Humpty Dumpty fell on a pillow. My daughter’s rebirth.

Her loss was my story and collective guilt,  though I doubt it could have been written any other way.   The threads of our lives were  caught in a whirlwind spinning outward. With so many pages left unturned.

puzzles 

 

Her life once existed as a mere thread, hinging upon other stories and other outcomes.    Fortunately grace was rendered in a quick thaw as the gathering cold was about to re-enter our lives.

The days now hung before us, as upon an icy fog;  it weighed us down and closed around us.   Shrouding secrets unknown and unbearable.  Now only memories challenged our dreams,  and painful new beginnings.    It was hard to know where we stood.

Deserted road 5s

No time to consider,  less time to love

Where did it go, these feelings and these thoughts.

The smell of a baby and the touch of compassion.

 

My daughter came and went into a smoldering sadness and by an act of Providence or natural destiny flowered into something special once again.   I remember her tears as much as her words and the knowledge that some things cannot be undone.

Regardless,  the convergence of our lives were manifest destiny and the whims of a mother could not permanently divide.

 

She grew to realize that the lies were silly and I didn’t need to infer,  rather Rachel was blessed both in name and in spirit.     Her experiences gave her light in the darkness and I doted upon her.   We filled in as many blanks as we could and the answers met expectations as seamlessly as possible.

And about that time,  was a movie that I had watched.  A father and daughter separated by adversity and reunited in love.   A father’s love is priceless.   This I know now but I also know that a gentle hand brings favor.

tuesday-weld-ben-casey-1962-title

 

The few moments I had in ‘88,   was like the black and white memories of an old show.  And at the moment of pitched blackness,  came the heralding of fulfillment.

 

Those few moments were like tiny seeds that fell deep into rich  soil and their maturity assured their health and their closure.  Both hers and then mine.

 

Life is sooooo good….

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What we are, is who we are or what?

Sometimes the strange is truly stranger than fiction.   Like a Stephen King movie with it’s twists and turns or the drama in a Hitchcock movie.   No need for pointless choreography because the musings of the mind are incredible.

Below is hilarious and I am uncertain if management did this for effect or because he was talented.  Aye!

Sabres  v Maple Leafs

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/satan-be-gone–miroslav-satan-calls-it-a-career-after-iihf-worlds-190438069.html

And of course no story would be complete and especially in this case,  because he played for:  The New Jersey Devils of the NHL.

And then the guy above teaches respect,  an attribute sorely lacking in a loud society but again,   who would have predicted that?

I hate the shows where dumb semi-celebrity slobs make asinine comments about silly souls who had no choice to be born so non-mainstream.    But these commentaries need no explanations as to moral character.

Our society has a field day bashing people who for one reason or another finds themselves the object of ridicule or even akin to modern day lepers.   Providence or whatever has placed us here and we didn’t have a heavenly dream sheet to pick our destination,  cognitive abilities or our own DNA.    It seems that nature and the inexplicable are invisible paradigms which compensate for injustice,  in many cases.

Let’s make the world a better place and I pray that we see that we can make a difference.   We are but a few but we can change a part of the world.   I remember seeing a semi-documentary about Los Angeles where minorities had a garden and the millionaire took that Oasis from them.

One morning the place was leveled by bulldozers and in spite of raising the money necessary to purchase,  the owner lied.   Several years later it is still untouched.  Probably a racial issue,  I am not sure but we can make a difference, if we want to.

EmilysQuotes.Com-amazing-great-positive-life-freedom-justice-honor-duty-mercy-hope-inspirational-Winston-Churchill

Quiet Desperation. Rewards Found in Shadows.

I feel pain and many times not even my own.   As a younger man I was working as a Forecaster at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.   One evening the weather observer blew past me and basically seemed to ignore me.   About an hour later she asked me how I knew something is wrong.    Her husband was high on crack and tried to shoot her with a shotgun.

