By Carlos Figueroa
When the whistle blows, all the workers run to their beers and laughter
in the ecclesia of popular discourse. It’s early evening and the
bartender does not want to wait for his tip. Where is my empty money
Behind the scene is a fire burning in my soul as a runaway flame riding
a gust of wind! Who wants to justify this Godly flicker? No one has
the desire or right to do so.
There is a pause of wonder as I wait for the right moment to express my
harried emotions. The cash arrives suddenly for the clip. It feels
like a close friend who you had not seen in ages. Oddly, it reminds me
of the days I ran freely in the nude with indignation. True euphoria as
the money clip is re-introduced to an old friend. Aesthetics of the
mind meets the erotic of the soul at the tight gap of the hungry clip.
Is this where the flame has gone?
A question such as this makes its way into my unconsciousness but
remains unanswered just the same. Uncertainty may breed pre-maturity if
allowed. Nevertheless, the promiscuous flame tells a different story in
It may seem ambiguous and ineffable but miracles happen in short
moments. Genius is revealed in times even during seemingly
insurmountable circumstances: As enlightenment equals a satisfied
bartender sitting under a rainy day with a full clip. Only then is the
abyss of uncertainty clearly understood.
WINGS IN DARKNESS
Today I walked into my shadow again not knowing what to expect or feel.
Anxiety gripped my inner sanctity as I stumbled back into my quilt-full
bed. But just in time, I opened my eyes to a beam of light shining
through my window curtains. It was the hope of the moon watching over
I know where I’ve been but still do not know where to place my next
footprint. Why not? I don’t care to know the answer. What is my
predestination if one exists? Or what are the various paths I must
consider? Only time will tell? I just wait in silence.
Life comprises of stories and tales of love and despair: at times both
simultaneously making one ignominiously compressed by life. The moment
we try to share our personal feelings and complexities rooted in our
idiosyncrasies, we become complacent and insulated. Why? Is it the
externalities presenting danger in disguise? Fear of what, whom, which? Why then?
This makes no sense to the ordinary denizens as they drink from their
empty pathetic glasses. Not aware their ice has melted too soon and
time has run out on their fantastical dreams. But should we try to
pretend the clock on our life wall is only in pause and thus make one
final attempt at flying again? Is this even possible with clipped wings
and in darkness?
Carlos Figueroa is finishing his Ph.D in Political Science at The New School for Social Research. His scholarly interests range from U.S. political history, comparative religion, and legal theory to literary criticism, and the history of ideas. But he finds reading and writing fiction, humor and philosophical meditations his ‘closet’ passions. Enjoys experimenting with cooking, drinking wine, and continues to be a life-long Mets fan! Dedicates these meditations to his beautiful wife Lucía, who personifies what it means to love.