The Alchemist

I am always on the cusp of an answer; always looming over a clue to my next move. I am playing charades with my soul, I would say, fumbling over some gestures that only amount to more guesswork. Seems a bit insane, my unabashed references to my own mental knife fights, flipping through the pages of my dreams like they are comic books hoping to uncover the villain. But I already know the answer to this: I am the villain. Yet, I play hero as well. This is a conundrum that we all attempt to decipher, but some of us are no closer to a solution the day that we die than we were when or if we realized it.

I read The Alchemist yesterday. It is astounding what Coehlo accomplished in such bare, innocent prose. I found myself captivated by each word, drawn to the protagonist in such a hauntingly explicit way that I might have been him, which is probably what the author intended. The boy Santiago, finds himself following the advice of the great king Melchizedek, who tells him to seek his own “Personal Legend”. Santiago develops a sense about his life, following his heart by recognizing the signs that God places along his path. Though he is distracted and disheartened in some events, Santiago always finds himself facing his destiny: he can’t deny it and he can’t walk away. It is inexplicable in such a plain manner that the boy Santiago realizes that he is part of all and all is part of him. In the end, he says that everything is everything else because we originate from one source: The Hand Who Wrote It All.

I find myself in tears many times reading the book, just because it reminded me of something I knew already: I must follow the dreams that I have in my heart. Regardless of anything else, I must walk my path and create for myself the legend that belongs only to me. Essentially, Coehlo is saying we all have our choices to make in our lives, but those choices should reflect what is in our hearts, because we only have the dreams we set in our minds. This reminded me a lot of The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge. In much the same way Don Juan instructs the author to “follow the path of his heart”.

These teachings, these words, echo throughout my soul, instructing me to follow my heart, and I am elated. Each time I think of them I feel God surging through me, rushing through my heart and mind and soul like a roaring river, and I am overflowed. There is a bounty of joy to be had as long as we keep following our dreams. As Coehlo put it, when we want something, the whole universe conspires to help us achieve it. He called it, “beginner’s luck”. However, I never believed in luck. Even though the word is used by me, I have faith in my Creator and his blessings. Since I know of Jesus and his love, I worry not about being lucky.

Read the book. It may change your life.

The Never Man: Forever

The grand madness feeds
gnawing at aspiration, chewing and biting bits
and wasting the rest, greasy pieces of fat
flicked away. So his head bangs a thunderous boom
shaking his mind like a bag of old nickels.
Maybe he's lost, looking for sanctuary in limbo
and there's no grace in hell.

He's colliding with variables of vintage wisdom,
finding hope in a cage, hints of honest care
that points toward The Way.
People calling out, shouting their hardened phrases
of semi-intellectual directives.
Misshapen glory-crushed impressions that curve
and crease and bend around the truth.

He's the Never-Man that never knew,
never understood the plan, cheapened religion
bought through a phony shake of hands
Walking a path without a clue, a hold
precarious at best, a brittle, mildewed rope
that will give way before long, forcing a long
way down.

Paths still sit at their zenith, waiting for walks
from mindless men that want to fill their heads with
need and truth, paths born for youth and their search
for never and nothing and forever and something
for wounds that cripple
or the itch of love, all, none
Never
a grand madness that feeds
into a spiraling pinch, them, never full
Forever.

The Never Man: Burn

(They paused, jests were made, his head swayed, tilting toward hers like he wanted a way in. Just let him come in and show you how it could/would/should be, possibly thinking…well he’s unworthy to even grace her presence, but his dreams show their souls touching like lovers on the silver screen. Draped casually on her couch, he was still confined to the dismal misfortune of being the one that follows the one before, so his possessive instinct bloomed and wilted simultaneously.)

Strange colors danced before his eyes like flames, and he was hypnotized by the moment, his admiration unrestrained. She was one with the fire, an image of heat and light and fantastic form warping itself through all four dimensions.

He lost himself, tangled in a web of time, gaining his love, losing his mind. He loved her or hated her or both or none. The flame was a ballerina and her dance was not done; his eyes were transfixed and he began to succumb.

He thought she said, “The Never-Man, never did, never can, he will wish to hold that which escapes his hand.”

He laughed like it was the finest joke, she must be playing with the words she spoke. The fire had a smile on her face; a look of satisfaction that doubled for shame and disgrace. But was it aimed at him, or something she fought inside? Surely it was something she was trying to hide.

He might have asked, “Why do you taunt me with this passionate flame? Why me? Why do you play this game?”

She who danced and burned with light, her colors so vibrant that they pulsed and throbbed with life, looked as if she formed the words: “You ask why I taunt, why I play this game, but you sit and watch and feed my flame? The Never-Man, never did, never can, thinks that dirt will not settle when he crosses the sands…”
At that he thought twice. “How could it be? To sit here and love her is all on me? A man with full vision but too blind to see, how I perceive and react is all on me.”

