Like the Rain

It has been three weeks since I became part of the toll road behind our home. Three weeks since I kept food down, three weeks since I kept my sanity, three weeks since I have been to work, and still I lay here on the bed feet in the air listening to the rain fall against the trees in the distance.

Sometimes I wish we could sink into our surroundings and make them apart of us. I wish I were like the world beyond these walls. I wish I was more like the rain. I envy the way it can fall gently on Aaron’s face on a moonlight stroll along the beach or beat against the ground. I wish I was able to fall as hard as I want to and gently gather myself again. I wish I could flow free from the grounds where I have fallen and glide through the rivers and streams of the mountains. I wish I could become part of the mountains springing new life by the beams of the sun’s light. I want to be the water that feeds the fields in the distance along my journey to the sea.

I want to flow to the sea and crash against its furry without bruising. I want to become part of its power. I wish to surf amongst the top of each wave on my way to a new journey. I wish to know that no matter what happened, I could always flow to the sea and make my way back to the heavens. I start to ask myself what that would be like.

‘What if I were the rain,’ I think. ‘What if I had no fear? What if I could fall to the ground and find peace in the end? What if I could become anything I wanted to be? What if I could tell my children that I was afraid of nothing? What if I had the courage to fall through the lightning in the eye of the storm and still find beauty at the end?’

‘I want to be like the rain,’ I tell myself as I lay here clenching my side in pain. I roll around the bed looking for a comfortable position to rest in. I cry with each wrong turn. I want the pain to stop. I am thirsty. I want to eat and not throw up. I know in the back of my heart that you will not be called home till it is your time but in this pain ridden state, I pray that my time clock will stop ticking at any moment. I know it is wrong to think this way, but I am constantly sick. It is one thing to take time off of work, but when will I get time off of Endometriosis. Sick days no longer mean sick days, now they mean cannot function days. A sick day is a good day; it means all you do is vomit. Today, I roll around in agony unable to digest soft foods like yogurt and Jell-O, but on a sick day, I get up, I go to work, I function. Beyond all the pain, on a sick day, I can still do the things I need to do aware of the exits, restrooms, and accessibility.

I want to hide beneath these blankets and never come out. I want to sleep. I want my mind to turn off and give me a few moments of peace. Instead, I pray that this will soon end. I think about the debilitating pain I feel. I think about how much I hate this. I think about how much I am missing at this moment. I think about all the places in this world I could be other then here.
The pain is excruciating. I cry out yelps and hollers as the pain radiates through me. My body starts to shake. The bed is wet from the buddle of salty; sad tears which have gathered beneath me. I just want this all to end. I just want to be free of this. I scream out in agony. Help me! I feel like my stomach is going to explode at any minute. I imagine Aaron walking in and finding my organs painted across the walls of the bedroom after the blast. I imagine the mess it would make. I imagine that someone would have to wash me off and into the water. I wish to be washed away and free.

Waking up...

I wake up with his arms wrapped around me. My heart beats as if it is going to jump out of my chest. This is the first day to the rest of my life. As I lye here in the morning glow of the sun, crackling through the window, I know there is something out there for me.

I can hear the clamoring of the trees against the window of Aaron's room. I listen as the wind blows through the trees, creating an echo of nature through the apartment. I close my eyes as the wood of the rafter’s creeks and cracks with the change of weather outside. I open my eyes and start to stand trying not to wake him. I slowly move the covers off of my legs and crawl out of bed as he starts to turn in his sleep. I look down, as his eyes open to capture my attention.

“No,” he says, as he looks in my eyes and wraps his hand behind my neck, pulling me down to the bed. “Stay, just a little longer.” I lay my head into the curve of his neck and my lips rest against his chin. The pounding of my heart grows deeper. I fight the urge to say something. I fight to understand how my life fell apart but I can’t make heads or tails of all that has happened. The only thing I know for sure is that Aaron is not only my rock of Gibraltar. but he is also my inspiration. I look up connecting with his eyes as my lips brush against his cheek. “I just want to hold you a little longer,” he says.

How can he want to hold me? How can he still be dedicated to staying by my side after all I have put him through? I want to be like him. I want his strength. I want to be secure in the fact that everything is going to be ok, but I have already lost faith in the possibility, so I lie.

