Years ago I was a mentor through Big Brothers
Good young kid. Father in prison. Aunt sometimes in prison. Other aunt fabulous. Grandma fabulous. At our peak, we’d hang out more than once a week.
We grew apart 12 or so years ago when he was in his mid teens.
I looked him up. Father suicide in prison. Grandma died. He’s incarcerated and has mental health issues.
Looking inward, there’s nothing there but sadness tinged with regret.
Swells and sneaker waves
Kings roll in, encroaching on new land… a vitriolic foreign leader
Rain and wind scorch the skin. Exfoliation and wrinkles
Toes damp to blister. Brrr in the wind.
Some days… eager to join in with the storm.
Other days… hide in a cocoon.
There is this bed. It has age and dents from where the sleepers lay.
It has comfort, but it does cause aches and pains. One place too much has its disadvantages.
There is this couch. It has age and dents from where the sitters sit.
It is now hard to sit there for long. It hurts the butt and legs and back. But still, they sit.
Time passes. Cyrosis sets in like frost in an old freezer. Nurses come, go. Prescriptions arrive at the door. The dents simply grow until there is nothing to fill them.
It’s June 24th. The year is 2019. I am 49 years old. 7 times 7.
In a month I will see my mother. She is unaware of the sadness in the world. Unaware of the strife and pain. Unaware of yesterday. Probably unaware of tomorrow. I am sad, afraid and happy to be seeing her. Dementia is what they call it. Sometimes in this time of world destruction I wish my brain was where hers is and I could focus more only on this moment and be… well… a consumer without concerns. I would buy things. I would throw things away. I would charge them. I would seek comforts. I could enjoy them without guilt. The UPS driver would become familiar with my door.
But no. Even a lid on the paper coffee cup makes me guilty. The fact I forgot my own mug when I left home makes me guilty. The shower water I waste makes me guilty. The energy I use to turn on my computer so I can listen to music as I type this makes me guilty.
And then to know that I am not doing enough, yet others are doing so much less to preserve the world, sends me into a spiral of despair and hopelessness.
I want the moment my mom has. Over and over.
My narcoleptic brain checks out at inopportune times leaving me speechless, wordless, mindless, in moments of decisive meaning.
I find it hard not to see us
an ant colony with an over-fertile queen.
POPULATING indiscriminately.
Drones working, pushing, scraping the land clean until
EVENTUALLY
we roam so far we can’t return home
NOT intelligent enough to do the snip worldwide
How do you stop a cancer growth when the body doesn’t even know it’s a disease
– rather –
it’s glorifying in its growth.
Haiku
My auto senses
Catapult me into space
Orbit, no return.
The students and teachers have cried
The retired, retired
The sun of summer is piercing the fog
The tourists are committing U-turns felonies
And I, exhausted, still have a list in my mind
Plans, thoughts, and I know they will all
Squeeze out more time than I have available.
The disconnect continues.
My isolation is manifesting.
Physically…
Distance and meaning. The absence of my mother weighs heavy. Her breath, I believe, is strong.
Her mind is a trap. A series of loops that instantly lose their way.
Her birthday has gone by and yet she sees herself younger
Dreaming of walking by herself to school
of walking beautiful trails, alone, just yesterday
and time… it no longer exists.
I tried to call her, that modern warping of space that makes far away seem close. It was disconnected, much like her mind. I sent her cookies… I suspect they are rotting in a mysterious hidden box somewhere… unknown, unopened, the note of love still neatly folded.
A visit in person is hard. Distance is real. Then to see her in her moments. She is mostly in the moment… only. And there is a bliss I envy. Yet the sadness I feel for her is deep. Her repetitive moments are exasperating, but not to her. Breathe deep. Joke. Laugh. Try.
Emotionally…
My household is a combative minefield. The pasture, it seems so green and lovely with blooms and strong growing trees.
Step awry and an explosion ensues. Too early, too late, not enough too much. The options are endless and unpredictable.
Then the honest fear to step surfaces, followed by love and hugs and feelings of foolishness for being afraid. Followed by a step and an explosion… just when my guard is down.
My family is distant and … elitist? Racist? I’m not sure. My enjoyment of their company has declined. It may have something to do with my minefield. Explosions. Random.
Societally. All so extreme. All so un-friendly. To each other. To the earth. I am a disconnect. The constructs confuse me with their purpose. I don’t understand why the constructs are not only tolerated, but embraced. The cars on our freeways are wearing deep. The ruts will soon drag holes through the aorta of the earth. I don’t want, I try not to add my own weight to the ruts.
My grass is green. Yours is fine. The race we’re all in is artificial. There is no winner. If you’re lucky, your body will feed green leaves and a beautiful flower.
And even so… I am to some extent.. a hypocrite. And it kills me every day. The constructs hold me like chains. I am either unable or unwilling to break free. I am not sure which it is.
A funny thing about running in the rain. I don’t mind it – as long as I don’t have to start the run in the rain… but if it’s pouring before I’m even out the door, it’s really hard to get out the door.
My brain is fat on the comforts.
Bloated on constantly filled desires.
Made lazy by its lack of effort.
It is hard to force oneself to work for
SOMETHING
when a modecome of satisfaction can be filled instantaneously.
WORK
at SOMETHING, dammit.
——-
Comfort and Security.
My dream is to exist outside of society.
Not add to the waste that is never ending consumerism…
though I enjoy information & entertainment. I have
no need for things
ephemeral they are except
for the waste they leave behind.
——-
Travel is an odd state of fear
uncertainty
A bit of hopping in a bobsled
but never seeing the course
Safe travelling is strip malls
and Applebees
Jack n the Box and McDonalds
The comfort, the know what to expect.
I was young. Travelled to Eastern
Europe and had every moment
be a wonderment of
what might happen next…
Return to Frankfurt
found a Wendy’s
and experienced the missing
comfort of knowing what’s coming next
Even though I never eat at Wendy’s.
Comfort, pattern, engrained
rituals and safety.
One of my strengths, and perhaps my greatest weakness, is my ability to understand different points of view… I am good at relating, but sometimes it leads to what might be called analysis paralysis. At this time in our country, I wish there were many many more with my weakness. I see a land of fences. I see a people with entrenched thoughts living in echo chambers. The desire to point out fallibility and weakness is easy and is quickly rewarded by a chorus of cheers from those that share the same space, while creating distance and anger among those it attacks. I fear the chance at common ground is no longer possible. It scares me to see that some seem to have come to the pre-conclusion that there will be no common ground. But, I do hope compassion, understanding and a sense of humanity will prevail.
I am not looking for an echo chamber of agreement. I suppose I am really looking for the opposite… fewer echos of sentiment, more actual love.
