Accretion

Are we like planets?

Formed from bits of stardust,

drawn toward each other like so many

grains of sand?

Do we orbit each other in a pre-ordained,

Galilean/Newtonian cosmic embrace

that comfirms the presence of

gravity?

Or is it chance? The coincidental alignment of

person, place and time?

Is it simply the act of accretion

that binds you, I, us together?

Are we merely the product of an immutible

Universal Law?

The result of a time tested hypothesis

of human desire?

What is our nature?

Is it chaos? Disorder created out

of our teachings, tropes and theories?

What knowledge do we gleen from

Our soul crucibles?

Where you and I apart,

have ground hope and time

into the dust that is failed

love?

Unkowns stacked upon unsolved mysteries.

Yet I do know this;

For good or ill,

Fated or chance,

I find myself within the pull

of your core.

Drawn into the warm ambit of the

life giving daystar that is

your heart.

Shadows On Snow

He drifts across snow,
like a shadow cast by vapor and
mist.

Myth made manifest in a stolen glimpse.
He is sighted, loping across a field of spent blizzard.
A blot of brown on a palid scape.

He glides, over granite.
He thrives on tundra.
A primal sentinel.
The glacier's guardian.

Arctic hermit.
American recluse.
Reaper of the peak.
he finds sustinance on
carrion.

Life from lifelessness.

Nomad of the North,
he roams his winter kingdom
on padded snowshoe paws.
Hooked claws honed on frozen
flesh and bone.

We regard each other across the expanse between us.
I in awe of the winter's last will o' wisp.
This last warrior from a primal
age.

He looks through me rather than at me.
Seeing past me to the horizon,
to the glorious glaciers beyond.
He turns away and lopes on
into his desired desolation.

He travels away from me,
vanishing from view.
Leaving me alone
upon this frozen shelf of
ice and time.

Pride

It's been 17 years since I finally acknowledged to family, friends, and myself that I am a gay man. Like many of my brothers and sisters of our age it took much soul searching. I, and many like me grew up in an era when the word "Gay" was synonymnous with "AIDS".

Though I grew up near San Francisco, watching the macabre scene that was the 80's play out on my TV screen, I was largely untouched personally by the AIDS crisis. Born too young for the 70's and scared witless by the late 80's I didn't suffer the loss of a partner or loved one to a satin red ribbon. Though there was one man who I will never forget, and who's death gave me the strength to finally leave my closeted perdition.

I was 16 when, as part of my confirmation process I was in need of community service hours. I had chosen to volunteer at a local hospice, where a few AIDS victims were living out the last of their days. It was there that I met David.

I couldn't begin to tell you what David looked like. I don't recall if he was handsome or his nationality. I don't remember his age, or his skin color, or the shade of his eyes.

But I remember his voice.

My God yes, I still remember that deep and resonate, warm as a summer day in the valley, melodic voice. When I met David it was still strong enough to catch my note. When he'd ask for a glass of water or the day's paper, I'd get all warm and fuzzy in side.

And then he was gone. AIDS took David and so many young men like him. They left a hole in the world as deep as David's voice.

Years later in 1994, I was in college when a flyer went around my history class. the names project was bringing a few of the panels for display over the Cinco de Mayo holiday. I was still in the closet but by this time I was searching for a way out.

It was David who gave me the key.

So I tell myself, "I need to see the quilt. It's an opportunity to see a piece of local history." I arrive at the event early. A number of us students are there waiting for the ceremony to begin.

The quilt caretakers are reverent with their charge. They handle this living archive of those who've been lost with a purpose and solemnity that brings most of us to tears. Once the quilt has been placed, the crowd that has gathered is invited to meander amongst the panels and reflect.

I begin to wander about, noticing how colorful and beautiful many of the panels are. So many names. So many gone. So young.

Too young.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a particular panel. It wasn't particually noticeable. It was white without any adornment to speak of. I make my way to the panel feeling somewhat drawn to it. As I stand in front of it I make out the name.

It's David's panel.

I fall to my knees and cry tears that have been building since I realized a decade earlier that I liked boys. Cathartic, cleansing tears. Tears that dissolve my closet door forever.

My soul has been ressurected by savior with a baritone voice calling out from a silken shroud spread out under an early May sky. On my knees there in front of his panel, I promise David I will never live in fear again.

