Blind Man’s Braille Part 3

To: RB

A kiss

Is eternal

There is a whole lot more going on

Than just skin to skin touching

A kiss is:

2 souls discovering through:

Touching

Caressing

Reading each other’s secret language

As the blind read braille

 

With your fingertips read my story

Read what’s encoded upon my flesh

As you read me I come alive

As I read your braille

I learn that like me: We’ve both so much survived

Your cells all fashioned perfectly

To make an amazing man

 

I read you’re afraid

You read I am scared

I read you’re insecure

You read I am far from pure

I read that you worry if you’re good enough

You read that I accept you with all of your flaws

I read that you lack love

You read that I am gentle as a dove

I read you’re scared of the serpent

You read I am only as wise as one

I read you fear dying alone

You read, come here welcome home…..

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

 

IMG_0878  blind man's braille 3

 

Notes From My Amusing Muse

Art is all around us. Art like love has to be seen with the eyes of the heart first. What comes from the heart, goes to the heart. Whether it’s light or dark, matters not. Art is all around just like love is. If you’re blind,  you’re going to miss it .Even the darkest of souls can produce breath-taking art. For you see, to  make art one must have faith in the unseen. It takes the tiniest seed of faith, like that of a mustard seed, to move mountains. So with a minuscule grain of belief, one can see the unseen, speak the unspoken, write the unwritten. Reach the unreachable, touch the untouchable,love the unlovable. Thaw out the glaciers in another’s soul. Start a bon fire in a heart full of ashes.

Art transcends time and space. As artists we grow frustrated because we live on a 2 dimensional plain;when we know that the 3rd dimension and dimensions beyond that  do  exist. We travel to those dimensions, while day dreaming and at night we continue dreaming with our eyes closed. Artists are time travelers. We journey there and bring back snap shots of it. Through our artistic expression, we pull the future into the now. We travel back in time using our passion as our time machine;we learn from the past’s light and dark moments. We honor fallen heroes. We keep the memory of our ancestors alive  and pay homage to them by telling their stories through different forms of self-expression. We stay in the present as well, knowing that above all, what matters most is living fully, NOW! We do so to capture it in its purest form so we can pass it down to unborn generations.

It takes courage to be an artist in our world, But then again,I believe all artists at all times have needed pluckiness as well. Leonardo Da Vinci and his plans for a flying machine; what did his contemporaries say when he showed them the sketches for it . Or, did he even have the nerve to show them? Mark Twain penned Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven; a book that in my humble opinion is his best masterpiece. He worked on it through out his life and had it published posthumously. It took boldness to write his account oh how he saw heaven. Could it be he chose to protect his work from viscous critics and only to share it with the world once he vacated its premises?

It takes valor to live the life of an artist:

To write from your gut.

To dance your heart out.

To invent something that will help humanity.

To sing a new song to the heart-broken.

To compose symphony after symphony while you’re completely deaf. That must have taken Mr. Beethoven extra nerve.

It takes true grit to paint when you’re almost legally blind, Mr. Monet produced the best work of his career when he lost his sight.

It takes  bravery to put a pencil to your mouth and draw amazing pictures when you’re a paraplegic in a wheelchair.

It takes gallantry to go from once having played the role of Superman;flying around in his red cape .Leaping over tall buildings in one single bound. To end up in a wheel chair for the rest of his life, yet touching the masses more than when he appeared on the silver screen.

What about the young Spaniard soccer player who hurt himself in a car accident and lost his passion for life when he couldn’t do what he loved most. Then he gets a guitar and turned world-wide recording artist.These and numerous more artists continue to beckon us all to follow our hearts and listen to our gut

Art creates ambience. Art instills feeling and gives a place its soul.Art is alive and has a heart beat, Even dark,moody art can inspire;it can let us know we’re not alone in our own darkness. Art can make you feel a mess inside and it can quiet your restless heart. 3 little letters combine to make such a powerful word.Like love, which is one letter more; the shortest words can create beauty or wreak havoc.

Perhaps artists are closest to God‘s heart because we’re foolish enough to see the unseen,then we believe it and finally,we make something from nothing. There is love,there is faith and then, there’s art. The 3 work together,always to benefit us all.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

Tucson Spring

His Guitar Menagerie

He picked her up

He ran his sinewy hands on her curvy body

He touched all of her contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on her neck was calculated

Her long neck he studied inch by inch

His rough hands traveled further south

Until he reached her opening

He had been looking for a certain sound

He’d been at this search of his for quite some time now

He knew the price of a good instrument

Searched high and low for The One

A trained musician was he

Willing to pay top dollar for her

And one day he found me….

 

He saw me and knew what he’d found

He ran his  rough hands on my curvy body

He touched all of my contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on my neck was calculated

My long neck he studied inch by inch

His hands traveled further south

Until he reached my opening

I was that sound he’d been looking for

And since he claimed to be an expert musician,I let him in

Only to find out soon enough, I’d be treated like he treated his prized guitars

 

I thought with me he’d be different

I was after all, his highest commodity

His most valued of all his possessions

I could not have been more wrong

For you see, he was deaf all along

And he’d never planned on hearing my song

 

From day one he’d said

“My guitar is my other woman.”

I should have known with him

I’d be good as dead

With him I’d grow old

And become one of his old unsung hymns

But I thought I’d give him a try

C’mon someone had to break and get in right?

