The stars are blazing across the blue
Falling, falling into the ocean too
They are wishes
They are hopes
They are dreams
Lullaby’s careening at break neck pace
These shooting stars
Stars of Wonder
Stars of Might
They are diamonds, and dust that once were men.
I see them still all silvery white flashing across sceens
In the dead of the night
Their magnificence lives for awhile at least
Amongst the unfiltered, unfamous fragments of beasts
And then we smaller particles will pass into the vacuum
Of a black hole
Seen through the magnification of a fuzzy lens
Potential greatness that brings joy
(For those we lost January, 2016)
I am not so certain what the future holds. I never thought I would return to the place I am now, and yet here I sit.
The most ironic part of my leaving and retuning is that I continue to harbor the idea that love will prevail within my life. Experience has shown me time and again that this is not true. I do not recall being handed rose-colored glasses but somewhere along the line I must have been.
I have a lot of imaginary conversations in my head with people most of whom I will never meet, and even if I were afforded the opportunity to travel I doubt that they would have the balls to meet me. As I said experience has shown me disappointment time and again.
I grow weary of working for pennies and being told it is what I deserve. Objectively speaking money is a strange and meaningless way in which we humans interact, numbers on strips of colored paper that quantify and value people. I know I need money to survive but I cannot seem to earn enough to support my small family. This saddens me.
When I am alone I think, a lot. One of the thoughts that I ponder is karma. Of all the universal ideologies out there karma seems to prove itself time and again. Selfish people incur karmic events more so than others and they have woe as me events to paint their happenings in a different light. I have witnessed how karma has come into play when people try to prevent another person from gaining righteous happiness. This has particularly long term consequences that I have seen play out in the lives of people I know. I am not certain how these people can free themselves from this entrapment aside from serious soul searching and self forgiveness. Even then, the trespass against the other is what needs to be healed only it cannot be because the moment has passed and can never be recovered.
Just once, I’d like to know what it’s like to be wanted, to be cherished, to have someone let me know they’d walk 500 miles just to be by my side.
Love never hurts. Love is all that is good. Love is a gentle emotion that soothes, comforts and heals. Love brings out the best in us as people. Things that hurt are rejection, misunderstanding, being punched in the face… a “broken” heart derived from miscommunication and personal expectations is not a failure of Love it is a part of a growing process. A person either learns how to Love through introspection and examination of self and the responses one makes or they are doomed to a foolish and repetitive pattern of self flagellation wrongly identified and attributed to the wrong emotion. As Shakespeare wrote all those years ago, expectation is the root of all heartache. If you are carrying sadness about expecting the first rush of flirtation to fix you perhaps you need to unpack your own baggage and look at each item you carry with you and realize how these experiences, memories or emotions impact all that you do and how you perceive others.
Today was so full of cobwebs and ghosts that I need to hire a cleaning crew and an exorcist.
I hit snooze time and again my first alarm going off at five in the morning and the last a quarter of seven. Just past sunrise the sky was full of clouds, like those in an Old Master’s painting it was as if Rembrandt, from his heavenly repose, had taken his turn painting the sky for the pleasure of us few mortals who bother to look up.
My mind meanders as I drive and today was no different. The ghosts arrived as I crested the Kent Narrows bridge and I was thinking back to a weekend visit in which my dear friend Rae had stopped by with her three children. Her son Atticus bears a striking resemblance to his late father, my friend, George. I was showing Atticus some Chinese exercise balls and my eyes rested for a moment on his hands, and for that moment they were no longer his hands but those of his father. I remarked upon it and let it pass only to have that memory hit me in the gut. It was followed by the memory of George laughing as he would at my maudlin female upset.
The radio mocked me and save for a gun and two bullets it is still there in my car.
I arrived at work in less than timely fashion, although no more than a few minutes late. The ritual of preparing to work was hurried along by customers requiring help and in forcing me to say the date aloud, reminding me of the loss of my mother’s father. A man whom I believed to have been named Owl. I was 19 when I realized that a misheard moment when I was five years old stretched a lifetime. My Nana in her New York accent said “Oh Al, don’t be silly.” and my ears Heard it as “Oh Owl.” It made me choke up. I could not breathe and the tear sprang unbidden to my eyes. He was a good man. I miss him.