I will be true to myself. I will love freely. I will live with pride.

Pride.

Solar Return II

As we drive up the side of the hill and into the parking space I see several cabins. Ours is aptly named the "Treehouse". It's quaint and well appointed. A wood buring fireplace, exposed redwood beams and a soaking tub greet the two of us. Mark opens the shades on the glass French doors that open to a wooden deck and I gasp.

The view is breathtaking.

Between the sequoia sentinels that flank our cabin, the yawning pacific is in clear view. Gulls wing aloft on an evening zephyr. Again, the urge to break down into a weepy silly mess is strong but I manage to hold it together. The embrace I give Mark comes from the deepest part of my being. In one grand unselfish loving act Mark has done what no other man has been able to;

He's healed my heart.

A sense of absolute peace steals over me. In the scant time we've been together, Mark has shown me capital "L" Love more times than I can count. Mark had become home to me. My shield against the strife that exists in everyday living.

Mark had made reservations for dinner that evening. St. Orres serves world class cuisine, and I must say it was one of the finest meals I've ever had. From the cold pineapple soup, to the perfectly cooked fillet, my palete enjoyed a variety of wonderful flavors that evening. All the while those twinking blue eyes of Mark's gaze across the table at me. Deep soulful eyes filled with love.

Love for me.

The next morning, Breakfast arrives on our cabin porch in a critter proof box that is a marvel. Contained within is more of St Orres fantastic food. Quiche, organic fruit, granola, milk, oj. Nourishment as much for the soul as the body.

We spend the next couple of days beach combing. We drive up to Point Arena where I collect pieces of abalone, while he gathers bits of colored glass. Both of us facinated by the action of nature on one of mankind's most mundane objects. Flecks of green, brown and blue sanded and polished into little silicone gems.

We drive home along Highway 1. Both of us grateful for different things. Mark happy that the weather forecast turned out wrong. We were blessed with amazing weather for the entire weekend. No rain or fog meant the Mendocino and Sonoma coast were bathed in sunlight. Spring grass and orange poppies greeted us along the meandering coast highway.

My gratitute existing on several levels. As shallow as the bliss afforded by Mark knowing who Dokken is. Or being able to sing the words of "Winds of Change" (The Scorpions for the uninitiated). To the deep well spring of appreciation that here at last is a man who "gets" me. Here is someone who knows me as well as I know myself.

A man who sees my light and loves my dark.

The weekend ends with a trip through Bodega Bay, and a stop at the Freestone Bakery. We walk to the General Store and grab something to drink. Mark and I share a comfort and ease with each other that had always been sensed but never explored.

It's in the comfortable silences that I find revelation.

I no longer have to wish on birthday candles. Never again will I have to tie knots into hankerchiefs when I see a shooting star. Gone are reading tea leaves, tarot cards and horoscopes. I don't have to hope for the future.

My future is now. My future is Mark. That is the best birthday present of all.

And all I want to do is weep.

For joy.

Solar Return

So here I am in the 42nd year of my life, extremely happy and fulfilled. Thursday past was my birthday and I have to say, the best birthday of my life. I know that sounds like hyperbole but allow me to explain.

I've never seen my birthday as special. My childhood was short courtesy of an alcoholic father. I learned rather early not to belive what I was told, but rather what I was shown. After my father missed my 8th birthday party in favor of a drunken stupor with his buddies, I gave up on seeing my birthday as anything but another day on the calendar.

Not that others haven't tried to make the day special. My mother to her everlasting credit did all she could during my youthful birthdays to make up for my father's missteps. My brothers have always done the same. I've had lovers kick up the biggest fuss and throw the best parties for me. Yet nothing has ever revived the long dormant spirit of child-like wonder birthdays are supposed to have.

Until last Thursday.

So my Great Love meets me at Sundance for a night of 2-stepping on my birthday. This in and of its self is a huge deal for me. As with every other time we've danced it's throughly magical. He truly is my match in so many ways. Our dance chemistry is unique and I've only ever shared such ease on the floor with a handful of dance partners.

We drive to his place, throughly exhausted. We go to bed, me knowing that he has to work in the morning. While I wish he didn't have to I'm excited just to be with him. I look forward to greeting him when he arrives home from teaching his beloved charges. I awake with a start at 7am realizing he's going to be late if he doesn't get up immediately.

