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December 07 When The Music’s Over
November 19 RetrospectionsFrom 1998...........
Casualties of love.
I feel that sometimes it’s important to realize that even the most honorable intentions cause us to continue along a path that leads to no common destination. I have been following the actions of people here that acknowledge the gap existing between them as partners and choose to begin anew. I thought, until recently, I would escape that often-tragic trap and not succumb to failure. Aaron Beck, in “Love Is Never Enough”, states, “Mates need to cooperate, compromise and follow through with joint decisions. They have to be resilient, accepting and forgiving. They need to be tolerant of each other’s flaws, mistakes and peculiarities. As these ‘virtues’ are cultivated over a period of time the marriage develops and matures.” I would have loved to apply those principles in my relationship. I believe “we” would have enjoyed a rewarding and fulfilling remainder of our lives together. I also have to acknowledge that we came together at a point in our lives when we had few boundaries, that we felt that love was enough. However, love had to take a backseat to practical decisions as we grew and found that the lines we had subliminally drawn were the ones we could and would not compromise. I entered the household of a widow and three “adult” children. I felt I had a lot to offer and engaged in high gear to justify my presence in their home. I was outvoted at the start. If I displeased one, I displeased all. But my time here was not wasted on that point. We all learned to love one another and overlook my early blunders although I, as a newcomer, arrived too late in the family to establish credence. As a freshman Congressman cannot introduce bills to be made into law without the sponsorship of his seniors, I was severely lacking in the affectivity of my aspirations. I find no fault; give no blame in the closing of this fine chapter of my life. I can face the reality that accepting, compromising and resilience cannot be casually tossed into the recipe for a mature and lasting relationship. I am entirely fortunate that we enjoyed this time we had and loved and learned so much together. We found, though, that in order to continue pursuing our respective destinies we had to use different maps. Recent debates on the boards have given credence to realization that we are totally human, not textbook examples of proper behavior. I feel that I could have assured the longevity of my relationship had I accepted more than I did. I am confident that I could have applied my own teachings and given as well as received a state of stability. Sadly, though, I understand that concessions I made and could have made strengthened me and, conversely, altered my direction of travel. I passed the point of no return when I took advantage of the situation and fell into complacency. We tried to turn our eyes to this digression and focus instead on my goal. That, in turn, was a digression on her part. Then we began to grow apart. Sometimes we just have to face the fact that you can’t teach old dog new tricks. Can ya, Hunchie? Habits and behavior reside within us as a sort of cellular memory and I found that a wealth of attention focused on altering them often starves another part of me that provides my bearing, causing me to stray from my course. The love we share enabled us to recognize this and agree upon an amicable split. Many are not so fortunate as I in knowing one with such compassion who is wise enough to initiate this action before bitterness sets in and creates an unnecessary animosity. I feel blessed that I could see this as well. There is a lot of grief in my accepting this finality, and I intend to embrace that loss fully. Recent losses have been my ally by enabling me to own my shadow and realize that I can live with that shadow more harmoniously by accepting it. If I were to deny it I would be denying a part of myself. I would be denying the opportunity to continue growing and being a contribution instead of a whining victim. I am thankful to my partner and to my friends for helping me avoid that trap, as intent as I was upon repeatedly falling into it. We never married, the only discussion around that being the impracticality of the union. Although we discussed growing old together, I feel it was love speaking and not reasoning. We lived, laughed and traveled a lot. We, as a family, shared the tears. I have the children to thank for helping me mature. I feel, though, that I can never be the man of this house, that it is not my castle. I feel a need to build anew, to share my life with one who knows me as I am now, not as I was and who I came to be. Some changes just create a new destiny and should be embraced, not denied. Thus are the casualties of love.November 15 BrandyMy valley was made of four farms, each of which had a spring, which fed four streams leading to the mountain behind my farm. They joined a creek that wed the river a few miles down. On one of my days starting a walk by my barn to follow the valley, her mom dropped her and scooted into the underbrush. I had seen the stray from time to time, only now realizing she was starting a family. She left me a cub. A black and white beauty that shared sixteen years of my life with me, never ceasing in her love and devotion for me. Fierce, strong, aloof and up to any challenge, she mirrored what I wished to be. October 29 I Had A Place
I had a place. A place of serenity and endless quietude draped with luxurious towering hemlock, framed by poplar trees and guarded by a variety of oak and maple sentinels. The trail from my house led along the creek to a deepening and leafy divide no more than a dozen feet across and sloping gently downward. The soil beneath the forest cover went quickly from loam to red and gray clay, loose mortar between battalions of limestone soldiers. A slice of earth opened and veered downward to a bed across which an eternity of water had marched, making its way to the ocean. My small stream trickled its tireless way across bared boulders and countless pebbles glinting upward through the clarity of pure spring water. The place had an imposing feeling of security. It smelled of pine and wood and sweet loose soil. Wind wove its way through the treetops well above my head as the uppermost branches danced, aerial weirs ushering the whispering wayfarer onward. I had found a place to recline, to muse and to linger. There was a saucer of verdant moss covering an ancient couch of rocks gently sculpted by time and elements into a cushioned depression in the bosom of Mother Earth. It was perfect for a retreat into the arms of sensory solitude, drenched in the ambient excesses of nature’s essence. She serenaded me with rhythms and rills evoking the stillness of moments suspended in time. Time lost its way, as I lay peacefully in the comfort offered effortlessly and endlessly renewed by the mossy fingers of the firm yet yielding contours. I floated effortlessly close to the ground and rested in a reverie serenaded silently by thoughts drifting aimlessly toward the heavens. Many moments I spent in that tender embrace, accompanied only by my feline familiar. We would venture from that place toward the momentary end of the meandering waters that passed within reach of my open den. Before I arrived at the delta that encircled the base of the mountain erupting from the forest floor, I visited the walls of witnesses who had walked these trails before. I was never, for one moment, alone. October 27 Living in a country of waste during a time of need.
