Morning Blues

I finished my first week of my new contact, and it was as smooth as could be. Week one is always the honeymoon week. No day at a job is usually easier than the first or no week head-ache free as the first. Tomorrow starts week two, and the real work, though from what I've been briefed, the assignment is relatively easy. Even so, those little voices of doubt seems to rise up, and put a knot in my stomach and a freeze my heart. This is how I woke up this morning.

Remembering the past and bad times, I became stiff, and wished the sun would set, and night would fall. In stressful times, I hate the morning. I prefer seeing the sun sink below the horizon as it takes the worries and problems of the day with it. Morning represents rising up and facing those terrors. As I thought about this, I nearly had a stomach ache. I had to remind myself that this is a new contract, a new day, and the past is over. I thought of the Dog Whisperer and what he said about the subject. He said something to the effect of, what you experienced in the past is in the past, don't let it dictate to the present. I have to remind myself of this - too often I've let those little voices of doubt hand cuff me, and bring me down. In the end, nothing fruitful comes of it.

Instead of wasting the morning away, I got up, and got dressed. I'd love to live my life worry-free, but I know that isn't reality. I figure the best thing I can do is rise up and meet those challenges - that way I'll defeat the worry. Perhaps, little by little, I'll become so well practiced in the process that the process will over shadow the worry, and I'll actually see it as something joyful. That's my wish. That's my prayer. Today, I plan to enjoy a lovely walk. Tomorrow will take care of tomorrow.

Happy Birthday

I'm sorry that I was not able to be more understanding, being related gets in the way. It's always easier to relate to and to forgive when it's not a family member. Why is that? Is it because familial love is supposed to be given, and nothing is expected back? I can't think straight - what kind of Love is that again? No matter, we often take family members for granted, especially today when everyone has a "dysfunctional" family. What a cliche. I'm sick of the term. Maybe as a society, we've been coming to terms with denials and lies that have infected the fabric of families, but like A.D.D things have gotten out of control. It's become a blanket term for people who are unwilling to take responsibility for their part or lack of taking part in family matters. That is why I'm saying, I acknowledge my responsibility for not being the most understanding or loving son that I could have been. We talked of trying to talk about the past to understand what happened or didn't. When we did, it often ended in more hurt feelings. I am tired or hurting and being hurt. I do not have to be right. I refuse to cling to the past. For a long time I did, and it almost destroyed me. I'm learning to let go, and take each day as it comes. It's very liberating, and I wish to continue on this path for I believe this is truly, living life. My wish is that you, too, let go of the past, and walk boldly through today and all the days to come. May this be your best year yet. I love you very much.

You are the Night

Tented under blanket
the wind blows.
We are impervious to far-flung flickers,
distant lights bobbing on black waters,
little boats buffet, blink, blink
like pin-prick winks.
It tastes of sweet-salt
neck, lips, cheek,
giggles,
dreams,
gliding fingers,
kisses like whispers.
Listen for foghorns,
hidden by the night
so slight, vaporous
lowing
on reality's edge.
Let be what be.
There is nothing
but you
while in my arms.

Love and Time

When we were young, there was no urgency of time. It seemed to flow like the tide of a river. Tomorrow was a series of mountain ranges and valleys to be traversed at leisure. Today I stand on top of one peak, and, in the distance, vaguely make out the end of my journey. I know what I like, and what I don't like. I know my limits. I know that a relationship isn't mine alone, it's shared. The other one and I have expectations, but modifications can be made. There is no do or die, but we know when things must end. We do not linger if all is lost. There is too much life to live, but life is not to be wasted - that is no longer our realm.

Learning to Love

I take the gift and run with it. Let it be for what it is. What if? What will be? Where do we go from here? We do not know. It is a journey of faith, which means losing control, and giving into the unknown.

In the past, I struggled with balance. How do I fuel the relationship without taking away from me? If I do not call or meet, will the other lose interest, and move on? I tried too hard to make things right. I did what I thought the other needed, and neglected my side of the story. In the end, those relationships fell to pieces anyways.

They say, take it slow. What does that really mean?  I think it means, if you feel like calling or meeting, do so, if you don't or have things that need taking care of, don't. I think it means trusting yourself and the other person enough to be able to have time together and time apart, and know that you will return to each other. It means being able to let go as well as say, I need you, I want you. This is a difficult lesson, but I'm learning.

