Jet Mariano

Category: Sacred Reflections

A season of quiet course-correction. I used to run ahead—saying yes to every favor and confusing hurry with help. These reflections pick up where Only Whisper begins: walking at the Lord’s pace, using “miracles of knowledge” to bless, and remembering why I’m here.

  • I Feel The Answer

    Draper Utah Temple — A rainbow of promise through the branches.

    Intro
    Some moments arrive quietly but carry the weight of eternity. This season has taken me away from the work I love, yet placed me in a space where the Lord can speak more directly. It feels like a “calling” — not just an assignment, but an invitation to walk a path I did not expect, at a time I did not plan.

    A calling can refine you, but it can also break you — I know this firsthand. When I lost my father and my younger brother, the grief was so heavy it lingered for over a year, leaving me with a frozen shoulder and a frozen spirit. But in that stillness, I learned something I now carry with me: when you are not preoccupied, when your heart is still enough, Heaven can speak — and you will hear.

    In 1987, during my Seminary days, there was a song in our Free to Choose program called I Feel the Answer. Its words spoke to the questions of a heart unsure yet willing, and today those words still echo in me.

    I Feel The Answer

    How I wish this hadn’t come right now,
    With so much on my mind.
    I just don’t think I’m ready for a calling of this kind —
    Where do I turn to, searching for me?

    Does He know me even better than I know myself?
    When I am sure that I can’t do it, can I turn to Him for help?
    And will He answer? Will He give me peace?

    More than air to breathe, I need to know
    If what I feel is right — Father, hear my pleading.
    Let me see the light. I’ll do whatever You ask me to do.

    And yes… I feel the answer.
    He calls my name and whispers to my soul.
    And oh, His gentle answer heals my aching heart — and I am whole.
    Heals my aching heart — and I am whole.

    Sometimes, a calling feels like a classroom. Sometimes, a setback is a sacred appointment. And sometimes, the answer doesn’t come as a trumpet blast, but as a whisper — so quiet you only hear it when you pause. In those still moments, He calls your name, and you know — you are exactly where He needs you to be.

    In this quiet stretch of life, I’ve learned that solitude isn’t the absence of connection — it’s the space where Heaven’s voice becomes unmistakably clear. Away from the noise and demands, I’ve come to see that even the pauses in our path are part of His perfect timing.

    Recently, the Spirit carried me back to a sacred temple moment, where familiar faces seemed etched with eternity — not just in their features, but in the quiet witness of the soul. At times, the Lord grants us glimpses of recognition that reach beyond mortal memory, as if to remind us that His hand has been guiding our paths long before we knew it.

    It was a quiet confirmation that the same Spirit who whispered then is still speaking now — through remembrance, through reflection, and through the gentle truth that our journeys, though carved by different streams, are being guided toward the same horizon. And in those moments, just as the song I Feel the Answer says, “He calls my name and whispers to my soul” — and I feel the answer.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
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  • Only Whisper: Hearing the Voice of the Shepherd at Taylorsville Temple

    I have been here many times, but yesterday was special — the Taylorsville Temple became the backdrop for a sacred lesson on hearing the Lord’s voice.

    Only Whisper

    Revelation is never ours to control; it comes when and how the Lord chooses (D&C 88:68). He alone decides:

    1. To whom it is given
    2. When it is given
    3. How it is given
    4. What is given

    Yesterday, in the quiet holiness of the Taylorsville Temple, I was reminded of all four — not in grand visions, but in a gentle nudge. Even with my mind still learning to fully let go, the Lord chose to speak in His own way. It was not a rebuke, but a whisper — enough to remind me that He knows where I am, and He knows how to guide me forward.

    Most of the time, I move quickly — eager to help, eager to act — even when wisdom would invite me to slow down. I’ve often rushed to finish what’s before me rather than take time for careful preparation or documentation. Yet I’m learning that these slower, quieter moments are part of the work itself. King Benjamin taught that “all these things are to be done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Even after his people entered into a covenant with God, he paused to record each name (Mosiah 6:1) — a small, deliberate act that safeguarded sacred promises.

    And so, in that stillness, the Lord’s counsel from D&C 88:68 settled deeply — to keep my mind single to Him, even while I’m still learning to let go of what I hold dear. His voice is often a whisper, shaping not only what to do, but how and when to do it — in His way, and in His perfect timing.