It damn near cost me my sanity

It damn near cost me my life

It damn near cost me my sight

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars

 

Year in and year out

On my heart

He placed a dark mark

Pretty soon he put me in a corner

Right next to his cherry red Strat

Right next to his rosewood Gibson

Below was his onyx colored Fender

Above me, the queen of us all: His 12 string

We all were there collecting dust

Over the years he’d grow dissatisfied and he’d trade one of us in

To him this trade-off was no big thing

 

Living with an insane guitarist

I became the outsider

Looking in on his guitar museum

Like a lone drifter, like a wandering tourist

And that’s how it came to be

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars

All of his moves although as smooth as can be

Were lacking of passion: Cold,rehearsed and calculated

And day by day

I felt as if I was going insane

And night by night

I gave up and I never again sang

 

Until the day came

When I found my dignity

And I decided to vacate the premises

Of his mad guitar museum

I said good-bye to his Strat

I told her to stop being a spoiled brat

I kissed Gibson on the cheek

And told her to stop being so weak

He’s been done with you-last time he touched you was more than a week

Then I saluted the queen-the 12 string

And she looked at me

With a little envy

She knew like all the rest

I was leaving for good

 

He soon found out I was done

And he was suddenly alarmed

Even asked me with his voice trembling,

” Why do you seek to bring me harm?”

I told him, ” I’m not yours. I never was. I can never compete with your other woman

That’s right, stay with your precious guitars

I am not made of wood

I am not made of metal

You never planned to make me your number one

You never cared. You never could

I refuse to be part of your guitar menagerie

You’ve brought me great misery

I have been in great agony

Why I stayed for so long

Is truly a grave mystery

It has even killed my song

I have to go find it again

Take care. So Long!

 

And I walked out the front door

And suddenly I heard a crashing noise

Behind me there, on the red tile floor

He’d smashed his queen-the 12 string

She lay there in bits

By then it was too late

I was out of there…I had found my wings

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

guitar menagerie

 

 

Canned Anything Sucks

Canned prayers are like canned potato chips,canned soup or any kind of canned food. Canned food lacks vital nutrients necessary to sustaining our bodies. When we pray, God wants to hear each of our own distinct spirits; our spirit has its own unique voice. When your child asks you for something,,you hear their own unique voice. So why do religious people recite their religious prayers and incantations over and over? God doesn’t want canned voices that all sound the same  millennia  after millennia. Remember the old sit-coms ? You hear canned laughter in the back ground right? That means those voices we hear in those old TV shows are probably coming from dead people. We need fresh, un-canned expressions TODAY, not  from the past.

The disciples learned to pray from their Teacher. He didn’t tell them to recite The Lord’s prayer ; that was just a prayer manual, one they could follow and learn how to approach the King . Certainly not to say the same words over and over. Oh how religion wants everyone to be a Pringle’s Potato chip: All the same shape,same taste, all fit neatly together stacked in a metal can.. I believe heaven and its citizens crave to hear each unique voice on earth.

Unique self expression is the most powerful weapon a person can use. Your own voices unleashes things into the atmosphere and sets things in motion in the universe. Not one star is the same.Not one snow flake is the same. So why do people try so hard to be like some one else? Even our brains are wired differently. No 2 people on planet earth think exactly the same. So it’s reasonable that we’re all different voices  and each one of us must utter what is in our hearts to set things in motion. The Bible is not a here is what to say to God type of book. It goes beyond that. It’s a how to approach heaven using your own voice to unlock what is yours through the power of your own distinct expression. Heaven remains locked up when no one dares to step forward to use their own voice.

Martin Luther set the religious system upside down by nailing his own unique expression to the door of the established church. The whole universe was in an uproar when Galileo defied religion’s rules that dictated how the universe runs. Where are The Martin Luthers and Galileos of our time? Stand up and be heard if you’re one of them!!

” The Bible teaches how to get to heaven not how the heavens go.” -Galileo

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

shhhhh

Your Beauty Hides Inside Your Beast

You hurl insults

Like a monkey hurls feces

Like a hippo in a battle

Like a stampede of angry cattle

You hurl insults so fast

In the presence of your temper

You,your shadow cast

You’re bitter about everything

You there, the girl with the short past

No one is safe

From your bitter distemper

You’re the heroin

In your own self-made dramas

Oh please,please,please,child

Save the drama from everyone

Keep it far,far from your Mama

So STOP!!

Stop acting like such a beast

A beast of prey

You’re the beauty

In your own self-created beast

Only you have the answers inside

To appease your own beast

Cease and desist

You’re on the wrong road

Cease and desist

Go find your prince to kiss

He is there,on that lowly toad

Get up off that low road

You’ve traveled on it for so long

Life really isn’t such a terrible load

C’mon, come up higher

Humble yourself and dwell in your humble abode

You’re the beauty inside your own beast

Let her come out to play

Let her be herself every once in a while

Stop being fake;put off that costume today

BE YOURSELF!

Have your own style

Empower yourself

The time to change is NOW

Please,no further delay

BE YOUR OWN HERO…

Eva Santiago copyright 2013

Flavorless Salt

Too many people

Think they know too many things

Fact is they only know facts

In the end we know nothing at all

What happens when we fall?

We fall from:

Grace

Our place

A tree

We fall out of:

A window

LOVE

An Airplane

Cars

Hot air balloons

We fall into:

Arms

Beds

Chairs

Water

We fall into:

Despair

When we think things aren’t fair

Then we feel sorry for ourselves

And some one should kick us in the rear

We fall into despair

When a shit we don’t give

And we think no one cares

Then we go molly grubbing

And we stay there a while

Think it’s ok

To not one single fuck give

And let’s never again smile

What we forget is:

To give is to live

Take what’s not yours

And die a little inside

Take and not give

You become full of holes

Like an old sieve

And now life sifts right through you

You’ll have to be thrown out

Like flavorless salt.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

Solitude2