“What do you mean,” I ask, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He softly pulls my head against his chest and says, “I know. I am not going to let anything happen to you.”

Aaron’s belief is amazing. Not because of who he worships, but because of the strength of his convictions. When he says he is not going to let anything happen to me for a quick moment I believe it. He may not be from a comic book, but for all intensive proposes he is my hero. I know this, despite all my efforts to avoid the feelings that are brewing between us; I know that my life would have ended in the blackness, had he not brought me back.

I feel like time is running out. I feel like I can’t get passed this. Every step I take is a delicate one. I was doing so much better despite the last few months of bleeding, or at least that is what I thought until last night. I have taken a few days off for recovery and will return to work on Monday but for the next few days, all I want is to try and forget the last 24 hours. I know that I need to call Samara. I know that I need to let her know what happened. I hesitate, not wanting to move out of Aaron’s arms. I want to stay here looking into his eyes, pretending that he is the fortress built to protect me from the outside world but I know this is not an option. I close my eyes. “I should get up,” I say.

“You should rest,” he replies. “Just lay here and let me hold you. Give in,” he says, “it is ok to just rest.”

I look up at him, and lower myself into him one last time. He leans in and captivates me with his smile. It feels as if there is something pulling me to him and it will not let me go. I stop fighting it. I stop pretending for a moment that this is wrong and enjoy how the security I have been longing for. As we come closer to each other, I can feel his warm breath against my face. I smile as a single tear falls from my right eye. “I..” I gasp, trying to speak, but I am immobilized.

“You love Luis.” He makes the statement loud with his voice cracking. He stands above me and fans he blanket over my shivering body. “I have to get a shower.”

I try to stop him. I try to tell him that he is wrong. I try to tell him that I it’s not Luis I need. It’s him, but he walks out of the room towel in hand.

“Wait,’ I say in a shallow whisper, “it’s not him, it’s you.”

Waking up

I wake up with his arms wrapped around me. My heart beats as if it is going to jump out of my chest. This is the first day to the rest of my life. As I lie here with the morning glow of the sun, crackling through the window, I know there is something out there for me.

I can hear the clamoring of the trees against the window of Aaron's room. I listen as the wind blows through the trees, creating an echo of nature through the apartment. I close my eyes as the wood of the rafters’ creek and crack with the change of weather outside. I open my eyes and start to stand trying not to wake him. I slowly move the covers off of my legs and crawl out of bed as he starts to turn in his sleep. I look down, as his eyes open to capture my attention.

“No,” he says, as he looks in my eyes and wraps his hand behind my neck, pulling me down to the bed. “Stay, just a little longer.” I lay my head into the curve of his neck and my lips rest against his chin. The pounding of my heart grows deeper. I fight the urge to say something. I fight to understand how my life fell apart, but I can’t make heads or tails of all that has happened. The only thing I know for sure is that Aaron is not only my rock of Gibraltar, but he is also my inspiration. I look up connecting with his eyes as my lips brush against his cheek. My heart aches as time stands still, like a picture capturing my lips upon him and my heart frozen in time.“I just want to hold you a little longer,” he says staring straight in my eyes locking me to his side.

Words Unsaid

All the words that went unsaid before it was to late are building in my soul. All the hope I wished we had shared. All the times I wish I could go back and all the moments that went away like a breeze on the shore. They are all here. Compiling like a fragile child's game of building blocks getting higher and higher in my chest. It is a feeling like I am going to explode, and I am afraid.

Every time I think of what was and what was lost I want to burst out in a river of madness that engulfs me. I want to lay in the shadows of a dark room and do nothing at all. I want to just sit and pretend I was still with him.

Words have a way of being a sharp double edged word that can crash into you both. They are fragile and powerful. They are the simple characters that can never be taken back. How ironic is it then, that the lack of words can be just as damaging. All the things you wanted to say that never found a way to be voiced sit there stirring a place inside of you that you wish could be washed away with the flow of your tears. All the little words that as simple as can be, were not simple enough for you to say. All the times you felt love in the world, yet you could not voice it in a word consisting of only 4 letters.