    While pondering my temple experience in Taylorsville, this Seminary song came to mind, perfectly echoing the message of D&C 88:68:

    (From the Seminary song Voice of the Shepherd, Hold to the Rod series 1-6)

    I want to hear — really want to hear,
    But the sounds of the world loudly ring in my ear,
    While the voice of the Lord that is calling me near
    Only whisper.

    The voice of the Lord is so still, so small,
    I wonder if that’s what I’m hearing at all.
    How can I know if I heard the call of the Shepherd?

    I have His promise, but I have my choice;
    To be of His fold is to hear His voice.
    Knock, and He’ll open — ask and receive from the Shepherd.

    The voice of the world comes on so strong,
    Always insisting you’ve got to belong.
    How far can I follow without doing wrong to the Shepherd?

    Which is the world’s voice? Which voice is mine?
    Which voice is offering a message divine?
    I have His promise, but I have my choice;
    To be of His fold is to hear His voice.
    Knock, and He’ll open — ask and receive from the Shepherd.

    Now as I kneel here next to my bed,
    Chasing the voices from out of my head,
    Listening for feelings in my heart instead, comes a whisper —

    Wonderful message, welcome sound,
    Strange how loudly a whispering sounds.
    The hope that escaped me before has been found in the Shepherd.

    He gave His promise; I made my choice.
    I came to His call when I heard His voice.
    I knocked, and He opened; I asked and received from the Shepherd.

    There is peace in moving at the Lord’s pace (Mosiah 4:27).
    The temple stands, the Spirit speaks, and heaven records even what is unseen (D&C 88:68).
    In that stillness, I let go… trusting that what is meant for me will remain — even when my focus is imperfect, and my heart is still learning to let go of certain things.

    This reminded me of a season when I chased a goal with all my strength—read more in Sacred Reflections

    Most of the time, I am in a hurry and eager to help, preferring to act immediately rather than wait or work through slower, more deliberate steps. I’ve often found myself wanting to get things done rather than take time for careful preparation or documentation — yet I’m learning that these slower moments are part of the work itself. King Benjamin taught that “all these things are to be done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Even after his people entered into a covenant with God, he took the time to record each name (Mosiah 6:1) — a simple act of order that safeguarded sacred commitments.

    In the sacred quiet of the Taylorsville Temple, I felt the Lord’s counsel from D&C 88:68 settle deep into my heart — to keep my mind single to Him, even while my heart is still learning to fully let go. His voice came not as a rebuke, but as a whisper — reminding me that He knows where I am, He knows what I’m carrying, and He knows how to guide me forward.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
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  • Living, moving and being

    Along California’s iconic Hwy 101, I captured this moment: a lone jogger silhouetted against the rising sun. I wasn’t the runner—but in that stillness, I remembered that I, too, live, and move, and have my being.

    A day not just lived, but felt.

    A day when the words from Acts 17:28 stirred within me: “For in Him we live, and move, and have our being.”
    I wasn’t chasing the sun—I was waiting for it. But as I framed this stranger in motion, I saw more than a runner. I saw a reflection of all of us: moving forward, unaware we’re part of something eternal. That’s what the lens captured. That’s what I needed to remember.

    On the Edge of Being

    Poem by Jet Mariano

    He ran before the world awoke,
    A silhouette against gold and smoke.
    No music, map, or finish line—
    Just dawn unfolding, pure and fine.

    I stood unseen, lens in hand,
    Still as stone, yet I understand:
    That in his stride was something more—
    A soul in motion, not at war.

    He moved, I watched; we both were free,
    Two lives unfolding by the sea.
    He didn’t know—but I could see—
    That we both live and move… and have our being.

    I wasn’t chasing the sun—I was waiting for it. But as I framed this stranger in motion, I saw more than a runner. I saw a reflection of all of us: moving forward, unaware we’re part of something eternal. That’s what the lens captured. That’s what I needed to remember.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
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  • I’m Able: Climbing for Light, Capturing the Moon

    After hiking over 2,000 feet to my favorite mountain ridge, I waited in silence with my 1000mm + TC 2x lens—watching the Supermoon rise in full glory. It reminded me that some things are only visible to those willing to climb.
    From this 2K-foot summit, I waited with my 1000mm lens and 2x teleconverter. The shot was worth it. My eyes soaked in the rising Supermoon, but I wanted to remember the experience forever. It took patience, precise camera settings, and above all, an ‘I’m able’ attitude that brought me the stillness I needed. Here’s the result.