April

It is assumed that Spring is a joyous season, full of new life, renewals, and expectations for happy times to come. It is the start of journeys of sorts, like The Canterbury Tales, containing stories full of foppery and irony that illuminate truths about human nature in the most rib tickling and side-busting ways. I see that in April, but I also see it as a season that is a collection of memories, like a broken mirror, that is pieced together to form smashed psyches and landscapes of deep pain and regret, very much like The Waste Land. It's a sort of Yin-Yang, and I could never have one without the other.

For the first time in several years, I'm back East, not in Seattle. In Seattle, the coming of Spring is not as defined as in the East. There are two and a half or three seasons out there, and Winter to Spring is less dramatic. Seattle Winters are rainy affairs with little snow and mostly above freezing temperatures, so the effect of going from very cold to t-shirt warm days does not have the same flair. Perhaps it was because of this that I lost my appreciation for Spring. My life was a seed that was buried under the cold Winter ground, and I was waiting for rebirth, but I didn't know it. Like in The Waste Land, "Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers." I was content in my hibernation, perhaps even afraid to venture out of my state because I feared more soul crushing. To be covered, insulated, and hidden was far better than being exposed.

Spring, or I should say, April, took me by surprise this year. I found it while walking the banks of the salt marsh across from where my father's parents once lived; in the low-tide channels that lazed in serpentine grace around the great big mud and grass island that filled the marsh. Swans, ducks, and geese nested on its furry back. Snowy Egrets and a Great Blue Heron stalked for food. I heard April in the wind that talked through the trees in a soothing voice of hope that said, still your heart, trust yourself, believe in who you've come to be. But most of all, I felt April in the sun on my skin, so warm, energizing, giving me strength to recreate my life anew.

Passion

Passion has becomes a buzz word. It's something people have come to say, like, "Please, pass the salt." It's something that is now used to spice up a resumes, like: "I'm passionate about the way I use commas to fully elucidate a fifty page report on the reason why there is no reason." If I hear one more person, especially in the arena of Business, mention passion, I will take a nap.

I started hearing it used about seven years ago. The first time I heard it in person was when I had an interview for a Software Developer role at a company that started and managed Retirement Communities. The guy who interviewed me was a Lead Developer/Manager type. He was amiable enough, but like so many in the business, he was as exciting as a box of unopened, unsharpened Number 2 pencils. He was talking about the mission of the company, and what my role would be. For some reason, at one point, he was almost strutting and puffing his chest out. I guess it was because he was so in love with the company and what he was doing for it that he started becoming a Dungeons and Dragons hero.  I'll never forget it, he said, "I am passionate about developing the most efficient, user friendly, and cost-effective software I can deliver."

I paused for a second when I heard him say, "passionate." I thought my ears were playing tricks on me - passion and software in the same sentence? Was this a joke? Should I laugh? You can't judge a book by looking at the cover, but I'm pretty sure this guy was no Don Juan or Casanova. Not that it means anything, but there was not even a ring on his finger. I wondered if he'd ever been out on a date? I looked at this guy again as he waxed poetic about the company and its software, and the only thing I could think was, "Dude, you really need to get laid."

Passion makes you burn. It sets your soul on fire. It's what you feel when you're slashing paint on canvas, when you're strumming your guitar, crying out to the Heavens, "God, why have you foresaken me?" or are joined as one with your lover, undulating and grinding, tasting lips and tongue, moaning, groaning, admiring each other with sweat burning your eyes, dripping down faces, chests, stomachs, arms, legs.

I hate buzz-words, and I especially hate when people take something as primal and spiritual as passion, and slip it into an arena that is anything but passionate. We live in a society where most things can be bought and sold. It's very convenient. Most really don't want to feel or deal with the feel. Being stirred and awakened is not convenient. It can be heart-wrenching and painful, as well as beautiful.

When I really think about it, and really think about what passion can produce, I sometimes get afraid and say, maybe I should just let those sleeping thoughts lie. I do not need to be stirred, or bothered, or inconvenienced. Sometimes I think, please, passion, just go away, just leave me alone. But then I think of a passion-less life. I think of my interview, or I think about a man who will never know of  the ripping sting and tear of love down the tubes or the ecstasy and the peace of love fulfilled. Yes, give me passion. There is risk in being led by emotions, but there is risk in everything on this journey.