I rouse him, he rolls over and nonchalantly intones "I took today off. Go back to sleep." I'm so joyful at the news I bear hug him to the point of hearing joints pop. We happily sleep in, arising only because we do have a bit of work to do.

Mark has an incredibly giving nature. He weekly gathers donated goods from one of the local super stores and delivers them to a day labor center near his home. It's the sort of action that many of us of the liberal ilk speak of but seldom actually do. Yet Mark has been quietly giving of his time and his pocket book to the causes that move him for years.

It's inspiring.

So it's not only a pleasure but a joy to help him on his appointed rounds. As the men from the labor center unload my car, I see a sense of gratitude and relief I've not experienced since I was a boy. The look is the same one I remember as I stood in line with my grandmother to get free government butter and cheese; pride giving way to need.

Poverty knows no era.

For my reward, Mark takes me to lunch near Goat Rock, a promitory in the Pacific just off the Sonoma Coast near Jenner. We dine on amazing Indian food. The mango lasse shared between us seems all the sweeter because it belongs to both of us.

After lunch, Mark suggests a drive up the coast to Whale watch. Loving both the company and my Mini, I eagerly agree. We drive up the coast heading North. It's difficult to describe the drive up the Coast Highway. Beautiful seems such a poor descriptor of Sonoma's natural wonder that time, wind and water have wrought.

We jump out of the car only once. We tumble back to the warmth of the Mini, chased there by cold, wet weather that reminds us both it's still nascent spring on the North Coast. The warmth of his hands and his kiss still linger as I start the car and we continue North.

Somewhere along the drive I see a sign that says the little town of Gualala is a short ride from where we are. I suggest we head there since, that part of Mendocino county has special meaning for me. Mark amiably agrees, suggesting there's a toy store there that he wants to visit.

I need no excuse to point the Mini in the direction of the Menodocino county line. Mark indicates that the toy store is up beyond town. As we crest a ridge I see what can only be described as a Russian Catherdral resting on rise. As I turn into the entrance a sign greets us with the name "St Orres".

We park and venture in. I expect to see toys lining the shelves. Instead I find a beautifully appointed lobby. An inviting bench made up of pew ends sits in front of a fire. As I look around in bewilderment, a silver haired gentleman appears, emerging from a oaken swinging door. he smiles and asks if he can assist us.

Mark intones, "yes we have reservations for 2 nights". He looks at me and a victorious smiles sweeps across his face. He's pulled it off. The surprise is complete. In that moment, in that self satisfied smile of Mark's, I realize that this birthday has been unlike any other. For the first time in more than 30 years I experience the joy of wonder.

I feel like I'm 9 again and all I want to do is weep. Instead, I follow Mark back out to my car, a silly sheepish grin on my face. We follow the directions given us by the innkeeper and we arrive at our abode for the next 2 days.

What happens next will follow in another post.....

Brown Eyes To Blue Eyes

Brown eyes to blue eyes/
The lies from your youth/
Sown in malice by others/
You've dispelled them with truth.
You've learned a respect/
For the challenges I face/
The struggle life can be/
Because of my race.

Brown eyes to blue eyes/
I know the ease you gave up to be with me/
To honor a culture in which you've never been/
The choices you've made, the challenges you've faced/
You've done with a heart filled with love/
A soul full of grace.

Oh in this moment/
Which our great love provides/
We stand together, hearts in hand/
With nothing left to hide.

And here between us/
As the world fades away/
Our joined souls are mended/
The love we've made is here to stay.

Empire Of Sand

Every now and again, I have to write something down in order to release it. Otherwise, my mind tumbles endlessly in an unending circle. This is one of those moments.

I've been spending my weekends with my great love and it's been raining reletlessly. Yet for some reason I keep thinking about and dreaming of deserts. Before I reconnected with Mark, I had a brief affair with a man who I loved and loved well.

He ended it as fast as he started it and left me to wonder why. I learned a lot from this fleeing moment of affection. I learned to stand my ground and not settle for a partial heart.

I am so glad I did, because I now have the love of my life with me. Yet I've not been able to completely release my past. This poem I think will finally allow me to vanquish the angst I still feel. At least I hope it ends the dreams of desert scapes I've been having.

Mirage

Even sand is fertile.
Given enough water,
The desert will bloom.

I poured all of my love into you.
Dehydrated myself from the effort.
Blistered my soul in the heat of your self loathing.