    That simple phrase didn’t just motivate me. It rejuvenated me. It reminded me that every setback I’ve endured, every delay, and every heartbreak was not the end—but a test of endurance. Like Edison, like Tesla, and like countless others who stood firm when things fell apart, I now carry this quiet fire inside me.
    No matter what the odds say—I’m able.
    And that means everything.

    I’m Able
    Poem by Jet Mariano

    I’m able—not because I’ve won,
    But because I choose to rise with the sun.
    I’m able—not from praise or might,
    But by standing up when wrong feels right.

    I’m able—through the tear-stained night,
    To cradle hope and guard the light.
    I’m able—though I walk alone,
    To make the climb and call it home.

    I’ve come to realize—I don’t need titles to prove my worth. I don’t measure myself by applause or position.
    What I carry is truth. Lived truth. Quiet truth. Hard-earned truth.
    And in those silent battles when no one’s watching, I remind myself:
    I’m able.
    And that means everything.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
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  • Day of Delight

    Scaffolds outside, strength within—light and gladness in the heart. Updates: base isolation for earthquakes; expanded capacity (new instruction rooms, more sealing rooms); two baptistries in the annex; endowment now in single-room film presentations in multiple languages.

    Intro
    I’ve been thinking about how a day can change the temperature of a soul. “There’s a day when I cast off the world… and find myself in prayer.” That line isn’t about running from life—it’s about choosing a place where God can reach me. Another line says, “a day to rediscover the vision, clear and bright.” Rediscover is the key word. The light was there all along; the day simply gives me permission to see it again. After weeks of early prayers and late-night temple time, this song feels less like nostalgia and more like instruction: set the day apart, and the day will set you apart.

    Day of Delight (full lyrics, 1979 Gates of Zion Seminary Album)

    There’s a certain kind of happiness,
    a certain kind of glow,
    a special warm sensation—
    I love to feel it flow.

    I love the sweet reminder
    of other things to do,
    the hopes and dreams inside myself—
    I know they can come true.

    There’s a day when I cast off the world,
    untouched by problems there;
    a day when I can grow and learn
    and find myself in prayer;

    a day to rediscover
    the vision, clear and bright;
    a day of light and gladness—
    a day of my delight.

    Who knows what treasures—
    Was for me the freedom,
    and the peace, new reaches,
    fresh and unexplored—
    Lord, where faith and love,

    far beyond the ordinary,
    past the ways of man;
    the beauty of this day was set
    before the world began.

    There’s a day when I cast off
    the world, untouched by problems there;
    a day when I can grow and learn
    and find myself in prayer;
    a day to rediscover the vision,
    clear and bright—
    a day of light and gladness,
    a day of my delight.

    Final Reflection
    Why would a Seminary writer in 1979 pen “Day of Delight”? My sense: to teach that holiness isn’t grim—it’s glad. Youth didn’t need a heavier rulebook; they needed language for joy. The song reframes a set-apart day as fuel, not escape: “I love the sweet reminder of other things to do… I know they can come true.” That’s a hidden gem—the holy day doesn’t pause your life; it powers it. Another is, “the beauty of this day was set before the world began,” quietly tying delight to covenant memory: this rhythm was written into us long before our calendars.

    What I hear now
    • Delight is chosen. The day doesn’t chase me; I step into it.
    • Prayer is discovery, not performance. I “find myself in prayer.”
    • Joy precedes action. Warmth first, then the “other things to do.”
    • Covenant memory steadies the week. If it was set “before the world began,” I can trust it to reset me now.

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  • Somewhere in Life

    Sunrise behind the Taylorsville Temple — a reminder that even after storms, there’s light, a place prepared for us, and battles that can be won.

    There are moments when life’s rhythm seems to shift, as if unseen hands are arranging the day in ways we can’t quite explain. Today feels like one of those moments. My morning began with simple exchanges, yet carried an undertone of purpose. Last night’s dream—more like a second visit from the other side—lingers in my mind, as if to say, you’re not walking alone.

    It brought to mind the song Somewhere in Life from the 1979 Gates of Zion Seminary album, recorded during the time President Spencer W. Kimball was the prophet. I know these songs well because I served as a CES Institute Director from 1987 to 1990, a season in my life where music like this carried deep spiritual lessons to youth—and, unexpectedly, to me as well. Its words about “storms of evil that cloud your view” and “a hand to hold” speak directly to my journey.

