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It’s an experience best described by what it’s not.
I’m different from everybody. I’m no different than anybody.
It’s like something beyond space, a place before time.
I’m not like anybody else. I’m like everybody else.
It’s like an emptiness without soul, beyond thought, more than I can handle.
I don’t like myself. I don’t like anybody else.
It’s like a place beyond awareness, a fan of warmth spreading out.
I like myself. I like people like myself.
It’s the…..
I’m a numbers guy. Growing up, I loved everything about them. Added them in my head, memorized baseball statistics. A number had a constant quality, something you could count on. Complete unto itself, unambiguous.
Many of us have a favorite number and maybe a feared number. My favorite number is 13.
According to Word Press, numbers don’t count as words.
Numbers have their own language, expressing what words can not describe. Odd and even, real and imaginary, musical and poetic……
It’s been a year since I started blogging, conceived as an effort to translate my poetry. That was the extent of my plan. Initially every other week, I reached a turning point after six months, winding my way into 100 word stories. Sort of like a core dump. Trusting in the process.
I’m about halfway done. So what I have learned? Inspiration comes from many directions. Look around, notice what’s going on. Have a point of view. Interlace the mundane…..
I’m color blind. Initially diagnosed as red-green color blind at an early age, gradually I came to learn that I have a related, less severe case of purple-blue color blindness. And those challenges bleed into other shades.
I imagine we all see color differently.
I can see colors. No problem with traffic lights, red and green look different. Maybe they don’t look like the red and green that others see. It’s when red and green dots are close together…..
Gurus tell us to be present, to be mindful. It’s easy, except when it’s not. There are times when we can’t explain what is amiss. Our mood is downbeat, our hearts are heavy. The air has a static feel. Restless sleep. Wired and tired. We tell ourselves that we shouldn’t feel this way. But we do. Frustration and anguish. A funk.
Unrelenting. Resisting. Disconnected. Numb. Trying anything.
Relenting. Accepting. Reconnecting. Warming. Doing something.
And for no apparent reason, words fall…..
Writing an opening line, searching for a story.
Countless hours are spent before beginning something of import. Rehearsal dinners, ceremonial ritual, memorizing scripts before opening nights, chess masters contemplating opening knights. Planning, analyzing, contingencies in place. Opening postures.
And then the unexpected happens. A shot in the dark. An ankle turns, a voice cracks, an understudy’s lucky break. A chance encounter, a lasting first impression. Love at first sight. Spontaneously, our truth slips out. A lifetime preparing for the unplanned…..
It’s been 25 years since we moved into our house, newly built, the ground outside mounds of dirt. Much has changed, rooms assuming new personalities, windows added to welcome the light, softening dark times. A meditation room exposing the sky. The yard carpeted with gardens, water flowing in pond and pool, an anchoring river birch, the adjoining lot our miniature park.
I find refuge sitting inside in a favorite chair, lounging outside at the base of the mountains. Emotions experienced…..
I find fulfillment these days through the written word, signature moments. Stories shared, a smile escaping, sometimes getting a like or a heartfelt comment. Recognition in a broader sense currently eludes me, no awards, few book sales, a relatively unknown author.
Is this enough? Enough being defined as “occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs or expectations.” A point of contentment, happiness, feeling self-worth. It seems we decide what is enough.
“Sir, would you…..
Work and social groups have their prescribed attire, judged by appearance, acceptable limits. After some time, we morph into these personas, costumed in a brave face. Eventually, the masquerade becomes too much. Looking in the mirror, we no longer recognize ourselves. Uncomfortable in our own skin. Unmasked.
And something shifts, a brush with fate igniting a spark. Challenging us, pushing the envelope. Change assuming the path of least resistance. Our most important questions no longer content to wait, free to…..
Both of my parents passed away in the month of April, my mother preceding my father by a little more than one year. The burial ceremony spare, the grave unmarked, covered with clumps of dirt and mud. It’s a messy affair, quiet and disquieting, memories clouded. Uncomfortably numb.
One year later, we gather again for the unveiling, pain eased by time. Tradition guiding us, marking impermanence, placing a granite monument etched with the bare essentials, name, dates, religious lineage. Our…..
