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"The soul that can speak through the eyes, can also kiss with a gaze."
~Gustav Adolfo Becquer


>> Saturday, August 19, 2006

Being Passionate. About ANYTHING! It matters little to me, What someone is passionate about, just as long as it's there. It could be their job, their hobby, a cause or belief. An idea, a goal, or a feeling. I look for that in others, and when it's there, it's unmistakable! I've touched on this a bit in a prior post.

To me, that person really comes alive. And what I find soo incredibly attractive about that is, they are usually completely oblivious to how they look, or the energy they give off.
It's in their voice when they talk about it.
It's in their facial expression.
It's in their eyes.
It's in their soul.

You can sense it.
You can feel it.
You can almost taste it.

There's an energy that, to me, draws me like a moth to a light.

It's beautiful.

And the best part?

They usually are naive to the energy they are exuding.

I am reminded of something I learned in my professional life.
Look into the adult. Find their child.

Below is a poem that I've had since I was a teenager.
Though the meaning is slightly different than what I wrote above, both share the common theme:
Looking Beyond the Obvious to See the Core.

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I'm afraid to take off
And none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.

My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create
a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only hope, and I know it.
That is, if it is followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to.
I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a fa├žade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.

So begins the glittering
but empty parade of Masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear
what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing
I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand
because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings --
very small wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator
--an honest-to-God creator --
of the person that is me
if you choose to.

You alone can break down the wall
behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me
from the shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness
builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational,
but despite what the books may say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love
is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

By Charles C. Finn

To read the full account for yourself, or simply to enjoy more of Charlie's poems, visit

3 Reflections:

gwen 6:02 PM, August 19, 2006  

zz, that was very beautiful. Just like you. Thanks for sharing! :)

RB05 8:14 PM, August 19, 2006  

Wow, right on. Good poem!!!!!!!!!!!! :-)

likegoodstuf 12:55 PM, August 21, 2006  

ahh, passion. would not want to live without it. Nice, zz..

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Summit of Mount Jo 9/24/10 A few friends were worried about me. They were worried about me hiking Mount Jo by myself, so I took this video to show how many people were around that day if I needed assistance. I even chatted with several and had a few people share a glass of wine with me at the summit. :) Mount Jo. 9/24/10 After the crowd left This is what the summit looked like... with no people on it. In the previous video I took, I showed all the people who had made this same hike to her summit.
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