    Somewhere in life there’ll be darkness too
    Storms of evil moments that cloud your view
    And yet in life you’ll find that Morning Sun
    You’ll find a battle won

    Somewhere in life there’s a place for you
    Far away from forces you can’t subdue
    Somewhere in life there be someone to know
    There’ll be a hand to hold

    The assurance that “there’s a place for you” feels especially real today, and with it, the quiet courage to keep moving forward until, as the song says, “you’ll find a battle won.”

    This ties closely to my August 12 “Storm of Life” reflection. Back then, I wrote about facing trials head-on and finding calm in the eye of the storm. Today, I feel that same calm as I prepare to enter the Taylorsville Temple—not just to perform a proxy endowment, but to lay the names of loved ones on the altar, trusting in the Lord’s timing.

    Final Reflection
    Life’s battles are rarely fought on visible fields. Most are waged in the quiet spaces of our hearts, where faith pushes back against fear. My dream reminded me that heaven is closer than we think, and the song from Gates of Zion reminds me that somewhere in life—right here, right now—there’s still a hand to hold, a place prepared, and a victory ahead.

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  • Marked in Time — Learn to Love the Storm (Provo City Center Temple)

    Provo City Center Temple under lightning—shot from the walkway with leading lights. A reminder I first learned in 2018 after that T-bone crash: storms can shake you, but they don’t decide the ending.

    Excerpt
    Learn to love the storm.

    Intro
    Storms touch every life—loss, illness, missed chances, worry. In IT they hit at 2 a.m., at airports, on freeways, even overseas. Like weather carves a canyon, adversity shapes a soul. Preparation helps—docs, reps, calm breath—until we learn not just to endure but to embrace the rhythm.

    Backstory
    Second week of January 2018, on my way to photograph Provo City Center Temple, a driver T-boned my car. He was arrested on the spot. I blacked out for a few seconds—came back, shaken but okay—and still made it to the temple. That night taught me: storms hit hard, but they don’t have to end the story. Funny enough, as I write this, American Pie wanders through a verse about endings. I’m grateful mine wasn’t.

    Notes from the Journey
    Urgency doesn’t wait; readiness is mercy. Pressure reveals what practice built. Quiet faith plus steady habits turns chaos into clarity.

    Practice (today, not someday)
    Prep what future-you will need (one checklist, one page of notes). When the alert hits: breathe, bless, begin. Re-anchor: Grounded • Rooted • Established • Settled.

    Final Reflection
    Loving the storm doesn’t mean pretending it doesn’t hurt. Some trials mark the body and the heart. Yet the covenant echo remains: “Thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment… and shall be for thy good.” (D&C 121:7; 122:7) In tech and in life, Murphy visits often; I’ll meet him ready, resilient, and willing—trusting that beyond the thunder, I keep moving.

    Pocket I’m Keeping
    Prepared, prayerful, unafraid of weather.

    What I Hear Now
    Hold fast. Keep going between flashes.

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  • It’s up to me to share my light with others

    December 1, 1982 — With my final companion, Elder Ulrich. On this day, I received a telegram from the mission office telling me my mission would end the following week. I didn’t want to go home — I felt I was just getting started.

    During my commute to work, I sometimes listen to old Seminary songs — melodies that carry me back to my early days in the Church. Recently, one stood out: It’s Up to Me from the 1979 Gates of Zion album.

    The first stanza caught me:

    It’s up to me to share my light with others
    How can they grow if I refuse to give?
    The happiness I feel is beautiful and real.

    In December 1982, I was serving in my last area with my final companion, Elder Ulrich, when I received a telegram telling me I had only a few days before going home. I didn’t want to leave. I never counted the days on my mission — I made each day count. Every conversation, every door, every lesson was another chance to share the light with others.

    When I joined the Church, I was a chain smoker — 50+ sticks a day. I quit cold turkey in seven days, through prayer and sheer determination, so I could be baptized. That change taught me that the Lord magnifies even the smallest willingness to act. Whether it’s giving up a habit, opening your mouth to share the gospel, or simply showing kindness, He makes it enough.

    My “mission” didn’t end when I was released. The form of service has changed — now it’s IT projects, photography, mentoring, or writing — but the calling to share the light stays the same. These skills aren’t really mine; they’re gifts from God, meant to be used in building others up.