My reward for the effort?

A carpet of amethyst.
Cyan and topaz coat silcone.
And for a brief moment,
A barren waste sparkles with the jewels
Of an indian summer.

It was glorious.
But like all desert blooms,
It was fleeting.

I should have known.
Your false words,
Your obsidian promises,
It was all illusion.

Your love was not the oasis,
It was purported to be.
It was all a trick of the mind.
An artfully crafted
Mirage.

You are as empty and barren,
As the lowest point,
On
This
Orb.

A valley where you left my love to die.

I'm not pouring anymore of my love,
Into the granulated glass void that is your soul.
I'm leaving you to rule Your desolate, dessacated, dry,
Empire.

Alone and bereft.
Just as you wished.
But not as I planned.

Alone.

With your scorpions, snakes and
Sand.

Sonoma

For Mark

It was here amidst the jade vale and a sea bound river
I was found.
Here where ancient Gravenstien orchards yield to youthful
Chardonnay vinyards.
Here where sequoias, acacias and oaks
meander along a quiet horizon.
Here where the North Coast savannah
spills into the sea.

My heart was like that savannah in summer.
yellowing in the unslaked heat,
tinder dry oak chapparal, barren and burnt.
Left blackened by carless stewards
who chose the match over water.

I resolve in my oaken solitude,
That this,
this at last is the future that awaits.
A quiet, acornless autumn and winter season.
I am content with my aloneness.
Peace at last finds me.

In your art I find solace.
Your music that gripped my young heart,
still calls.
Beckons. Beseeches.
Come dance.
And I do.
And you are there.

You are there,
with eyes the color of sky.
You are there as you have always been.
Alive in my heart,
my unspoken love.
My fondest hope.

You who I loved like a dream.
You who I loved before I knew you.
You who I loved when you came to me,
one promise too late.

You stand before me.
You tremble in my arms as we
waltz.
You fix me with a gaze
and at last I know.
Your love matches mine,
and always has.

My savannah is green now.
Verdant from the healing
showers of your love.
Daffodils and Hyacinth bloom
in a late North Coast winter.
You my thoughtful gardner borne here by some cosmic
caretaker, you tend me well.

I can't help but think,
your love is like those Sonoma sequoias.
An evergreen, ageless wonder that sweeps me heavenward.
Lifting me from my earthbound perdition.
I soar into a sky
the color of your eyes.
Swept to a zenith from which I will never descend.
A rarified stratosphere that is our
love.

Ascendant

It feels funny writing that title for this post. Considering I've spent the last week laid low by one of the worst bouts of illness I've had in quite sometime. Sick to the tune of a 10 day course of antibiotics. That hasn't happened in 10 years.

I am a hearty cowboy.

But this past weekend I was miserable. Now, I'm not a whiner by any stretch. I keep pretty much to myself when it comes to being sick. I always have. That's primarily because I am a caretaker. I help those in need and try not to impose on people when I'm ill. It has always been my way.

With the men in my life, when they were sick I was the epitome of a mother hen. I would fuss, cater, facilitate every need, whim, desire, fancy they might have. If it would make them feel even the slightest bit better, I would undertake any task to that end.

I could not always expect the same in return.

I was not bitter about this, I knew well in advance that many of them did not share the same trait. I never saw this as a flaw, rather just part of who they were. Something to be accepted and forgotten, lest it stew into some potent malicious brew that would later be hurled back at them in resentment. Besides it always fit well with my "I don't want to be a bother" attitude when I did get sick.

I had a much different experience this past weekend. Mark came to visit and as has been our way since the "rekindling" we'd packed the weekend full of things to do. This included meeting my siblings, their significant others, and my youngest brother's three amazing daughters. So of course I have to pop a fever to steal his spotlight.

I can be such a diva.

Mark was amazing. Nursing me. Indulging my "oh my God I'm sick let's watch a movie" fetish. Fetching me tea. Opening lozenges. Warming soup. Taking me to the Pharmacy to pick up my medication. Moving the truck so I wouldn't have to walk as far once the medicine was secured.
Did I mention that he enlisted my brother's help in moving the rest of the things from the old house that I was too sick to move? That he made several trips with my father? That he did all of this without any prompting, hinting, cajoling, "honey-would-you-mind"-ing?

At all.

None.