I cannot remember how many times especially with females that I sensed this desperation.   A kind of pervasive fear that riddles with the soul with uncertainty and knowing that people do not understand.   Those who think they know depression and anxiety or to get over those things.

They assume much and without any comprehension of who I am and what I do for others.  The best medicine is compassion.   A feeling heart that is vulnerable but equipped.   It comes as no surprise at the misogyny directed at women and those perceived to be weak.   Most men could not bear pregnancy and yet they carp at women as the weaker sex.   We are both the weaker and stronger and we know what the rules are for that.

We struggle to find things we can color as black and white and a way of a common ground that makes us better,  whole and deluded.   Unfortunately there are the parasites who willfully and aggressively open up scars and believe they are doing good.

To those,  we just walk away,  confidently but with humility because this is an anathema to haters.   Knowing we know where they are coming from.   Two still equal two,  yet the contrary spirit inherent in all of us,  wishes to play the devil’s advocate.

The tears of a friend spent towards a person especially a man who is trusted is almost sacred.    A girl and a friend I knew in Germany was near suicidal following a rape and resultant pregnancy.   She was lost and afraid but I just listened and told her that it is her decision,  whether to keep or abort.   She said I was the only one who treated with real respect.   Not strong opinions and judgments and love that is platonic and still sexually charged.   Without the sex.  Trust.

She decided to not abort and the baby was given to a mixed couple who the Army decided could not have kids by other channels.   Here were people who touched my heart in different ways and all where touched by some kind of angel.   I need to find her again as this was long ago.

The point is that we should listen.  Drink in the moment and appreciate the flavors of experience which if decided to be shared are a nectar so sweet,  that is permeates our brains with compassion and heart.

Give me this.  Take to a place where prying eyes dim. ‘

Give me the honesty to know the time on the clock.

Take me to the door that blesses our entrance,

to the sublime nature of harmony and the steady beat of time.

Give me the mind and the heart to hear.

To move past the shadows

and into the purple throes that fill me with wonder.

sunnude

JungA

Wooden Monuments.

 

 

 

babel_fullMountain

 

 

I am building a tower and it will be built upon by the hands of time.    It will be finessed and  the etchings carved into marbleized histories,  remnants left for consideration.   A bored scholar will scribe his articulations on paper and artists upon the heart  sometimes with words and other times shades of different colors.

H110--56722-Hieroglyphics

 

Our passions darken as our own freedom gives us license.   To establish who we are and why we should matter.

Quotation-George-Bernard-Shaw-living-life-death-long-satisfaction-reason-dreams-Meetville-Quotes-51930Daddy

 

The dimming lights provide sanctuary  for secrets held within,  while the new trees bear the same old fruit.   Replacing antiquity with green limbs envious.    Accounts will be altered,  values distorted like a warped window or a cracked mirror.    Only tiny shards indiscernible will collect dust.   The hammering thoughts of preservation are to no avail.  The ebb and flow of matter reconstitutes itself.    Aware of nothing but it’s new place,  neither the checkered foster homes of neglected souls or the random insects in their constabularies.    New kings and queens arise,  like heaving opportunists secure in that moment only.

antinter_mirror

Willingness gives way to wood,  brick and dust and from these new houses are made.   New conflicts arise and the sentient drama of conflicting self wills lay about and scattered by Zephyrs and Foehn.    Tears drip from random placements like lost toys of our youth,  neither material or a ether  just an unnoticed stroke of a pen and a purchase.

The final revolution spins to a stop and the cul-de-sac of expectancy gives way to a somber recollection.   Momentary gratitude and an appointment looming,  breaks the shadow of what once was and will never be again.

wheellpassing

 

Autumn Whispers

I exploded into existence,  as cells merged,  divided and took form.   Two entities morphed into one in what would be me.  I became part of a yet larger world that I could not see a waxy,  bubbly and energetic orb wheeling across the borders.    It was as like a radio station where inside of my universe I heard the strain and the laughter from beyond.   The giggling sniggling breaths and then strings of symbols like a song wafted across the room and into my very essence.