    Final Reflection

    Over the years, I’ve learned that sharing the light is not tied to a title or season of life. Whether through gospel service, professional expertise, or creative talents, each of us has something that can brighten another’s path.

    That’s what the song It’s Up to Me has always whispered to my heart: the happiness we feel is beautiful and real — but it becomes even more beautiful when it lights someone else’s way.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
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  • Marked In Time – “I’m Glad I’m Me”

    Manila Philippines Temple — first light through the palms. When I joined the Church there were 4 missions in the Philippines; today there are 26. From 1 temple then to 13 now (3 operating, 10 under construction). Truly, “miracles of knowledge” — and truth can grow and thrive.

    Excerpt

    A quiet temple night—and a Seminary song—reminded me that “miracles of knowledge” are all around us, and that I can be glad to be me while still becoming better.

    Intro

    Some moments stay because they’re loud and unforgettable. Others stay because they’re quiet—so quiet you almost miss them. My August 9 visit to the Taylorsville Utah Temple was one of those moments. It was an only whisper kind of day that made me pause and take in where I am in life. In that stillness, the Seminary song “I’m Glad I’m Me” (from Gates of Zion) returned and reframed where I am—technically, spiritually, and personally.

    Notes from the “Seminary Song, Gates of Zion Album, 1979″

    I’m glad I’m me

    Today is warm and wonderful, it’s my day
    What a time to be alive
    There’s miracles of knowledge all around me
    And man can soar, truth can grow and thrive

    The world has waited breathlessly for this day
    And I’m part of what they waited for
    With those who before I share the blessing
    Opportunity not dreamed about people

    I’m glad I’m me
    and yes I’m glad I know the answers
    Know why I’m here and what I’m living for
    I want to be the best I can be I want to do
    What I was sent here for

    I have work to do while it’s still my day
    There’s so much love and happiness to gie
    I’m glad to think that I was counted worthy
    That I was saved for this great day to live

    I’m glad I’m me
    And Yes I’m glad I know the answers
    Know why I’m here, and what I’m living for
    I wan to be the best I can be I want to do
    What I sent here for

    Perspective (direct quotes) — aligned to the song

    • “I must work the works… while it is day.” — John 9:4
    • “Seek learning, even by study and also by faith.” — D&C 88:118
    • “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” — Mosiah 2:17

    Practice (today, not someday) — phrased from the lyrics

    • Know why I’m here: write one sentence of purpose for today and read it before you start.
    • Be the best I can be: choose one skill to sharpen (document the “miracle of knowledge” you used).
    • Do what I was sent here for: finish one task that directly blesses a person/team.
    • Share the blessing: teach one thing you learned (short note, screenshot, or 2-minute huddle).

    Final Reflection

    When I first started in IT, “miracles of knowledge” looked very different—no Azure, AWS, or GCP; the Internet for a few universities; rooms of hardware; Google not yet a verb; AI still fiction. Today we carry more compute in our pockets than those machines ever dreamed of. That’s not just progress—it’s an everyday miracle.
    Knowing why I’m here, I want to be the best I can be and do what I was sent here for: stay curious, be ready for the unexpected, show up prepared, learn from every storm, and find meaning in the work and relationships along the way. I’m grateful for this moment—where heaven’s whisper meets technology’s light. And yes, I’m glad I’m me.

    Pocket I’m Keeping

    Know why I’m here; do what I was sent here for.

    What I Hear Now

    “Be the best you can be—today.” • “Use knowledge to lift.”

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  • When Laughter Is Still

    My Tesla beneath the Milky Way — motionless, but never without direction.

    Some nights, the noise fades and what remains is the weight of memory. Yesterday left more than questions—it left a silence loud enough to listen to. This poem was born from that space. It’s not about loss or blame, but a quiet confrontation with the world I’ve built, the love I’ve given, and the choices still before me. In this stillness, I ask: what does it mean to keep going, even when laughter is gone?

    It’s me. It’s my world—and I still want to taste it.
    I’ve held joy like steam in a cup—
    brief, warm… then gone.
    But I drank every drop,
    even when it burned,
    even when the cup cracked in my hands.

    I told the sky my secrets,
    parked beneath the stars in silence.
    No music this time. No echoes.
    Only questions,
    and God—still listening
    when no one else would.

    When laughter is still,
    I become what I must—
    not by gift, not by chance,
    but by choosing not to run
    even when I was left behind.