My mother commented this morning, "Mijo, no one has taken care of you like Mark. No one". Mamita you have no idea.

Zero, nada, ningun.

She does know the whole story now. I shared Mark's and my star crossed past with her the weekend before last, prior to Mark's first stay here with me. Mom is always pre-disposed to like the men I've brought home simply because she loves me unconditionally and wants me to be happy. The pre-disposition to favor hasn't always survived the initial meeting but as is her way she is always unfailingly kind and cordial. She shared her concerns about my past beaus in private with the deferrential "...but Mijo, it's your life. You need to live it for you."

Yet in two visits, Mark has achieved two landmarks that both of my exes took more than a year to reach and neither attained both goals. First, my mother has already given him a nickname and second, my father has become a chatterbox with him. Both convey a level of comfort with Mark, my choice in partners, that my folks had up until now only shown with my brother's significant others.

It's been a deluge of blessings as of late. I am grateful beyond measure.

Beyond words.

Two Cowboy Waltz

I am in awe of the Universe.

As I stand there in the presence of a man I've loved for so long hearing that he has loved me with a passion and longing that rivaled my own, I reel from the symmetry that lies beneath the chaos of life. All of it, every bit of it, all of my angst and pain and suffering has meaning. It's lead me to this impossible improbable moment.

And for the first time in my life I am ready to sieze my joy. I have the wisdom, the strentgh, the courage to at last, at long last finally accept happiness.

To reach Elysium.

I hold Mark as I've always wanted to. He trembles in my arms as we waltz together. The surreal nature of the moment is not lost on us. It's as if we're in a Magrit or Dali painting, all clouded eyes and melting clocks.

Mark tells me he's on a date. That the only reason why he's here is because the man who he's with wanted to come. That this action, being here in the country scene again took every ounce of courage he could muster to come. That he was feeling alone, ignored, dejected and bitter. Then he saw me dancing with my friend and he knew why he was here.

And he was thunderstruck.

We spend as much time with each other as propriety will allow. Even now, in this watershed moment for both of us, we must wait. A desire to preserve the feelings of a stranger fills both of us with the same respect we held for our respective former partners. That compassion is at the core of who we both are. It is the strongest link in the chain that binds us together.

We exchange information at the end of the evening and I have the excruciating task of letting Mark go. Yet the pain is tempered by the knowledge that this time there will be a tomorrow. All of the cinders and ashes from my yesterdays wash away in the smile of the man who will be my future.

I begin the drive home my mind a whirl of emotions. I'm listening to Mark's music when suddenly he calls. it's as if the music conjured him.

His music is magic for me. It always has been. At last I finally get to share this. I finally get to share with Mark that I fell in love with him because of his music and because of one song in particular.

I've shared earlier of the one song that stood out from all others on Mark's first album. A song that captured a singular moment in time for me. The essense of my love of country dancing. So I tell Mark of my love for the song. What it means to me. What I did with Doug that first night in our new home. Consecrating our love and abode with the strains of that sweet country waltz that for me is Mark's heart and soul.

And as Mary Chapin Carpenter sings, "In the age of miracles another is on the way".

Mark reveals to me that he wrote Two Cowboy Waltz to express how he felt the first time he saw cowboys dancing together at the Rawhide. I'm stunned by the knowledge. We are linked Mark and I even in our epiphanies.

We spend hours on the phone sharing with each other. Being in each other's presense. His voice the salve my wounded heart has needed for so long now. We agree to see each other the following weekend. To finally be with each other as we've always wished and dreamed.

Needless to say we couldn't wait.

Tuesday past I invite Mark to join me at 1220 in Walnut Creek. The East Bay version of Sundance. Small, intimate, peopled with long time veterans of the Bay Area country scene, it is a warm inviting space that many of my dearest friends attend. It's the antithesis of the High Church Sundance is. In my mind a perfect venue in which to ease Mark back into a scene from which he once fled.

He arrives a bit earlier than me. So I have the pleasure of driving up and seeing him in his car. My excitement and giddiness is uncontainable and uncontrolable. I have no need or desire to hold back any longer.

We embrace, we kiss. We weep. We are at long last we.

One.

We venture out into the cool Walnut Creek evening. We dine, joke, laugh. We are both electric with the tension and the energy that our love is at long last free to exhibit. We share our meals with each other. Joyous in knowing this is the first of many opportunities to share.