Living in a country of waste during a time of need.
We have a huge undercurrent of life living on the edge in this land of opportunity. It is a distinctive community that makes the subculture of the seventies pale by comparison. Folks who once may have lived beyond their means are barely getting by beneath their means. People who have been displaced due to job closings, forfeitures and personal tragedies are sadly seeking shelter. More families and individuals are being forced to the streets as the unemployed ranks swell toward the ten percent mark. Is this land of opportunity now turning into a land of the lost? I don’t think so. As the exodus from the mainstream swells, so does the proliferation of abandoned buildings and dwellings. The market of vacant or available homes has reached a degree of over-saturation probably never before seen in this country. These buildings all lie idle as the taxes on them accumulate and wait to pounce upon their next occupant or owner. The properties themselves are nonproductive in terms of contribution to the community tax base. They join the ranks of their human counterparts in loss of productivity and purpose. Entire communities in the guise of closed military bases and small towns are laid to waste by mandatory eviction. Government-owned or leased lands, if exempt, contribute nothing to local tax rolls; if not exempt, they continue to incur tax debt. Once the industries that supported all these properties have gone they no longer serve a purpose. Tell that to the people who no longer have a roof over their head. Explain that to families who are crowded in together, desperately reaching out to helping hands and losing their sense of usefulness. Their American Dream has been laid to waste by a system that capitalizes in waste. We live above an infrastructure of waste, anxious to hide the idea that we can’t fix things anymore. We have created a disposable society in our haste to move forward and ignore what we leave behind. Now we are leaving our fellow human beings behind in the rush to stay ahead and stay on top at any cost. The cost is now becoming so great that it can’t be ignored. Food, a basic human need, is disposed of daily across the country at an alarming rate due in large part to governmental mandate. Use-by and sell-by dates relegate tossing the staff of life into the bin of loss. Every day, in every business that markets food, there must be uncounted millions of dollars of perfectly good and palatable refuse discarded in accordance with federal rules. In areas where times are particularly tight desperate individuals are drawn to parking lots and backstreets to intercept sustenance that is destined for the landfill. There is a considerable opportunity for enterprising individuals to turn lives around; not just their lives, but many of those who share their plight. In days gone by we were accustomed to separating the grain from the chaff; now it is time to separate the good from the bad and feed our fellow man. The practice is Biblical, “leave the corners of the fields, don’t overpick the orchards and vineyards, don’t strip the harvest; leave it for the poor and the stranger”. Although we may have advanced beyond the agrarian society, we have not left behind our basic human needs. October 06 Prosus Retrospectus
Some old...some much older: May. 19th, 2007 @ 12:59 PM People Gotta thing about them. You see, I've learned to schedule forward; Oct. 17th, 2006 @ 11:41 PM I had dreams I had dreams, and am still dreaming. There is so much sky and space to explore. I remember the reaction my lungs had to that first stolen smoke, how I gasped from my first taste of alcohol, how the din of heavy metal would render me partially deaf for days after. I dreamt of being a world-class photographer for the National Geographic, of the mystique of travel, of new frontiers with new smells and sights. I dreamt of flying, making all those trips a communion with the sky, how it would take me closer to the source of my creativity. I could see myself surrounded by beauty, able to afford all those wonderful things I desired, oblivious to the fact that desiring does not make it so, it merely provides incentive. I remember one disappointment after another when I failed to achieve instant success, when I wasn’t awarded with a golden ring for my efforts. I became disillusioned, maybe someone had done me wrong. I changed from one career, one business, one lifestyle to another. I continued the search I had begun in those loving woods, walking along and in the streams, stealthily gliding across the river so well I could surprise the water striders in their zig-zag dance upon the surface. I began to observe their erratic motions, with no discernible direction, no apparent goal. I began to remember that I forgot. I thought the world had given