    — Poem written by Jet Mariano

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  • Today or Tomorrow, Now or Then, Endure to the End

    I become what I will — not by gift, not by chance,
    but like this still house on the prairie, rooted by water, framed by sky —
    I endure. I reflect. Today or tomorrow, now or then.

    Intro Paragraph (Why this poem?)

    There are things I rarely speak, not because they don’t matter — but because they do. Some stories are too sacred to explain plainly. I’ve carried burdens for decades — for family, for faith, and sometimes for people who never knew. This poem is not a confession. It’s a quiet map of where I’ve been and what it cost me to endure. If you’ve ever sacrificed in silence, this is for you.

    Today or Tomorrow, Now or Then, Endure to the End

    by Jet Mariano

    I become what I will—
    not by gift,
    not by chance.

    They said it was for the dream.
    But I never dreamed of this.

    Not the hauling at midnight,
    the cold linoleum behind the receiving dock

    but never my name.

    I didn’t come with love in hand—
    I came with a debt to pay.
    To rescue a soul,
    and carry a family
    across a sea of impossibilities.

    A job at USC
    became a cure for my father,
    a lifeline for my family,
    a bridge for my siblings
    to find homes I would never live in.

    And still, I smiled.

    Though phone jobs stripped my voice,
    while I studied with red eyes and calloused faith,
    and slept beside hopelessness

    They think I’m quiet now.
    They don’t know I’ve just spoken enough pain
    for a hundred lifetimes.

    I write it in playlists
    that no one plays but me.
    I express it in photographs I create—
    where silence can finally breathe.

    I date it in the margins of scripture
    where no one else will read.

    Let them think I’ve always been composed.
    Let them think the IT job made me.
    I know what made me:

    A God who watched me
    hauling furniture in Burbank
    and still whispered,
    “You are mine.”

    Today or tomorrow,
    now or then,
    endure to the end.

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  • A Quiet Milestone in Our Family’s IT Journey

    Some victories don’t need spotlights when they’ve already made their mark in the heart.

    My son earned his Master’s in Cybersecurity—an achievement forged through discipline, persistence, and his own quiet fire. While others chase trends, he’s built a foundation. And while I never asked him to follow in my footsteps, he chose to walk beside them in his own way.

    This moment reminds me that legacy isn’t loud. It’s built in silence—line by line, late night by late night, passed through keyboards, keystrokes, and countless system logs. And while the world sees just a photo, I see a journey… a reflection of years of sacrifice, faith, and fierce intention.

    If I’m the blueprint, he is the upgrade.

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  • First Time, First Place – A Father’s Salute

    August 2, 2025 – FitExpo Bodybuilding Finals. First competition, first crown. Video credit: Jay Jay Calica.


    He once ruled the stage with rhythm and beats—4-time champion in male hip-hop dance. But on this day, he stepped into a different arena—where the spotlight came from strength, form, and unwavering discipline.


    This was his very first bodybuilding competition. Categorized by height and weight, he faced seasoned athletes… and came out on top. First place. Another gold medal, another reason for me to say, “That’s my son.”

    As a father, I’ve watched him evolve. From choreographed footwork to disciplined gym reps, he’s taught me that greatness is not inherited—it’s earned through effort, day after day.


    From the dance floor to the posing stage, your light never dims—it just shines in new ways. Keep rising, son.

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  • The Sun Will Shine

    Sunbeams broke through as the train passed — and for a moment, I felt everything I never said.

    Photo: “The Crossing” by JM, 8/1/2025

    The train just passed, the light broke through,
    The sunset whispered thoughts of you.
    Though shadows fall and skies turn gray,
    Your warmth still finds me in the day.

    The clouds may cry, the skies may grieve,
    But in my stillness, I believe.
    That even storms can feel you near,
    In silent echoes, soft and clear.

    And when the veil feels soft and thin,
    Your memory lingers deep within.
    A sacred bond not seen by eyes,
    But felt beneath eternal skies.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Above It All

    No roar, no rush. Just resolve in motion—above it all.

    I walked the fire and bore the weight,
    Yet silence taught me not to break.
    Beyond the noise, beyond the call—
    I stood my ground above it all.
    That’s resolution, not hesitation.

    “Remember, success is a journey, not a destination. Have faith in your ability. You will do just fine.”
    — Bruce Lee

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Thou Art There

    Captured in silence at Yosemite’s Tunnel View — February chill, bulb exposure, and a single LED light to find focus. In darkness, I discovered a sharper image and a quieter soul.

