Enough

enough

For many, I am enough.

I can fill their lives with my presence and bring joy by doing little more than breathing.

Why am I never enough for myself?

enough

For those who do not carry the burden of eternity a life well-lived is enough.

We can enjoy the mystery of every joy and sorrow knowing it is a natural part of being human and it is the fate of all who live.

When do we know that we have seen all that we need to see?

Enough

For a small select few a long life is never going to be enough.

We search for more than this life because this is all that we know and the prospect of a greater above, or a scarier below, spins us onward as we search for a level of piety that will always allude us.

When do we stop longing for our righteous reward and breathe in the miracle of the here and now?

ENOUGH

For the ones who collect and stockpile for an uncertain future, there has never been enough.

I have to constantly look beyond myself because the mirror lies and it shows us images that are distorted and incomplete.

When will I discover that the only fear that will hold me back is not the fear of death but the fear of living?

ENOUGH

The Hum

The noise around me blends

                into a low hum.

I am usually distracted but

                tonight the airport vibrates;

Like listening to the sounds of the waking forest at sunset.

I am confident I have found a

                connection to my reading.

I am emboldened to sustain my

                hold on the written word.

 

The breaking away happens before I realize it;

                shifting and groaning like cracks in a warming glacier.

My eyes close as I slowly drift into the throng.

They lift me up and carry me away

                like a mosh pit as I abandon the task at hand—the crowd is my master now.

They will not bring me back.

Like Spiderman after saving the train,

                they lower me downward in disbelief and

                stare as I slip into a dreamlike

                state of my own creation.

The Curse of Silence

Who knows what happens in the silence? It may last for seconds or minutes…but it feels like it stretches for days and weeks …months and years…decades, centuries, millennia, and eons…this eternal silence that floods the world and drenches all the spaces that we occupy.

As long as the loudness continues all is well – the screech of traffic, the screams of a baby, the yelling and fighting of lovers, and the blare of televisions on every street and neighborhood of the world.

Silence scares me more than any other noise that can be conjured, because in the silence walls are formed, plans are schemed, loves are lost, and tears form and fall. Silence rips a man apart and drives a woman into insanity. It has no form, no function, and no purpose, and it holds your life as a ransom.

What is this future silence that awaits us? I no longer believe in the heavenly choirs, harps strumming, and choruses of angels (I would much rather hear screaming guitars if I had to choose), so the prospect of silence is the most deafening and frightening punishment that we could receive.

When I try to fill the silence with noise, it never seems to satisfy. But it is something, when silence always feels like nothing. Silence is the enemy of all that is good. Silence betrays us and sends into darkness.

In silent prayer my demons rear their ugly heads and every mistake that I have ever made floats to the surface. I do not hear the heavenly hosts and supreme beings sending down their sonnets; no marching orders or the recipe for peace. I only hear silence. I am beginning to think that is the standard reply of the gods.

When the silence screams louder than the voices of men, when even music cannot drown out its roar, when it overpowers preachers and soothsayers and prophets, and drowns out the intelligent ramblings of the wise, madness is just around the corner.

I hope someday I can embrace the silence and make it my friend. But for now it haunts me, taunts me, and overpowers my lucid dreams. Silence is the enemy of my peace. Silence is the finality and fate of us all.

So, silence, you have nothing to say in your defense? Just as I thought.

You Are the Only You

I doesn’t seem fair that this is the only life I have, even as visions of heavenly hallways and reincarnation flood my mind; yet these are the fairy tales and stories written to comfort us with dreams of angels ushering our bodies and spirits to another dimension after our time on Earth is done.

I have believed in “something more” many times in my life and I understand the draw. The excitement of what lies ahead like the anticipation before a grand vacation. Floating on wispy clouds and safe in the arms of a being who will take what is left of this shell and make it into something useful, divine, and immortal.

Believe me, I could use an upgrade – failing eyes, sore feet and back, constant worry about blood pressure and glucose and how many bottles of water a day it will take to keep me alive. When to exercise, too little or too much, or what my body looks like at the beach. Not to mention keeping my brain healthy, meeting goals, making others happy and fulfilling my destiny in a career. There is so much to consider that nightly sleep is a respite…though I fear that worry will even invade my dreams.

Then it hits me that my life is a miracle. I remember the remote unlikelihood of me even taking my first breathe, not to mention dodging childhood illnesses and crashed bikes, terrible drivers, and ICU visits, personal tragedy and heartache, pandemics and life-threatening storms…to arrive at the age I am now; the miracle of living where I live in the time that I live, with all the pleasures and gifts that are coming my way. All these have kept my heart beating and brought me to 55. I have arrived here in one piece, and so I continue to rise every morning with strong coffee and high hopes, believing that I am still making some difference.

It does not matter if I look in the mirror and don’t like what I see. I am stuck with that mask and I must work with what I have. Nobody is going to carve me into the image of that person that I long to be. Even plastic surgery would not make me happier, because under that skin lies the heart and soul of the person I have built and molded my entire life. Technically I am the same person I was at 20, but the years have made me an optimistic fatalist and an unspiritual realist. I am now getting to the age where contentment is sneaking up on me. I am not sure it will ever find me, but I know I am learning to feel comfortable in my skin, even as it wrinkles and withers in the winds of my future travels.

