"I spent two years imprisoned in Hell". I'm not sure which of us said it first, but we both could make that claim despite meaning it in very different ways. For him, it was two years in an actual jail-cell on a drug charge for cocaine. I'd had a feeling when he left town four years ago that he might get into trouble if he continued on the path he was on. And for me, it was an abusive relationship with a self-described and socially-proven sociopath. Never had I surrendered my power to someone the way I had done for those two years, and after six months of weekly therapy visits and months of nightmares, I had resolved firmly to never let such a thing happen again. It was clear that we each had made severely bad choices in the years 2005 and 2006 that would haunt us for years to come.

But it was better that time had passed since being released from our personal hells, because the trauma takes a long time to shake off. I don't know if we are better people as a result, but we are each different now in very specific ways. When I think of charismatic people, I think of the volume of a radio being turned way up loud. Benny was always turned up all the way, blasting, with a lot of personal energy. But now, he was much quieter, and he listened a lot more than he spoke. He sighed just as heavily as I find myself doing these days. And as for me, its taken me months to temper my fears of getting close to someone, for trust is the weakness I discovered I had during my two-year sentence of romantic torture.

But him, a friend for 13 years, how could I not trust him? It was a test for myself to take another step toward breaking through my trauma and suspicion of others. So I relaxed, exhaled, and allowed this member of my soul-family to be my friend, hold my hand, and let me cry away the last few years upon his shoulder.

As the tears dried, he opened up his box of Magic: The Gathering playing cards, and began to teach me how to play a game I never bothered to learn before. He was a very patient and thorough teacher, and within half an hour, I was playing the game and making strategic moves, though not winning against his many years of expertise.

I was thankful to sit with him on a cloudy day in Williamsburg, after all these years, freely playing a card game and enjoying the simplicity and nurture of quality time with a member of my soul-family. I was thankful that he is alive, and we are free to speak and smile and share stories, enjoy the present moments, forget the past, and relax in each other's company without fear or worry.

Loud, rumbling thunderstorms rolled through southern Virginia as I woke up next to him after the first night of my visit. He got dressed and drove up the street to the coffee shop to acquire a caramel latte for me, and a hot chocolate for himself. We enjoyed the sound of the rain and of the silence that fell between our occasional conversation, which was light and easy-going at first. We talked of the local area, of his classes at the university, his job. My lull of depression was evident from my ongoing unemployment status, but I had other pleasant news to share about creative projects and activist work. He has always known me as a poet, and was pleased to hear that I continue to write and occasionally perform, and that I've joined a band as a vocalist. He likes my deep, alto voice, he says. And my drug policy reform work was impressive, as well. He has his own strong opinions about drug policy and the criminal justice system.

We got used to each other's presence again, after four long years being separated, and it was strange to reacclimate to something, to someone, so existentially familiar in so many senses. There are many roles that we have played for each other over the years. Friend. Sibling. Teacher. Lover. Therapist. But over the years, our strong love and passion for one another was never intentionally pursued, but rather always a connection we respected and knew existed, though never fully understood. I have dated several people, and he had other things going on in his life as well. We were never in the same place at the same time for very long. It never seemed like the right time, if ever there would be one, to truly merge.

By the second day, I had shed some layers of anxiety and trauma that had been caked all around my energy field for many months. The healing effect of reuniting with a soulmate is not to be underestimated. To see familiar eyes, to recognize the pressure and finite angles of the grasp of his hand, and to share words that seemed to echo from another world began to refill my spirit with a stable and holistic sense of calm and control that I had been lacking in recent months.
He said I looked great. I've kept my figure over the years, though I had new, ugly scars to show him from my health fiasco last Summer. He had gained 50lbs in the last couple of years from indulging too much, and a once tall and thin man was now a bit rounder, and seemed a bit tired, but still looked the same to me. Considering what each of us has gone through in our lives, the ups and downs, crashes and revelations, we have both "been through the ringer", as he says; we were considerably the same people we remembered each other to be from four years ago, eight years ago, twelve years ago, just with more experience and wisdom under each of our respective belts. There was a lot of sadness, pain, and struggle to tell each other about. And also, there were some important subjects to discuss about the present, and of the future.

The drive to Williamsburg, VA, was mostly smooth sailing. There was a bit of congestion in Northern Virginia as I made my way South out of the grasp of Washington, DC, but the weather was clear and bright. I was a bit nervous, but more than anything I was ready to see my long-lost friend whom I had called forth from the void of the universe. And he was ready to see me, too. It had been just long enough, four years, for it to be too long since our last communication. Thanks to the internet, and Facebook, and the Goddess Aphrodite, we are now more permanently reunited.

When I pulled up in my car and we first saw each other, we smiled brightly and he put out his arms to grab, lift, and hold me up in the air close to him. I wrapped myself around him and felt relief for the vast gap of time and space that had been closed in that very moment.

My first evening in Williamsburg was spent on the beach with my toes in the sand and jeans rolled up, overlooking a saltwater lake. For the first time ever in my life, I reeled in a live fish from the water, and it was rather exhilerating to do so. It was between 2 and 3 pounds, and put up one hell of a fight. Two fishing poles, several hours, and some bait yielded a heaping dinner of freshly caught catfish that was deliciously breaded, seasoned, and fried, with homemade tartar sauce. It was a welcome surprise, and a lovely way to start my visit.