    I stood alone where shadows climb,
    Where granite guards the edge of time.
    The wind was sharp, the night was bare—
    But still, I knew Thou would be there.

    I could not see my hands or feet,
    Just trembling limbs in silent beat.
    One LED—my only spark—
    To chase away the endless dark.

    Each breath was frost, my fingers numb,
    Yet I refused to yield or run.
    A tripod, lens, and faith I gripped,
    Till starlight through the valley slipped.

    And while I waited, heart bowed low,
    The Spirit whispered what I know:

    “There are so many things to be endured:
    illness, injustice, insensitivity,
    poverty, aloneness, unresponsiveness,
    being misrepresented and misunderstood,
    and, sometimes, even enemies.”

    Still I remained, though cold and worn,
    Refusing night to leave me torn.
    I stayed until the shutter’s breath
    Returned a frame that conquered death.

    Not for the praise or photograph,
    But proof that I had passed the path.
    That even here, beneath despair—
    With frozen limbs and unanswered prayer—
    Thou art there.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Feelings of Forever Come So Strong

    The storm flashed miles away, but I stood under fair skies. Sometimes light travels far to reach you. — Jet Mariano

    Feelings of forever come so strong.
    They echo deep like an old, familiar song.
    They follow us like gems that brightly shine,
    Lighting paths once yours and mine.

    Calendars of time we nearly knew
    Trembled in a lamp of gold and blue—
    A flame much brighter than the sun,
    Marking where our hearts had once begun.

    I recall the morning you arose,
    A star above where silence gently flows.
    Shining through a sea of endless sand,
    The child within you reached for my hand.

    The compass stirred, the veil grew thin,
    We felt the world dissolve within.
    And though we feared what lay ahead,
    We followed truth where angels tread.

    And now we lift the veil and try to see,
    What once we were, what we might still be.
    We reach across the veil of then,
    To start anew—yet feel again.

    Something’s at the gate and rushing through,
    No rusted chain can hide what’s true.
    A thousand lives we’ve lived in kind,
    Now breaking through the veil of time.

    Mem’ries rise where silence grew—
    The feelings are so strong… and coming through.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • When the Veil Was Thin

    Where moonlight crowns the silence, and thunder humbles the earth—there, I remembered who I was

    When the veil was thin and silence reigned,
    The heavens wept, the earth remained.
    The moon arose in royal grace,
    And time stood still within that place.

    No trumpet called, no chorus sang—
    Just lightning’s whisper and heaven’s clang.
    The rocks bore witness, tall and true,
    That something sacred passed right through.

    I felt it brush against my skin—
    A touch from where all things begin.
    No need for words, nor signs, nor proof…
    The veil was thin—
    and love was truth.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • There’s No One Now but You

    When all else faded, only You remained

    (Inspired by the journey of loss, growth, and grace)

    I felt so strong, so sure, so free,
    Believed the path belonged to me.
    No need for hands to guide or stay—
    I didn’t know I’d break this way.

    I chased the stars, ignored the signs,
    Built my dreams on shallow lines.
    But life, with quiet storms in view,
    Took all I had—and tested too.

    It seized the hope I once embraced,
    And left me wandering, soul displaced.
    I thought the shape of life was mine,
    Each step designed by grand design.

    I didn’t need You—so I claimed,
    Dismissed the whispers of Your name.
    But all along, in silence deep,
    You held the vows I failed to keep.

    And now the curtain’s torn in two,
    I see the world in clearer hue.
    No crowd remains to lean into—
    There’s no one now…
    but You.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

  • Feelings of Forever

    In the hush of dusk, I remembered forever

    Feelings of forever come so strong,
    They follow like a sacred song.
    Jewels of light along the way,
    Outshining even break of day.

    Calendars of time we knew,
    Now tremble in a brighter view—
    A lamp far fiercer than the sun,
    Where all our years dissolve to one.

    I recall the morning you arose,
    A flame where starlight softly glows.
    Your eyes held truths no words could say,
    A child’s hope that lit our way.

    And as the compass pulled us near,
    I took your hand and drew you clear—
    No vow was sworn, no need to speak,
    Forever touched us—meek to meek.

    And now we lift the veil to understand,
    And reach for who we were, not what we planned.
    To circle back where time began,
    And walk once more where we once ran.

    © 2012–2025 Jet Mariano. All rights reserved.
    For usage terms, please see the Legal Disclaimer.

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