A Simple Smile

A different wind blows my sails. My tempo is my own. Harmony is due course. But life’s bitter winds are constantly distracting me, doing their utmost to blow me off tack. However, there are lighthouses in this storm and in these days of turbulence I am found when I see a woman’s smile. In this smile I find a valiant, stalwart light guiding my way, and usually right when I need it most.
These women don’t smile because I’m young, or cute. In fact, I am neither. These women initially smile because of what I stand for by virtue of my chosen attire. You see, I dare to be myself in a world where conformity is the status quo. I am compelled, impetuous. I haven’t any choice and these women sense a horse of a different polka dot and stripe and they reach out to me. They smile at me. They embrace me. They shower me with lambent praise. On occasion I’ve heard them say, “Here walks a colorful man, I do believe. Whatever your reason for being, please stick to your guns.” grinning all the while, reaching out for a hug. Or, “You must be very secure in your masculinity. It takes a real man to dress as you.”, eyes at once inflamed and unbridled. To receive such heartfelt encouragement gives me pause. Even though I know deep in my gut, my heart, that what they spout is truth - after all, I’ve lived it- when I hear it from the mouths of these babes it is essential, it is life’s blood. These women are angels. Avatars of love incarnate. Evanescence. In bloom.
The world is tough. Gives no quarter. And pushing the limits as I’m want to do makes me a virtual sitting duck as this torporous society is designed to leave the incorrigible senseless and bleeding, battered and bruised, confused and lost, wondering which way is up. After a roundhouse right the world laughs and sez, “Look at you now! What you got, my son?!”, shaking a fist in your face, daring you to stand, openly defying your very existence.
Color my ass Muhammad Ali, circa1964.
When I see a woman smiling at me now, I know implicitly. Before they say a word I feel their love and soon enough our shared ardor explodes into blinding ubiquity because I see these women for what they are, not for what they appear to be, nor for what they do, or for what they have. No, what these women embody is boundless love and their perspicaciousness commands me to continue on my way, armored and emboldened. These women know. They’re sagacious vixens, embracing life in totality. They see and give, instead of merely looking and passing without comment. A man named Saadi summed it up best. He said, “To give pleasure to a single heart by a single kind act is better than a thousand head-bowings in prayer.” Uh-huh. Like that. These women are unabashed, unafraid. Their hearts are full to overflowing and I am the beneficiary.
My heart is all I got these days. I need all the smiles, all the kindness I can attract. “Stand and deliver!” I sez. Consider me ready, my nuts hanging free. Filleth my cup. Buttereth my bread. I gots work to do.
It’s time to lead the orchestra. Like these women, turn your back on the audience and pick up the baton. Be unafraid. Crescendo to mezza forte’, or decrescendo to a pianissimo whisper. Above all, bathe the world in your sweet, extemporaneous music. Life is indeed a symphony.