I radiated outward inside my world and was stretching it to the limit.  The sense of uneasiness collared me as another change was moving my world.    Head first I plunged into a galaxy of lights and emotion.   The feelings cascaded from every corner and I too felt the sting of awareness and extremity.

My release was as a virtual shock as light and confusion mixed into a grainy panorama that was cold and now my tiny extremities began to flex,   as I nearly passed out from crying,

I met the personality that housed me,  first with joy and then as puzzlement as her pain signaled the start of life itself.  Me.

As any kid I would play.   Touching everything and experiencing consequences and learning to cope.    Strong emotions shot across the room and bouncing into the foyer where they simply passed like the sun’s.  The two monoliths separated with jagged edges as I grew up.  Towering infernos of irreconcilable differences.

I felt a strange urge, to do what those two did with me,  and it was kind of like those feelings to each other but I vowed never to get to that end.    I was wrong there too.   No easy instructions,  study and toil and consummate joy,  I had matriculated past fading masters with new ideas.   Thoughts that would be born into greatness in one of us.

But even as the power of the Universe slowly fades,  I began to fade.    Others fell too before me.   Like welched up hope cleaving to the sides of sand and then sailing into the aether,  I too surfed to a place unknown.   Quantum stairways without rails.   My steps were sure and my gait tenuous and strong.   The place of lights and mirrors established my footholds and I took a seat,  reverently.

As my life left as an Autumn leave,  I found harmony,  whatever the name.

Another Silly Love Song of a Kind

Trees

We are like those leaves, once green seeking out the sun and a rich bounty of rain. The cycle goes carelessly on, as the waning sun departs dejected…. disconsolate. What troubles it’s soul? Little by little the changes appear but the problem is not the end, but the here and now.

Do you know what I mean? Kurt Vonnegut quickly deduced our primal stripes and the Freudian yearnings of yesteryear, where our own dominion seemed assured. Protecting a meager pot of Gold, we are like treasure seekers in a Pawn Shop. Desperate to feel alive we draw paintings on our skin in the vain hope of an extension of some kind. The wind does not abate, the scars are etched like the heart of hope of young lovers on a tree, their destiny uncertain.

I love

We try delaying the onset of Autumn not knowing what leaves might fall. Instead we clutch hope as elusive as water in our hands. The imprint we make depends upon us. Now think about it, just before the wind stops and the leaves turn different shades like rainbows in the forest. Meaning that maturity is not a curse.

Meaning that we, as older adults are not unappealing. We live as we are and if anything we are frank and so is our beauty, like the embrace of a mature mate, our hands fitting like Cinderella’s Slippers.

But many of us close the book assuming the end is rather near and why bother anyhow. The larger question is do we sit at home as the walls consume us or do we relinquish of our false notions and bare our souls to a compatible one. Like Eagles nested upon a towering rock we prevail in peace.

Honey frost

I cannot bring flowers to a deserted road and expect them to flourish. I can’t open your door and treat you like the angel that you want to be. Secure not in the number of rooms and a legacy of cash, but the heart-warming togetherness of a single one undivided. Or a Thanksgiving Dinner, when afterward we muse about the dinner but pine for each other.

So, is this you? Are you over 50 and not trying to over deliver? Do you want what you think is missing? I am here, in my late 50s, a songbird flapping my wings to garner your attention. Steadfastly I crave to know you. Plump is cool and wrinkles not a curse because the Princess and the Pea are just fairly tales like skinny waifs and bulimia. Beauty lies deep within our soul and the travesty is not to share it. With you my destiny.

I am not an angel but I will do. The measure of this man is counted as much but the nails I have driven and the tears shed silently behind a wall of frosted glass.

Romance is not dead and passion burns until we let the pilot light go on it’s way. We still have moments to share and places to be, together. So, if you are middle-aged and want a person who is relatively nice and as a generous as I can be, then I am that guy.