Until I disappear forever.

The In-Betweens

I live in the in-betweens…

Half-way to the almosts and most of the way to pretty close.

I live in the middle-row where the partial view is obscured by either side.

I live in a half-falling, less than stable structure, preparing to be nearly nice and as perfect as I am allowed to be.

I move in tight-space walls where my breathing is short and prayers are scarce.

I watch the mostly-crazy inherent in both sides and peek at the sane that only shows a fraction of its motives.

I cry but the tears only half-way leave my eyes, mixing 50/50 with memories that are yet to be.

I travel the almost-good-enough, always striving, always climbing ascent that never reaches the summit.

I am the former also-ran who sees the finish line that keeps moving farther and farther away.

I will never reach it…I am half-way certain of that. 

When the Last Dragon Falls

I recently fulfilled a life-long goal. In the scope of academic work, it is a gold medal. The last 10 years of my life, including all of my mental, physical, and spiritual energy, has gone toward this goal.

But the crazy thing is…the excitement lasted about two days and then began the realization: “So what?” which was soon followed by a related question: “Now what?”

I thought of an analogy of a dragon slayer (if dragons were real…that is beside the point) to help me understand this moment in time. All of the warrior’s life, their quest has been to slay dragons. It is in the job description and the title. But there is a problem with this profession.

If you are a great dragon slayer, assuming there are a limited number of dragons, you will eventually work yourself out of a job (if you don’t become a French fry first). When you meet the last dragon, you have to kill it. Once again, that is your job.

But as the last blade stroke falls, and the dragon breathes its last, your time as a dragon slayer has ended. Now you are a “former” dragon slayer, for there is nothing more to slay.

Thus begins the dilemma. Do you give up the profession and retire (assuming dragon slayers have a 401K) or do you find something else to slay? The problem is that nothing else compares to the excitement and exhilaration of slaying a dragon. Anything else just seems like hunting. Then it hits you.

It doesn’t matter what animal you slay, it will never bring you the peace that you so desire. Because once the last dragon falls, both your livelihood and sense of accomplishment will fall as well.

A few days later, I had another revelation: dragons are not real (as much as I wish they were) but the monsters we seek to conquer are very much a part of our daily lives. The dragon I really killed, the one that bit the dust when the congratulatory email entered my inbox, was a lifetime supply of inadequacy, emptiness, and discontent. After the demise of the last dragon, I realized that all I have left is the inner strength that comes from being a true warrior.

I languish in the understanding that what I really loved was the hunt. The chase. The fear. The adventure. Now that it is finished, and the dragon, along with my insecurities, negativity, and self-loathing, are soundly defeated, I rest in the fact that the elusive happiness and contentment that follow a sense of accomplishment was always within my grasp.

So what if there are no more dragons to slay? Challenges await, and I will always have my new-found pride and confidence at the ready if other monsters rear their ugly heads. I have the weapons I need.

There is, and always was, a dragon slayer living inside me. I regret that it took far too many years for me to realize that truth.

In My Skin

What is it that I see when I look in the mirror?

This shell holds all of our being together and is shaped and molded by the weathering of time and stress.

I think back to how many years and events have transpired, all the while stuck in this decaying house, even as my brain is pricked and pruned from the challenges, joys, and sorrows of my life.

If our lives were fairy tales, would they be enough to keep the attention of the average child at bedtime?

This skin that has been stretched and reformed through the years is now spotted, worn, and wrinkled.

We do not slay dragons, but we fight the ignorance that we have blindly perpetuated, the apathy that drags us down like an anchor, and the emptiness and fear that invades our lives in times of quiet solitude.

Will time and antiquity ever know that we existed and made some small dent in the fabric of time?

This skeleton of joints and bone and sinewy muscle is sore from many years of indulgence and laziness, but it remembers more than we know.

It has taken years to be comfortable in my skin. The fact that I am a flawless and unique sculpture, and there will never be another reproduction like me, makes me pause. It gives me peace that I am wonderful stitched from the fabric of a larger garment.

What is it that everyone else sees when they look in their own mirror?

This face that has witnessed the whole journey in awe, eyes that have seen beauty and sadness, ears that have heard my babies cry, beautiful melodies, and the sounds of destruction, confusion, and chaos.

If it is really true that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then may these eyes be blessed to see a thousand more sunrises. May my face feel the wind as it whips across the ocean and my ears hear the sounds of happiness and joy that ring true in my children, their children, and eons onward.  

How do I reconcile the anger I feel toward the aching back, fat stomach, and lumbering form that I carry with me every day?

This body that I always seek to be smaller and more nimble is the one that has served me all these years and continues to make me who I am, for better or worse.

The revelation that you own the body you inhabit, and there will never be a replacement or upgrade, is the reality that we must reconcile with if we are to use that body for good, for enjoyment, and to play our role in the ever-present reality of our existence.

