Posts by Jonathan Gonzalez
The Hard Thing
Why is it that something other than the best of us can so easily get the best of us?
The ability to do so is so much better when we are able to squeeze any good from it.
The ease of which we can take it, turn it, give it back in its most horrific form — it’s something.
Why is it that the best of us can so easily turn into the worst of what we can be?
It’s sadness. It’s pain. It’s possessive.
It’s because we let ourselves. It’s the easy thing to do.
But how often should we judge anything by the ease of which it comes?
Perhaps, it is the difficulty we should prize.
Grasping at the challenge, the gleaming, tauntingly visible obstacle.
Shouldn’t that be the motive?
To take and twist any of the bad into something beautiful on the other end.
And maybe spread a pinch of even a memory of sunshine onto a poor soul who needs something to remember.
Perhaps maybe that can help light a path for wherever they were headed to begin with.
After all, the ease of which we can turn a smooth surface into a jagged, stone-filled quest
can be kept a guided trail by the mere decision to hold back judgment on anything we would hate to be judged for.
“Slept high up in the Rockies…”
The spirals in the creek float to the edge only to disappear to reappear as new ones downstream.
The sound of the small rapid helps define the peace found here.
Hidden below the snow capped peaks, the water strolls through the meadow, icy cold — a perfect reminder that it may be summer, but winter is never too far away.
As the elk stroll across the land that is proudly theirs, we take advantage of their generosity and soak in every drop of serenity.
Left or Right?
Staring across the range
from who knows how many feet high,
sitting in the window seat.
But I’m distracted by the pinnacle.
A career turn ahead,
I’m sitting in the drivers seat.
Heavily it rests on my mind
already pulled thin at times.
I am strong.
Thankful she is stronger.
Thankful my love will travel
to wherever my mind deems best.
Only a matter of time before my heart interferes.
At least, that’s how I remember it
There must have been 30 of them
huddled in the corner.
30 muffled chuckles when I gave them the news.
Just one of me, the medical marvel, the unanswered question.
They were the doctors and I was the patient.
Help is what I asked for.
Judgement is what was prescribed.
A four-walled microcosm of my envisioned reality.
I was the odd man out, again.
I’m telling you, there must have been 30 of them.
Four Years
It’s incredible to soak it in.
The sea of cold sheets blanket us in comfort.
In this city we call home,
I’ve never felt so lucky.
It’s been a long time since my feet last touched the ground.
Four years.
And I don’t plan on landing back down.
Anytime. Ever.
From my second story window
Lucky enough to know that I know nothing of the moment.
What that must feel like.
The thoughts that bounce around her mind.
I know nothing of the process,
the words to come up with,
hoping hers will stand out.
Hers will make them want to hand out.
That moment when the pen cap’s removed,
the sudden scent of permanent ink that could erase
something she hopes is temporary.
She felt the felt tip touch the surface,
all she could afford or find.
She’s lost any sense of entitlement now
as she picks up the sign.
I know nothing of what it takes to walk the distance,
a mere prayer in her hands,
to plant feet in a place so many had likely failed before,
but she hopes she’ll be different.
Hopes.
Dashed with every car,
driven by eyes that move the other direction
as they painstakingly wait out the seconds for the OK to move on.
They are lucky enough to know nothing of the moment.
What that must feel like.
The thoughts that bounce around her mind.
I am the ceiling fan
I am the ceiling fan,
circling fast, but remain in one place.
The white noise it emits imitates
the neverending thought process.
It spins up high, alone from the rest of anything.
Everything is what I aspire to to be.
It is a lonely thought, one of selfish characteristics.
Built on the wishes of good intentions.
It’s hard not to spin and twirl with ideas of something closer.
Though closeness is what I feel wherever we are.
You are the mount that holds me steady as I spin, spin, spin.
My blades can cut deep.
Electricity is a fuel that recreates itself.
I’ll never slow until someone cuts it off.
My mind is the motor, creating movement.
The dust are mistakes made along the way.
14 degrees
And at this frigid Denver hour,
I am simply grateful for a warm home,
a safe home, blankets and a bed.
Thankful for four walls and heat,
a pillow to rest my head.
Thankful to share it all with you
in this place we call ours.
Accept
The music notes float over to my ears.
The Christmas tree flickers out of focus as I write, as I recall
the chaos in a world that moves quicker than ever
on the other side of the window behind me.
There lies the anger.
So. Much. Anger.
Capitalized by those who know what fear becomes.
Taken in by those who don’t.
They live among us, uniformly uninformed, almost proud of it.
But the anger. Why does it exist?
Accept. Accept. Accept.
Except to accept, for some, is too painful, confusing, anger-worthy.
Will we learn? Will we learn we must always learn?
It is, by far, the only way to live, to progress.
In a world where only God can judge, we champion the art.
It is easier to include, to think outside the box.
It’s easier to love, to laugh, to…
Accept. Accept. Accept.
429B
Three numbers and a letter hang from an old wooden post,
the same I used to hang from years ago.
They ask me what I remember.
I remember everything.
Remember the times we’d rest on the tops of the grass,
staring up as the leaves fell down around us?
Oh, how we’d throw those brown dead spiky balls
we’d pick up and throw as far as we could.
Recall how we’d jump from the porch and onto the lawn,
running so Tom wouldn’t catch us. We had it all.
Back and forth in the rocking chair, backpack on the side.
Remember the TV, waiting for you to come.
Three numbers and a letter hang from an old wooden post,
the same I used to hang from years ago.
They ask me what I remember.
I remember everything.