I shall not trouble you with the drama at work but this too colored my day.
Again, the ride home was miles to review not just my day but portions of my life with the possible expectation of overcoming mistakes and maybe living life in better fashion. So many mistakes. I can tell you it is dangerous and difficult to drive with eyes full of tears.
I guess the whole of it is I miss my Owl, my friend, and my unspoiled youth. I cannot resurrect the dead nor can I mend the past and I am not very certain how to sort out my future so that makes me one helluva mess.
A year is gone
The next one started
For those you left behind
Jack in the box thoughts
Pepper mental meanderings
The pictures of you
Driving through snow
Rachel by your side
Phaedra nestled on your lap
Flashes of countless meals
At nameless diners
And that damn Army Green coat
The songs on the radio
I imagine they tell me you are close
You became our Big Chill moment
I kind of hate you for that
Your quick smile is gone
And so is your laugh
The verve and the melancholy
Lay down with your sarcasm, and wit
So many quips silenced by a shot
The odd pinch in my chest
And breath caught in my throat
Salt my thoughts of a fast fading past
I choose to remember, I choose to hold on
Your ashes are scattered
Your belongings all gone
No footsteps remain
Only the pictures
My eyes captured
They grow fuzzy each day
You are ephemeral now
I envy you that
Maybe I am not sorry at all
The chafe of skin on skin in summer
Light cotton clings to skin as sweat beads
The sun roasts
The clouds float
Days pass slowly
Synapses trundle electrical currents
From left lobe to right then back again
Thoughts on an infinite loop
Become Archimedes Screw
My downward spiral
Pinning me to your specimen board
All my colors on display
Stacks of calendars mark passing days
Irretrievable moments of my being
Gone in a blink
Seconds wasted pondering years gone by
Chances and choices stolen and made
Circumference and tethering I did not get far
And yet I traveled the world
I know Sycamore from Beech
Klein Blue versus Sky
Agamemnon to Arthur
The road to Ithaca and Route 66
The answer to Azúcar as tin floats over the Amazon
Si y crema por favor
I enjoy my coffee sweet and mellow
There is too much bitterness in this world
I ask for forgiveness, life is easier that way
There is a myriad of thoughts which occupy my mind the least of them might seem like fluff and nonsense and the greatest of them surpass the weight that Hercules must bear, most are worn smooth some as pebbles in a river, others have the lustre of a deep sea pearl that painful intrusion tended and mulled and eventually cherished for the lesson it brought and still some are as bubbles ephemeral, beautiful then pop they are gone. I have not decided my favorite, I may never will. All of them though they are the mosaic that is me.
I’ve counted every sheep there is followed closely by the cows on ward to tally up the geese and horses and all their farmyard friends before sitting here contemplating between the enumeration of the beasts living in high veld and savannas of Africa or creatures of the forests of North America. Whoever thought the transcendental nature of my thoughts would take me on such a magnificent journey in my quest for sleep?
I remember being young and looking at my parents and just thinking that they were adults. I had no idea then what it means to be an adult. No one taught me. I have learned a fair bit now. Still not enough.
I class myself as a failure. I have not accomplished anything significant. The work I have barely pays the bills and feeds my kids. I make just a bit too much to get assistance and I cannot talk to anyone about this because it is depressing. No one wants to listen to depressing things. They call it negativity and they walk away or ignore.
I’d like to be doing something productive that allows me the ability to afford my own home, pay my own way as well as that of my children and just exist peaceably among my neighbors. Instead, I live off the largesse of my family. This sucks. I am thankful for a roof but it maddens me that I cannot even return the favor by providing more to them in the form of rent and bills pay.
I work to overcome the spiral of sad thoughts, it just keeps getting harder. I suppose I should be happy that I am in my 40’s and at least halfway done this useless existence. Should I be reincarnated I hope I come back as a tree.