The Never-Man, who never cried, never ran, rose from the couch attempting to stand. The fire seemed brighter and her dance was insane, he could feel her heat growing but her rhythm had changed. He stood there for a moment, and she began to slow down, easing her tempo, quelling the sound. It was magic he dreamt or a vision he touched, either or both, it was too much. When she stopped his eyes met the flames in her own and they reached out to one another because they were both so alone. The Never-Man, never could understand as he put his hands in hers there was no burn to withstand. But the flames, the flames were like the sun as they embraced. They both burned bright as they danced with desire in that place. They burned through their lives in a fiery embrace.

The Never Man: Recovery

Recovery is slow, and I burn through the days, so my eyes glisten bloodshot red

when I swallow the morning; I almost choke on the sun, needing to eat light

cause this darkness is keeping my arteries tight.

I took out a loan on time cause I never have enough left over
As it slips through my hands. I’m the Never Man, never could-never can.
I never juked right; I barely ran. I’m in recovery and it’s slow processing and second guessing, terminal outpatient raving and foolish, puerile cravings of a young man, aging. The years grant gifts of periodic joy, I wander and wonder why I play life so coy, why I’m shuffling my packaged feelings like an errand boy.

Recover. Repair. Under duress, my blessings are a semblance of sleepy-eyed gestures within spiritual haze. A hollow wish pulls an empty gaze, a blind rodent scurrying through a tattered maze. The abandoned home. The missing page. I’m the actor performing his show off-stage, the unheard soliloquy fueled with rage.

I wake up and grab my cup and choke down the sun. I want to feel it going down but my body’s too numb. The Never Man: never free, never done, never defeated but always unsung. Recovery is slow, but the madness is fun, and I burn through the nights just to choke down the sun. I learn through the days and the battles I have won. I burned through the age to the man I've become.

All The Way Gone

I've hustled my way down and around, kicking dirt across weathered roads, catching a glimpse of what life would look like if I really had a hold. I think I'm hurrying, how do I get there when the getting there just got up and burnt out? I wanna rush, I wanna go forth and leap across mountain ranges and feel the air whistling and rattling about me. Speed, man. Let's go.

Let's take it to the fullest extreme, all-out tornado trippin', I'm a whirlwind pyramid or something close to its functionality. I just wanna wake up on the go, my feet already pointed in the direction I need to travel. I wanna be part of the solution to make the world unravel...to cave it in, to break it and watch it rattle. I wanna be the KA-BOOM in your gasp. The shock in your awe. The chatter in your teeth.

Just wanna be. I know Freedom ain't what it used to be. It's a shadow of its own shadow split amongst their shadows. An after image that is beginning to fade. Freedom seemed like it was there one day, then gone, never said "good bye", "I'll see you" or "go to hell". Wonder if Freedom knew me? The same me that's jetting like a plane to see it torn up and done again, built up and spun and spun and then kicked to smithereens like a wooden board before Bruce Lee's foot.

Am I running to escape? Maybe so. But it's too late. I've already been caught and manhandled and bruised and bludgeoned. I got right back up and begged for some more. Look at me: I'm built for this, mom. I'm built for this. Look at what's left of your prodigal son. The son that keeps running til he can no longer run. A son that keep going till he was all the way gone. All the way gone, all the way to none.

Building

Relationships, man. They need to be cultivated. I am now realizing how I am lacking in my relational devotion to my family and friends. Lot of times I think it’s because of how I was raised, you know? My mother showed a lack of interest in most of what I did, even though I was a high achiever in school. She didn’t really show the kind of enthusiasm most parents would, but she showed her approval in different ways. But I wonder if those ways have stunted my growth as the type of person I need (and God needs) me to be?

I guess I shouldn’t dwell on that. I have made it through a lot. But I seem to shy away from the support others give me, or I don’t show the support I need to show to them. It’s like I have that same mentality that my mom had, and that hurts. I should be able to be better, for I know what I went through and how things were somewhat of a detriment to me. How can I be better?

I ask God for direction. I ask him to help me understand myself and why I am the way I am. Still, I don’t know if I’ll ever understand. Maybe that’s what it’s supposed to be like, anyway? Maybe God wants me to work and reach out and close those gaps that I have worked too long to widen.

I was with my friend Antonio at a release party for a local record label who just acquired a distribution deal from Universal Records. We spent a big part of the night waiting around just so he could talk to this label exec. When he finally did talk to him, the conversation might have lasted 5 minutes. Yet, my friend was satisfied, saying that the contact was crucial to his future endeavors.

As sleepy and tired as I was, I understood exactly what he meant. Who knows what that next relationship or contact could mean to your future? Don’t you owe it to yourself to at least reach out and risk giving a part of yourself, regardless of the possibility of rejection? I think so.


Stay sane and remember where your help comes from. Build your relationship with Jesus, first and foremost, then you may find that it comes a little easier to build them with others.

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