Words unsaid can wreck havoc on the emotions, the lives, and the heads of those they never escaped from. Words unsaid are not what they once were. They are equivalent to rose bushes that although once beautiful, are not covered in thrones. Thorns that prick the person who once planted the beautiful creatures to come to life.

So how do you go back? How do you turn back time and stop the thrones from pricking all of your skin? How do you live once again in their beauty? These are the questions we can not answer. After all the words were never said to ask. Maybe we were scared of the sound of the words. Is it possible that hearing them out loud would have made us even more vulnerable then we originally were? Is it possible that the vocalization of these words would have only made our emotions reality to someone else other then ourselves?

I Smile

With his arms around me I lay in the calm of my room knowing that I am safe. With a look in his eyes I am given the notion that if for only a moment all is right with the world once again. With a smile on his cheek I know his child-like actions are like a stream which call to your heart breaking your mind away from the analytical world in which we live.

Thank you. Two simple words that crash against the wind of your lips like an uncalled upon accusation. Innocent as a small child the words mean nothing and everything at the same time and what you read into them may not be what they were meant to say.
Who says thank you anymore? I hear the words and look for the subtext. What does it mean? Why would you say it? Where did that come from? Like the shot that rang out in the middle of the night the simplest words we teach to our young right from the begining, now with no discourse to define. Thank you.

They are the words that mean what they say. They accompany a smile and a twinkle of the eye. They are the words that let you know he appreciates you and little did you know that was a good thing. They are the words that tell you that everything is going to be OK.
I never say these words to him. I never tell him that he is needed or that I appreciate the simple things he does for me. I never tell him that i need him although I am sure that he knows I do. I never tell him that I want his touch and that I glow when his embrace is wrapping itself around me. I just smile.

In the morning light when I long to have just one more second of rest I smile. In twilight of the stars when I need to put my mind at ease I smile. In the middle of the day when I am at the end of my means and all is closing in on me I smile. It is my thank you.... My smile.
I smile because I am safe. I smile because I am secure. In his arms and in his actions I know that all is OK, if for only a moment. I smile because I can close my eyes and see his laughter. I smile because he looks like a fool in my head dancing around like and idiot when no one is watching. I smile because I can hear the assurance of his chuckle through the wind, but most importantly I smile.
It has been such a long time since I have smiled. For a time I think I may have forgotten how. It has been such a long time since I woke up in the morning and felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of me because my focus is on happiness and for a short time nothing else mattered.

They see me smile and ask me why I can not stop from grinning. My friends, my family, my coworkers. No one knows the truth and no one will until I can come to a conclusion as to why this is happening to me. Why I can not control this feeling that invades me. Why this simple smile is making me so crazy. I feel guilty. It has been so long since I have had this smile upon my face I forgot how good it felt. I feel guilty as if I am doing something wrong because I want others to wear this smile if only for a day, but I refuse to give it away. I feel guilty, lost, out of control, as if I do not know how to act. Maybe I do not want to.

It is the realization that everything simple is everything important in my life. It is the realization that everything I have ran from for so long is so simple and so refined that I leap into its presence with a smile yet again. Out of the wilderness into the jungle I know not what I want and not what I yearn to have but I know what is here and what is now and I .... SMILE.

The Meaning of Angelica Regime

What is Angelica Regime?


The meaning of an Angelica Regime comes from the idea that there is a regime or force of angels surrounding us everyday. The Latin root regime can be defined to mean a system that confers authority. The word regime is used to describe persistent and organized cooperation among a community, which has a set of shared objectives, expectations and intentions.
In the Angelica Regime the community is one of angels: a force sent to earth by God for a multitude of purposes, including supporting God’s miracles, conveying God’s messages, and protecting God’s citizens.

While there is no mention to the number of angels in God’s regime, Hebrews 12:22 tells us that they are innumerable, and described in the scriptures as being able to appear to man in a number of physical forms, including a ball of fire, a flash of light, and a winged messenger.
So why would such a powerful being appear to us simple humans in everyday life? Although described in Psalms 103:20 as “Mighty One,” angels are not all-powerful. The scriptures tell us that only God is omnipotent, and has infinite power. Angels receive their abilities from God, and are able to work only through him. According to the book of Jude, angels require assistance from the Lord when they are in conflict.

