness.

After reading a little bit about the man who found the bottle it was apparent that he was walking with a memory full of gardens bursting with thought.  His demons, not his instincts prevented him from opening and reading the message.  In retrospect, the reason I agree with him keeping that souls words a secret are very apparent to me.  Its so much easier to bottle up your emotions and not let the world see what is insanely apparent in your heart.  

Instead of finishing this off with what my interpretation of those words bottled up would be, I give you my message in a bottle.

“Don’t think me unkind words are hard to find.  They’re only cheques I’ve left unsigned, from the banks of chaos in my mind.”  If Sting could pen such eloquence with the blood of his heart then far be it for me to sign my name on the dotted line.  Somehow in the silence of time the pieces that I found on the floor were stitched together again to find a semblance.  Now that the waves of emotion crash on the sides of my life its simple for me to say that when the day becomes night, never in the wildest of thoughts did I ever believe that the words of love would ever escape me again.  Its good to feel.  Its incredible to hurt.  Its incredible to love.  My madness is the absence.  May these words find you while my heart still beats.

Me.

And when that man who is walking the sands to find his own reason finds my bottle of Jack Daniels with this message, feel free to throw it back in the water.  Because much like the man who’s boots I walked around the house believing I was him would say, “Pa que quieres una botella seca!”  I am not my father.  I understand that now.  I’m not even sure who I am sometimes, no mystery.  While the sea might have carved out the crevices of my being, its the soul who wants to protect me that should open my message in a bottle.

what if?

what if?

what if life found us on the opposite side?

would you run and hide?

would you see it inside of you to scream?

what if?

what if I told you?

would you stop?

would you listen to my soul?

what if?

what if life never had a sunrise?

would you kiss the sky?

would you sit and wait for it?

what if?

what if the rain drops created a puddle?

would you dip your thoughts in them?

would you realize the shadows of the day?

if forever was bloated with splinters.

bursting, living, bleeding, would you scream?

what if?

what if my hands were sweaty?

would you?

would you sit and hold my hand?

would you?

would you hold on till the sun set?

what if?  

A map of the heart.

You can raise a glass of wine to the light to determine its flaws.  You can open a gallon of milk that has been sitting in your refrigerator for God knows how long and smell it to see if its viable.  You can touch your face and feel the edges of the day.  You can see the smoke that escapes your lungs in the morning sun light that sneaks into your dark office and see it fade away.  In these moments of quiet solitude and discovery its easy to see where the heart that one owns is.

It use to be that a man would stop at the local gas station and buy a map to find his way.  He could dissect a map much like a surgeon and find his way to a man’s inner demons.  Carefully and methodical the man would open this map and find the city of destination.  He would simply write a straight line within his thoughts and be on his way.  

Along the way he would not forget where he was coming from, indeed he would not.  What a man would choose is simple, to find reason.  Drive with the quiet of a road underneath his soul, dreaming, realizing that his life would eventually find its destination.  Never bothering to understand the voices that kept him company.

People always stare and find flaws in another’s life.  Where there is a way we find reason to peel layers, never understanding the angst that it creates.  Rationalizing a reason can deliver an empty glass of pain.  Solitude does have a lover.  

Sadly life has found its way into the scars of a well traveled map.  Inappropriate, unbelievable, but yet burnt to a core are the words that fill a memory that stands alone in this room.  To spend a life defending the soul that is within would be wasted in words that spill out of this heart.  

Sure the shirt is wrinkled today.  Even the pants with creases do not understand the heat of an iron find themselves with a fool inside of them.  How do you protect the heart?  You lie!  You tell them the untruth of what your memory remembers.  It’s crazy that the directions to a man’s heart is so simple.  Yet its easier to complicate them with innuendos that are followed by actions.  “I don’t feel no hurt at all, unless you count when teardrops fall.”  

One day they will realize the sunshine and the rain that falls on this trip to madness.  I want!  I need!  Its easy to get lost on this road to nowhere.  It is a struggle to survive,  especially when you feel lucky to be alive.  To live and not feel for so long makes the color of your skin blend with the walls.  Being a father, requires blood to be pumping through your veins.  The skin has to be of a dead animal so as not to bleed.  I find reason in their eyes.  Giving your soul to someone to protect, requires you to understand the sun and the moon.

At nights when I attempt to close my heart and rest for the night, its the memory of insignificance that haunts my dreams.  How easy would it be to believe again.  To be the one!   To dissect the words, the letters. phrases, to just laugh at yourself because the woman you love, makes the silence deafening.  Like a child taking his first step he will fall, he will crawl but he will eventually learn to run and one day he will learn to fly. 

During that drive, when you realize that your lost.  You attempt to sort out your dreams, while watching life through the rearview mirror.  Not sure and confident that the directions to your heart are not on the wrinkled map laying in the back seat.  I will crawl, I will walk, I will run, I will brush away the scrapes on my knees.  This time when I fall, at least I know that my sleeve were rolled up.  

Maybe its just easier to listen to the words than to define them.  The fork in the road doesn’t belong to me.  Just maybe, it was loud and clear but I was too lost with what you never really said.  Why not just say no.  Why not just ask for directions.  

The clouds that guide this road of solitude once in a while smile at me.  I asked for the rain and he gave it to me.  It’s easier when it rains, so much easier to blend the tears with the rain drops.   Quickly before someone asks, “Are you lost?”   No!  I know where I’m came from.  I know where I’m going.  I don’t know how to get there but, fuck it at least the road is embracing me.  And if I ever get there, maybe I can kiss a girl!  Just maybe.