soulsearching
soulsearching
Apres le deluge. It has been raining steadily, but the downpour is more toads and frogs. Ordinary people living out their allotted time often beset by minor tragedies are at a loss as to what to do next. Some seek refuge in alcohol. "Candy is dandy, but licquor is quicker." When my Mother passed a decade and a half ago, I went on a toot. Mine involved following the ponies while I downed glasses of vodka. I pulled out of that spin thanks to good friends and forgotten Grace..."Ontogony recapitulates philogeny." A modern translation might be :I can fuck up more than you dear old Dad.
I am one of the disappearing ones fading away, becoming invisible. When I had power, or at least considerable influence, I covered it with charisma and blowhard. Along the way to now, I eschewed power and chose to follow in the dust of a hopeful dream of LOVE . Nothing is as it appears to be. What my generation managed to do, in spite of its monstrous shortcomings was to follow at least one commandment: Honor thy Father and Mother. This we did; in spite of our smug certainty that we knew more and were better equipped to function in the world, we did show a reverent face to our parents, even as we went our own way and lived our own lives. I miss that hypocritical characteristic in some of my children.
I sit here in a barn office with a snoring old dog, in his waking hours totally devoted. I worry about all my children. I am dismayed by the world's turnings, I am disappointed in the dying of the light of myths that beckoned me in my earlier years. Still, I am fortunate to have a few friends who accept me as I am. It is good to correspond with a kindred soul who works hard at standing still in a blind current,who manages to gain a little. A year or so ago, my love and I were kayaking off Barnaget Light, and we were caught in the tide. I urged her to paddle harder, and we did though we kept on losing ground. The bird I was using a a marker got smaller and smaller. Eventually, we beached the kayak and waved down a boy passing by in a moter boat. He carried us home, his twelve year old back straight and tall at the tiller. At times it seems we are all stuck in such a race and the most we can hope for is to stand our ground.
I sometimes wish I could be more like my sister who still prays to God and believes He interedes on her behalf. I do hope , I do love. I love the idea of what the world would be like if we could attain the ideals we created in the eternal myths we used to keep fear away, to hasten the end of darkness. I love my children, but I am at a loss as to what I can do to lighten their load. I love my wife who wishes I was different than I am, and so is often annoyed by me as I am by her.
When I was an ultra-omnipotent adminstrator riding the train from the city to this country refuge, I filled the trip with writing in a journal and bibliotherapy. The books I read now or read again or less therapuetic They often add to the funk. Still there is wisdom to be gleaned from reading Kierkegaard, or Camus, especially The Plague. And poetry allows my soul to leap, and the idea of my soul and my responsibility to myself through it, to the rest of the world eddying beyond me, is a fulfilling and grace giving concept. Courage to my children! Be responsible to yourself! Care for your souls and yourselves. And do find a little space in your consciousness to treat your Mother and Father with reverence. AMEN
Apres le deluge. It has been raining steadily, but the downpour is more toads and frogs. Ordinary people living out their allotted time often beset by minor tragedies are at a loss as to what to do next. Some seek refuge in alcohol. "Candy is dandy, but licquor is quicker." When my Mother passed a decade and a half ago, I went on a toot. Mine involved following the ponies while I downed glasses of vodka. I pulled out of that spin thanks to good friends and forgotten Grace..."Ontogony recapitulates philogeny." A modern translation might be :I can fuck up more than you dear old Dad.
I am one of the disappearing ones fading away, becoming invisible. When I had power, or at least considerable influence, I covered it with charisma and blowhard. Along the way to now, I eschewed power and chose to follow in the dust of a hopeful dream of LOVE . Nothing is as it appears to be. What my generation managed to do, in spite of its monstrous shortcomings was to follow at least one commandment: Honor thy Father and Mother. This we did; in spite of our smug certainty that we knew more and were better equipped to function in the world, we did show a reverent face to our parents, even as we went our own way and lived our own lives. I miss that hypocritical characteristic in some of my children.
I sit here in a barn office with a snoring old dog, in his waking hours totally devoted. I worry about all my children. I am dismayed by the world's turnings, I am disappointed in the dying of the light of myths that beckoned me in my earlier years. Still, I am fortunate to have a few friends who accept me as I am. It is good to correspond with a kindred soul who works hard at standing still in a blind current,who manages to gain a little. A year or so ago, my love and I were kayaking off Barnaget Light, and we were caught in the tide. I urged her to paddle harder, and we did though we kept on losing ground. The bird I was using a a marker got smaller and smaller. Eventually, we beached the kayak and waved down a boy passing by in a moter boat. He carried us home, his twelve year old back straight and tall at the tiller. At times it seems we are all stuck in such a race and the most we can hope for is to stand our ground.
I sometimes wish I could be more like my sister who still prays to God and believes He interedes on her behalf. I do hope , I do love. I love the idea of what the world would be like if we could attain the ideals we created in the eternal myths we used to keep fear away, to hasten the end of darkness. I love my children, but I am at a loss as to what I can do to lighten their load. I love my wife who wishes I was different than I am, and so is often annoyed by me as I am by her.
When I was an ultra-omnipotent adminstrator riding the train from the city to this country refuge, I filled the trip with writing in a journal and bibliotherapy. The books I read now or read again or less therapuetic They often add to the funk. Still there is wisdom to be gleaned from reading Kierkegaard, or Camus, especially The Plague. And poetry allows my soul to leap, and the idea of my soul and my responsibility to myself through it, to the rest of the world eddying beyond me, is a fulfilling and grace giving concept. Courage to my children! Be responsible to yourself! Care for your souls and yourselves. And do find a little space in your consciousness to treat your Mother and Father with reverence. AMEN
posted by 2260 lake ave at 5:58 AM
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