We head back to 1220. I hold his hand as we walk back to my car. I walk in to my holy of holies with the man of my dreams on my arm.

My arm.

Euphoria seems such a weak description of what I was feeling.

We mingle around. I get to introduce Mark to my friends who I've known and loved even longer than I've pined for Mark. It is a homecoming of sorts. Then my new/old love does something I had only dreamed of.

I hear the DJ announce that the next song is a dedication to me. I catch the strains of music that have nourished and sustained the love I've held for Mark all these years. The chords of love that bind me to Mark as no other element on this planet or Universe could. And then as if out of the pages of a fairytale, Mark asks me to waltz with him.

A two cowboy waltz.

In that moment, we are sealed. Everything fades away and it is just Mark, me and his glorious music. We spin and sway basking in the glow of a deep abiding love that has survived the abuses of time and distance it's innocence and purity unscathed.

My hearts desire born all those years ago, on the cover of that CD, between the liner notes and minor chords I have at last found solace.

Home.

My handsome midwestern cowboy wrote a song that speaks of the longing he once held. Though the song predates our meeting and is about a fictional man, it applies so well to the both of us. It's as if this song summoned the unrequited nature of our love. With the greatest respect and humility for the work of the man I love I post his words here as a reminder to all. Be true to the love you hold for others. Someday, Universe willing, that love may rise like a Phoenix to set the ice blue winter sky ablaze.

I confess/
that I told a friend or two about this man I met the day I met you/
I confess I remember what you wore/
that Tweety bird t-shirt that you don’t wear no more.

I confess/
I confess that when I am next to you/
I never have my breath/
I confess/
I confess that being friends with you it’s the worst because it’s the best/
I confess.

I confess/
every time you say my name/
it’s not coincidental that a smile comes to my face/
I confess/
that when you hug me your goodbyes/
I listen to my heart beat and I close my eyes.

I confess/
I confess that when I am next to you/
I never have my breath/
I confess/
I confess that being friends with you it’s the worst because it’s the best/
I confess.

And one time your sister watched me while I was watching you/
She caught my eye and said/
“I know ‘cause I love him too.”

I confess/
I confess that when I am next to you/
I never have my breath/
I confess/
I confess that being friends with you it’s the worst because it’s the best.
I confess.---Mark W.

Requited

So I've been away again for an extended period. Much has changed, much is still the same. I've had a few love affairs since my last foray into relationship building. Some have been fun others painful. Yet they have all left me wiser and richer for the experience. I had come to the realization that I may have to spend the rest of my days alone.

And I was ok with that. I've been blessed enough to have loved and to have love returned by two wonderful men in my life. Steven and Doug were and are still incredible sources of strentgh, inspiration and growth. I am the man I am today because of their love, wisdom, patience and acceptance.

Just recently after a short love affair bloomed and faded over the fall I came to accept that I've been so very lucky to have had love twice when so many never have it at all. If my fate was to be the good son caring for my senior parents and being a great uncle to my neices, so be it. I'd made my peace with what the Universe was offering.

Funny how just when you think you know where you're life is headed, life shifts gears, changes direction and you find something completely different. Or rather, you are presented with an alternative. Sometimes the past becomes present.

Allow me to explain.

When I was near the end of my first relationship, my then partner gave me a rather meaningful gift for my birthday that year. It was a CD by a gay country artist. Steven knew just how much country dancing meant to me and as was his way, he found the perfect gift to show me that he "saw" me.

So I open the package and this CD falls out. On the cover is the most amazing set of blue eyes I've ever seen, within a face that I find so incredibly beautiful. Later I would discover that the beauty of the music equaled the man who sang it.

As I listened to the CD one song stood out above all the others. The song captured how I felt the first time I watched cowboys dancing at the Rawhide. I was transported to, what at that moment was the most joyful experience I'd had to that point in my life. Mark's music spoke to me in a way no other music had.

And in that moment, I began to love Mark.

It seems silly and childish, but it was the truth. This man who I never met, had provoked a longing I'd never known before or since. His music filled a chamber in my heart with such ache and need and desire I closed it off to contain it.

Steven and I ended not long after. The first love of my life faded like a tin daguerrotype photograph. Full of nostalgia and pleasant reflection but outdated and lacking color.