up on me. I started to box up my dreams and put them on a shelf with the rest of my dusty items. I forgot that I was in charge of my direction, my goal. I forgot that love from another comes from love for oneself. I forgot that my friends were waiting for me to call upon them, that they wanted to be a part of my life. I forgot that I was not a family, a team, a community on my own. I forgot that the beauty of the nature I revered remained, only I changed. I remember that I forgot because the hurt of loss and failure remains until I fill that space with beauty, freedom and flight. I forgot because I was never told to remember, but I may never have listened anyway. Oct. 16th, 2006 @ 02:18 PM No Bare Feet I was awestruck. Oct. 16th, 2006 @ 01:24 PM Blank Canvas A blank canvas, at present, a void for the world to see Oct. 15th, 2006 @ 08:35 PM Solar Fire I love you lady of the solar fire. Oct. 14th, 2006 @ 07:39 PM L'attitudes And you and I shall remain, long after the autumn refrain Oct. 13th, 2006 @ 10:47 AM More Crossroads At a full stop here. Have been for far too long. I've removed reverse from my "vehicle" and U-turns are illegal if not damaging. A right or left turn would take me back into a community of which half thinks I'm responsible for the breakup and the other half hasn't seen me in the business environment for a long time. They've gone on without me. I don't want to re-integrate anyway because they've "paved Paradise and turned it into a parking lot". Oct. 12th, 2006 @ 02:58 PM My Sign...One Way Out Hopes and ideals formulating while present life is agitating, waiting for me to solidify plans to move ahead and out. Thus far it's become easier to let words flow in a particular fashion more than the ration I've allowed in the past. Passion demands while complacency remands one to a life of little to long for as the path awaits my unsure footing. The acres of razed paradise continue to surprise me as I venture toward the outer boundaries seeking vestiges of my former milieu. There is little left of the beautiful ecosystem I committed to upon leaving forever the cold and callous North. The Gulf coast has long held me rapt as a widow's walk upon the roof of many an old Floridian home in the Keys. Now it is issuing a decree that to me is the end of my days here. Houses and condos touching yet offering much of nothing in the manner of knowing my neighbors. We're all busy like army ants in our daily and adamant scurry toward another cubicle of controlled-climate. Hurry. No time for that morning paper or a final caper with a loved one to herald the morning's arrival. Oct. 11th, 2006 @ 02:39 PM As The Mirror Has Cracked As the mirror has cracked from souls wrecked Oct. 10th, 2006 @ 09:54 PM Worlds Apart Worlds apart. A part that renders conciliatory overtures impotent. Oct. 8th, 2006 @ 12:01 PM New Intersections. I just turned into this street and am hoping the traffic is more to my liking than the numerous other sites that are subject to callous drivers and insensitive pedestrians. I'll punctuate this foray with a rumination by Camu, I believe, stating that "Man is born and spends his lifetime searching for the one or two images that first set his heart on fire". I could use a spike or two of passion at the present moment but in light of all that has happened for now "Give me ambivalence or give me something else". I miss the Earth and my roses. Looking for a way out of this ever-widening parking lot on the brink of the Gulf I long to have my own garden that I can tend to in bare feet. I was born in the country and am now determined to find my way back. So if you see me at an intersection, yield or go on your way but at least wave. I may be a friend you have yet to meet. A Toast to Toasts Gone Before
I've been writing all my life. Lots of it gooey, sappy stuff I prefer to hide. Many pieces were written during passionate times, releases for a troubled soul and often on the sly. Funny how desperate times evoke the creative self. Damned shame it can't become a daily discipline. I believe all of us have the voice of a poet inside, screaming many times to be let free. That's a big part of me. Yet I tire of the troubles that encourage morose meanderings. I would like to celebrate life in verse as I do so often through the lens of a camera. An even better dichotomy would be the two together. Maybe I can initiate a symbiotic relationship of the two here on the web. After all, a spider starts with a single strand, joining more together into a beautiful, concentric array of collective and related facets. Sometimes everything fits together beautifully, sometimes it all creates an array of old and new. Works of the mind are collected on many forms of canvas, shaping dreamcatchers for others to hold and admire.
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