All Is Not Lost

Consolation

What helps you sleep when the winds of death bring their bite

And dreams fill your nights with haunting melodies?

Regrets melt away and all that’s left are our past adventures.

Beautiful and sweet smiles creep across our faces

As we relive those joyous times like a set of old home movies.

Contemplation

We flee the finality of death but are forever preparing the future we grant to

Our children, grandchildren, and those to come. Their memories are yet to be made.

Although we have no part in them, our vapors fill their senses with the fragrance of remembrance

As they create their own sweet aroma.

Creation

With our last breath the fears and regrets that once haunted us escape from our minds,

Yet linger still in the courage of those who come after us,

An inheritance brighter than gold or silver but nonetheless more valuable;

Dreaming of the unlimited stories they will create, with hills and valleys that are part of every journey,

Is the salve that heals our spirits and helps us send forth hope like a cannon shot.

Continuation

Their stories and adventures are as numerous as the stars, and as exciting as any story ever written.

We pass these gifts to future generations; decades, centuries, and millennia to come,

With fragments of our DNA pulsing through their veins.

Maybe we will be watching them from above, sharing every laughter and cry and sending a cool breeze when they need it most.

Either way, we are with them; there is no end to their perpetual stories as long as our legacy lingers, spurring them onward to write their own endings and pass the torch of love.

No Man is an Island

Dreaming, as introverts do, of a place with no human contact

At first seems a tempting proposition; so much easier that facing our fears and rejections.

Yet we were not made for a deserted island.

Waiting, as impatient humans do, for solitude and separation that we might do as we please;

Not governed by rules or outside influences; eager to immerse ourselves in the ecstasy of creativity.

Yet what good are all those masterpieces without someone to admire and appreciate them?

Hoping, as is the custom of those without hope, to rest from strife and seek solitude’s embrace,

Where we can never be disappointed in ourselves and or face the agony of regret, sounds like paradise.

Yet without pain, life is merely existence; a living drudgery coaxing us forward to our inevitable demise.

Embracing, as carefree lovers lost in time, grants us assurance that the sting of pain and

Suffering will not prevail; even death cannot shade us from the brilliance of our miraculous humanity.

Yet when we try to contemplate life’s glorious wonder, we are left speechless and can only sit in quiet silence and appreciate the steady beat of our hearts.

Living, as many seek but few understand, is never understood in the context of

Everyday chores, rules, and menial tasks, but through honor, valor, strength, and sacrifice.

Yet that which we avoid is that which takes us from merely breathing to taking our breath away.

It's a Street Fight

I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, as they say. Neither was I poor. There were no clothing buying sprees, exotic vacations, trips to fancy restaurants, or family outings to the theater.

But I had an ordinary childhood, full of skinned knees, bologna and cheese sandwiches, riding bikes around the neighborhood, and cars with no air conditioning. I had my share of death, sadness, bullying, and broken hearts. It was a struggle, but one that seemed as normal as breathing.

Somehow with patience, perseverance, and a bit of luck, I went to college, transferred to a major university, finished and worked as a youth minister, and then had a long and rewarding career as a teacher.

I raised two beautiful children and saw them emerge into adults like butterflies; soon to both be college graduates with goals, aspirations, and dreams only reminiscent to me as a vapor of memories.

A marriage ended; a necessary yet painful death. I learned patience, unselfishness; that I could both love and be loved again. Along the way I enrolled into a doctoral program to become a professor, a lifelong dream. I am currently walking that treacherous, yet amazing, path.

I have never sought a fight. I avoided it at all costs during my childhood. My modus operandi was to cut and run. Even into adulthood, my rocky marriage hit turbulence because it was easier to avoid a fight than to point out the approaching iceberg. But in the last few years, I have picked up my boxing gloves.

Funny thing about these fights - they have left me battered, bruised, bloodied, and beaten. But they have never left me defeated.

I have learned to fight for my dreams, for my children, for my dignity, and for my happiness. Now I fight to restore my body and beat it into submission, and to be a supportive role model to those I love.

Now the fight rages on to keep the dream alive. I will not run from this fight. Even in the midst of denied grants, rejections, keeping asthma and ADHD at bay like roaring lions, and forces pushing me to give up and coast, I will fight on.

As always, the battle is against myself. Against the anger, indifference, and self-doubt. Against the stubborn, yet resolute, image in the mirror.

It’s a street fight. A fight to the death. A fight that will endure until my last breath.

I move forward with confidence, knowing that every second of my life has led me to this point. I will not give up. I refuse. I feel the presence of many silent warriors with raised fists cheering me on in solidarity as they fight their own battles.

The bell has sounded. Let the next round begin.