Not long after I met the first great love of my life, Doug. As fate (or Universal design) would have it, Doug was a country singer. I mentioned my great love for the music of Mark and found to my disbelief that Doug knew Mark. They had been friendly being cut from the same musical cloth.

My love for Doug was in full bloom when one fateful June day at Pride in SF, my love and I are walking around and we happen upon Mark's booth where he is selling his latest CD. Doug spots him and takes me over to meet Mark.

I am terrified and excited all at once. Here at last I am going to meet the man who I've been crushing on for the past 4 years. I don't know what to expect as we approach the booth.

Mark is even more beautiful in person. It becomes clear as he is hawking his wares that the energy and beauty and longing in his music is not artiface. It is as genuine and real and honest as that beaming smile, those twinking eyes and open demeanor of this amazing singer songwriter.

Doug attracts Mark's attention and my heart catches in my throat as my eyes meet Mark's gaze for the first time.

I am thunderstruck.

All the emotions I had bottled away in that secret chamber of my heart begin to roil. I fight hard to maintain myself and reach out to shake Mark's hand. He is easy and familar. We fall into talking and I find myself longing for a man who now has appeared one promise too late. We leave a short time later. My intial impressions comfirmed beyond doubt that Mark is indeed as sweet and wonderful and amazing as his music.

Doug and I begin to spend time with Mark and his partner. We hang out together, Mark even coming to Doug's and my housewarming a year later. Mark never knowing that the first act I performed in that new house was to waltz with Doug on our empty hardwood floor. Sweeping around the oak in 3/4 time to the song which reflected the Rawhide for me, and the music that drew me to Mark.

We'd share dinner occasionally. Walk around Lake Merrit. Two couples sharing a communion of friendship and camraderie. The angst I felt over being torn between My Love and this inexplicable, inexorable attraction for Mark I kept to myself, never betraying for a moment the torch I am carrying.

Then, suddenly Mark is gone. Emails go unanswered, phone calls unreturned. Mark fades into the distance like a ship sailing beyond a curved quiet horzion. I am crestfallen. Not only can I never speak of how I feel or express the love I carry for him, I've now lost the friendship I'd begun to build. The solace and comfort of, "well at least I have him in my life, if only as a friend" had ended as well.

So I am left with just his music and the bittersweet agony of listening to it, wondering what might have been. I close the chamber of my heart where Mark lives. Doug and I carry on until the unexpected curtain fell on our last act two years ago.

I pinball from man to man, short relationship to short relationship. Fleeting moments full of a promise that never comes to fruition. All the while me gaining knowledge about myself, what I want from another man, accepting that the life I have settled into may be one of permanence.

Then this past Sunday I am at my place of communion and healing. My temple of two-step and waltz, Sundance Saloon. It's Trailer Trash night and the carnival that is Sundance is in full swing. As I leave the floor briefly, a song I recognize comes on. It's one of my former love's songs which I've never heard at Sundance. I am struck with a moment of melancholy and longing, but it passes immediately as my friend asks me to dance.

As we sweep around the floor my friend asks me; "Isn't that Mark over there?" I reply; " I haven't seen Mark at Sundance in years, it's probably not him." As I say this I look over to where my friend has pointed and there I see the face of the man I've secretly loved for years smiling at me.

And I am thunderstuck.

That feeling I felt the first time I heard Mark, the first time I saw Mark, the first time I met Mark is still there. As strong as powerful as purposeful as the San Joaquin river full of Sierra snowmelt churning toward my Native Bay.

I walk over and embrace him. Hold him. Scold him for being gone so long. Eager to hear where he's been, how he is doing and is he happy. Then something amazing happens. For the first time in years I notice the same longing, the same desire, the same conviction I have carried for Mark all these years, reflected back at me.

Mark loves me.

He confesses why he's been gone. Because it was too hard. Too hard to be around Doug and I. Too hard to be around our love. Too hard to be around me. Too hard to want to be with me. Too hard to surpress his feelings.

And I realize that we have spent the last 7 years in love from a distance. Unrequited. Unspoken.

Suddenly, the path I've been on, the lessons I've been given, the trials I have faced, have all had purpose. And I stand there realizing that I am in the presence of the last great love of my life. In that moment the chamber bursts and out spills pure unadulterated, untainted, unspoiled, joy.

It's cosmic. It's karmic. It's miraculous.

It's love.

What happend next, will follow in another post.