Even as I seek to bend this body to my will, may I know that this skin and bones will always be my companion, my home, and my traveling suit, until it is preserved, pressed, and laid to rest.

Washed Away

Relentlessly, the rushing ocean waves pound the shoreline, grinding to dust and sand the rocks and shells that rest themselves in its wake. Yet that is their lot – to be ground by the constant forces of nature and become the soft cushions that caress our toes on warm summer nights.

Nature reveals the constant presence and power of the waves, yet each one is different. Each new ebb and flow produce a display that has never been before and never will be repeated. So it is with our lives. Each of these unique sunrises and sunsets hold their place in the lexicons of time. Yet they are oblivious to our human frailties, imperfections, and anxieties.

It is comforting to know that we held something so transient in our memories…that sand under our foot is washed by the tides, picked over by a seagull, walked on by strangers, sniffed by a passing dog, or swept out to the ocean depths. It remains steadfast and immutable, yet constantly shifting.

It takes the crashing waves of an ocean, the rhythm of a babbling brook, or the crisp bite of mountain air to remind us that we are not alone…nature lives and moves and gives us purpose. But to grasp those moments is like trying to capture the air.

So I stand at the beach, tossing out regrets like handfuls of sand - the pain of failures and lost dreams, of missed opportunities and the ruins of my thoughtlessness, of fears and tears and disappointments – till they are washed away and trouble me no more.

Oh, let it be so.

Rebirth

The labor pains have begun…

To be free of perpetual sleep; free of the darkness, the nothingness; knowing that I was not meant for this place, this temporary home. I sensed there was so much more, and I could feel this safe haven preparing the way for me. The spasms of newness guided me toward the bright light that I could not explain.

My senses switched on and I soaked in everything at once. At first, it was all a blur, then my mind awakened and I was ushered into a strange new world. To have great fear and wonder at the same time; to know that I am helpless … not able to crawl or walk or even see the future. It was a scary feeling. Yet I was alive.

Part of me felt like I had been here all along; like I had no beginning and could not even contemplate my end. There was too much to learn and experience to visualize the conclusion. It could be 1 year or 10 years or 30 years or who knows how long.

Now the connection is broken. The cord is cut. I no longer depend on the linkage to another human; to another time. I must begin to make my own way. To carve out my destiny. Though there may be others there to direct me, the path is still my own.

I was born into a world that I had no hand in creating, yet it is mine to possess and change as I will it. It is a liberating feeling. Now all I sense is potential and the swaddling arms of the world.

Yet someday this broken connection will come with a cost. There is no going back. The comforting arms and soft voice that always let me know that I was fine, that I was blessed and my reward secure, will no longer be there. I will truly be like a ship adrift on the sea. I must will myself to survive until I see the shore.

We enter this world alone, with a slap on the ass. We begin the journey with a crowd of onlookers, even as we arrive here on our own terms. We leave the same way, with a host of mourners seeking to illuminate our exit. Chants and prayers, songs and tears will soon be ours, but before that day, we will take those last wobbly steps…we must face this final journey alone.

If I could go back I would, into the safety of the womb and the warmth of never having to face the pangs of this cruel life. But I am already here, and the only thing that will save me is a rebirth. So once again I sense the labor pains, feel the relentless contractions pushing me forward to enter a new world.

Soon my path will be illuminated and my new destination clearly in view. Many more rebirths will guide me into the future of my choice. Only then will my journey be traversed, my strivings no more, and my soul prepared for rest.

Reawakening

Life is a series of re-births, set in motion by the changing seasons and ebbs and flows of our lives – a universe of choices lay before us and we are in charge of either taking the reins or choosing the easy chair.

Re-births spawn a new life on distant soil, where we begin the process of sorting the dirt, breathing the air, claiming our plot of land, and making friends with the natives – once we lose the ability to re-spawn we run out of lives and the game ends. This is the only life we have, there are none to spare.

Pulling up roots can cause a season of trauma; it takes time to adapt to the local flora and fauna until we feel the privilege to call it home again – yet when roots are pulled up repeatedly, the damage makes it too difficult to grab hold of the confidence we need to settle in. A flood of water, love, and nutrients is required.

Your childhood home is a place of comfort but one to which you can never return; the winds have changed and the forest of your youth has now become a parking lot – you can never re-live your childhood adventures and moving closer will not guarantee that any of your past memories will nourish you or give you peace.

The winds of change will continue to carry you where they may until you are confident that the moorings have taken root – an immense mission is spread before you that will push and mold you in unknown ways and immerse you in the novel skills you need to meet the trials and challenges with confidence.

How long this new and final mission will last is completely up to you - when your sea legs are finally on solid footing, your duties are complete, and your work there it is done, it is time to leave the world of work to the younger generation.

Work is an addiction that must be weaned off slowly and as you mature you will sense when your body of work has run its course and it is time to take your well-deserved rest – then and only then can you feel assured that you have made your indelible mark on the world.

For this lofty and life-changing process to move forward, it must begin with a reawakening.  

Are you ready for the labor pains?