"Don't forget your bathing suit!", said his text message on my cell phone,
as I finally pulled myself out of a deep sleep this morning.
Bags are half-packed, and my heart is pounding
as I prepare to drive 3 hours south to visit my old friend, Ben Johnson.

Four years is a long time to be separated from a friend.
We have four days to catch up on it all.

Sometimes the prose I write is in-the-moment, with whatever paper I have available or handy.
In this particular case, I wrote this on the pages of my small blue weekly appointment book while at a local, well-known DC bar/music venue called The Black Cat, my handwriting scanning across the pages of January 26 through February 6th. Its extremely personal and stream-of-consciousness, drop in a rhyme or rhythm as it comes, and not typed up nor shared with anyone until this very moment.

----
History
circa Feb 5 2009


Where the Hell is Ben Johnson?
Is it necessary that I resurrect him from the grave?
Is that still his name?
Is he still alive?
Is he imprisoned, or is he free?
And why has he not yet come to find me?

Where does he think he is going?
And where has he been?

Is he still the wild man?
Is he still the hero?
A risk-taker? A life-warrior?

He said once he wants to marry me.
And I said he would never be
serious enough for me.
Oh silly, silly me.

Is he lost? Is he found?
Will he ever again come around?

Is it silly for me to ponder
whats become of him these days?
Is it useless for me to wonder
all that is and could have been?

Dear Ben, Its strange the way I miss you
in changing times like these.

And its strange how sometimes
you show up, you reappear,
you come back, and again you are here!

Its likely you've moved on,
by now you've changed and gone away.
And I've been elsewhere,
busy, submerged,
not evening listening for your sound.

But now my life has changed again,
and that is usually when you appear,
when I've lost hope, or lost my song,
that is when, historically, you have come along.

And if I saw you across the room tonight
as I scanned the Black Cat crowd,
I wouldn't hesitate to scream your name aloud.
 

where are you, Ben Johnson?
where did you go, Benny?

how am i supposed to find someone who cannot be found?
you are lost to me, but to you, you are found,
for wherever you roam, you rule.

you were lobbying as an intern on Massachusetts Avenue when we last were together.
you loved it and were amazing at it, but you would get so very drunk each and every day.

i was still working at the university when you came through and left.
but my next career step would take me downtown and down the street,
to share the very same city block where you had worked just months before,
before you headed south back to Richmond.

but it was so lovely when you were in town,
we bounced on clouds to dive bars and karaoke nights,
and we left earthquakes and volcanos in our wake,

because as our history shows,
when your forces and mine combine,
we are supernatural, unstoppable, 
we are the last of revelation's prophets  
evoking words, evoking spirit, evoking time. 

you've always been a free bird. always on the hunt. 
you promised things along the way,
i knew you'd always keep them.
and even though you're lost somewhere,
i feel you close within me.

i ponder what these years have brought you since you left the safety of my sight.
perhaps you've made your fortune and you've found yourself a wife,
perhaps you've settled down somewhere to make yourself a life.

although its just as likely
that you're still wandering far about,
living your adventures,
being crowned a complex king,
a beggar, a jester, and mystic. 

i don't know where to find you. you were always hard to find. 
but always when i least expected, there you would appear
shining, standing there, on my doorstep again. 

my long lost spiritual brother. 
my twin of heart and soul. 

will the Age of Aquarius bring you to me?
will it be the work of Aphrodite?

send word to me, call out loud, shout to the sky,
let the birds and the wind bring your message to me,
let me know where you are, where you'll be,
and what the hell have you been doing? 

until finally the sweet breeze brings you to me,
i will be here relishing in our archive of memories. 


~B

This extra time alone, I cherish as sacred; I wear as a badge of honor.

In a few years, I will tell stories about how I lost my job in the economic fall-out, when the end of a corrupt era finally caught up with the evil and innocent alike. I will tell how I was part of those who helped rebuild the nation, on a local level and at a national level, and how I was again gainfully employed not too long after, doing more to make the world a better place, and surviving in a stronger and wiser way. 
 
This extra time alone, I cherish as sacred; I wear as a badge of honor.

Many years ago, I met a man who is a soulmate, a spiritual kin. I was a young teenager and he was just a bit older, but our eyes recognized the souls within each other as familiar and connected instantaneously. He looked right into my eyes and asked me the kinds of questions made of words that unlock the core of you like a missing key. "So what's your story?" he asked. At the tender age of fourteen, however, I somehow knew exactly what he was asking, and why, and it is something sacred, raw, and real.

Over the years, he would come in and out of my life at different times for different reasons, and I would write poems and prose to commemorate each dramatic entry and exit. He is a true warrior. A loyal wandering friend. A roaming magician. Always a sign of change. Always a catalyst of strength and mystery. Always a man who could remind me who I really am just by looking into my eyes and unlocking my essence, lest I became lost, led astray, or had forgotten.

Where are you now, Ben Johnson?
How many times must I call out your name to summon you?
Its been three years or more now since I last saw you. 
Its about that time for you to come around again.

This extra time alone, I cherish as sacred; I wear as a badge of honor.