Although the belief in angels cannot be traced back to anyone specific time or religion, historical studies indicate that the first recognition of angels or celestial beings came from a belief in Animism. The term animism is derived from the Latin word anemia meaning breath or soul. The belief of animism is probably one of man's oldest beliefs, with its origin most likely dating to the Paleolithic age. From its earliest beginnings it was a believed that a soul or spirit existed in every object, even if it was inanimate. Such spirits became known as fairies, elves, divas, and spirits of nature and elements.

Although the religion of Animism was founded in prehistoric philosophies, it has to this day developed a following and still survives in various sectors of western civilization.
It is argued that the belief of Animism sparked the first acknowledgement of angels. As societies developed a greater need to feel a strong presence of a higher being to watch over and protect them, they started to turn to gods, goddesses, ancestors, and great spiritual entities. Like the modern spirit of angels, these spiritual entities were charged to maintain harmony in the universe and to convey messages between heaven and earth. In the polytheistic religions, such as those of the ancient Greeks, the people worshiped these spirits and relied on them for security.

The Greeks also believed that there were guardian spirits assigned to watch over each of us. The Roman’s called them their geniuses. Angels as we acknowledge them in western Christian society, however, had their origins in the ancient Persian religion of Zoroastrianism during the Persian empires of 559 BC to 651 AC. Zoroastrianism was one of the most influential and powerful religions during the time of Jesus Christ. Although still practiced today, Christianity is still notorious for sparking our modern beliefs in angels. Christianity embraced the belief in angels like no religion before it––mostly due to the combination of historical belief and the support that the teachings of Christ gave to their existence.

Christianity was the first religion to openly acknowledge angels. For many this acknowledgement confirmed what centuries before had assumed. When Christ spoke of the angels by name, the belief in angels went from philosophy to fact. Still Christianity is not the only modern religion to embrace the belief in angels. In fact Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam all have their angels and angelic hierarchy.

Angels in this regime however, may be sent to communicate with us in an effort to help us through a trying time. They are messengers of the Lord, and appear to us in our times of need. It is this protective and communicative nature of the angels, which make them such a forceful regime. It is this same nature however, that often tests our faith and beliefs when confronted with the question; Do Angels Truly Exist?

For many it is a question of faith, for others one of science. But for those who have studied the Angelica Regime, it is a question that can only be answered through the miracles and messages that angels provided to those here on earth. In a time when we are living in a world at war over religions, it is often hard to realize that almost every religion recognizes the existence of spiritual beings that perform miracles. Yet angels have become popular culture, represented not by their works but rather by pendants, sculptures, ceramics, and heirlooms holding sentimental value over religious affiliation.

We live in a society, which has been saturated with trials and tribulations; some social and some political. Everyday we are influenced by the stresses of relationships, family, education, employment and government, not to mention, concerns over domestic and international safety. It is no wonder then, that our popular culture, is to rely on such items as a source of inspiration or a symbol of goodwill, but the angels that surround us everyday are more then figurines––they are miraculous workers of God that have touched many loves through the years, some through simple acts of guidance, others through unexplainable and sometimes unimaginable intervention.

Through a Dead Man's Eyes

As I looked into his eyes, my heart bleed with sorrow and the rushing waters of my eyes ran with joy. The sorrow is because I knew it was his time. With every gasp of breath he took, it was one more step along the golden path. The joy was thinking, 'if only I could have seen what he saw.'

In only a moment, his whole world would change; from streets of cement to streets of gold, from gutters to rushing waters, to wire fencing to gates of pearls. With 12 angels guarding the gates to heaven, it was a miraculous and glorious radiance consumed through his eyes that anyone would have died to see.

If I could give the world a gift, I would give the gift of seeing the new world through a dead man's eyes. A world void of hunger, pain, suffering, and even sorrow.

Trapped

I see,
But I can not be seen.
I look out,
But no one looks in.
I am hollow, in understandable, and insignificant.

My mind wonders,
My heart pounds,
I am TRAPPED!

In my own little world,
I live, breathe, and wonder,
In my own little world,
I am what you have made me.

Yet in yours,
I am nothing!