Parallel Lines

Starts and stops and lucid dreams seek me out, leading me forward and backward in the same moment.

How can I be over half a century old when just yesterday I dreamed of catching a fish with my dad on Saturday and bragging to my middle school friends on Monday? But then I woke up and my sore back and feet reminded me of all the years that have passed since I was that little boy.

So many distinct yet unique stories…too numerous to count…some filled with joy and happiness, but others driven by tragedy and hurt; yet onward the journey goes no matter how we try to slow it down. This is the burden we share as a human race.

How can we consider being finished when there is so much more work left to do? How could the world spin without you in motion around it? Yet on it goes; when one dies and another is born the relentless spinning never slows through it all.

We feel that we must keep moving because if we slow down, we will see that the world is perfectly fine without us; yet we are not fine if we don’t enjoy it until the very last second…until the last beat of our hearts.

We grow up together yet separate with a multitude of total strangers and share common stories – skinning a knee on the playground, getting our hearts broken in high school, feeling lost in college, falling into the routines of life with family, bills, and raising children, then coming to grips with a world that is spinning out of control. That is when we find that we must do our best to ease the dizziness.

There are thousands, possibly millions, that follow similar patterns, yet we feel we are so isolated…that only we have felt these pains and have tried as we might to repair what was broken. If we heard all of the stories we would feel better at our common struggle, but it would be too much to bear. Our story is enough, along with the parallel stories of those we know and love.

At some point everyone senses when it is time for a change, but not everyone is brave enough to take that first step toward evolution and freedom. Its never too late to continue your unfinished journey and to follow the brave path of other lost and wandering sojourners who have stayed the course.

The Traveler

His dreams were rough last night…relentless reminders of the struggles that have occupied both his sleeping and waking existence these last few weeks. Maybe tonight his thoughts will not hold him hostage. Even music followed him into dreamland. Night songs beating in his brain like constant pounding in preparation for battle; ear worms of songs he doesn’t even particularly like…followed by cherished melodies that make him cry and long for simpler days.

But were the days ever simple? You have likely seen videos of someone caught in a storm yet they remain calm and choose to believe that nothing bad will happen to them. His brain was the opposite – the everyday peace and monotony of the day hoovered around him like sunshine on a Texas summer morning, yet in his brain raged a hurricane. Sometimes the sunshine would calm the torrent but other times it inflamed it for no particular reason. And there was never a happy ending; the worst-case scenario always took center stage in his mind. It was like that R.E.M. song…it was the “end of the world as he knew it,” but he did not feel fine.

He hadn’t really travelled the world. Once to England and a smattering of cities in the United States. Always connected to work and hardly ever free to roam and make connections to the land. Yet he considered himself an adventurer of sorts…he had the fedora and a suitcase full of memories to prove it. But someone once laughed when he talked of his adventurous spirit and reminded him that he was no more than a boring wannabe with a closet full of ties and a teaching certificate. Although his new love had told him a thousand times that she loved the professor life and he was all the adventure she would ever need, the snarky comment of someone intent on hurting him stayed with him like a contentious bone spur…always there…always reminding him of his inability and lack of worth.

Alarms buzzing and the world in motion starts the routine that he has known for over 10 years now. This daily journey begins with a smile and warm embraces that remind him that he is enough. He is adventurous. He is the traveler, even in his mind and in his hopeful dreams. She always supports him and lifts him up. He can make at least one person happy in this corrupted world. And that is enough.

Somehow his feet are numb and aching at the same time. A daily soreness reminds him that he is no “spring chicken.” But his mind is sharp and he knows his travels are far from over. If only he had a sign…a crystal ball…a way to cut through the fog that shrouds his way forward. A map to show to show him how to find the next trail.

After a day of academic pursuits, it is time to take his rest. He writes in his journal (the only counseling he has ever been brave enough to choose) and then crawls into bed. Adventures, both good and bad, await the traveler. For in his dreams he is that adventurer. He is all that he hopes to be. For the night is the teller of tales and the conjurer of hopes. As the numbness overtakes him, he knows tomorrow will bring another hurricane and another cloudy mind.

But that is for another day. The weary traveler must take his respite and let the river of dreams wash away his fears, always believing that more explorations await him and his lifelong traveling companion.

The Curse of Humanity

We are all replaceable….

Why can’t we mourn change like we mourn death, for change is a memoriam to the pathway of comfort that was stolen from us? The speed at which I must accept change and move on makes me feel less human and more like a caged animal.

To err is human, but to be human is also to live with change and loss and separation and loneliness; I envy the animals in their ignorant bliss.

We are all responsible…

Mourning is an emotion that we dodge like a bullet, for recognizing those emotions give way to sorrow and the realization of loss. But if I embrace it for too long, I am told to “get over it” for the work must be done. If not you, then never fear, your replacement is waiting in the wings.

To keep going is human, but sometimes it feels like we are rats on a wheel going nowhere fast. We may not know where we are going, but we must get there quickly before its too late; barely missing the coming storm and thanking the gods for their mercy. There is no joy in that journey.

We are all unique in a weird and twisted way…

Why do we brag that we are better than the animals, when we fight and kill for territory, power, and food and devour anyone who gets in our way? Animals act like animals because they were created to live and die oblivious to their own mortality. We possess the curse of that knowledge.

To fight for our survival is part of our animal nature. We have added all the drama and emotions to make this journey more interesting, but we sleep, eat, have passionate desires, and establish a niche in our human-created wilderness filled with split-level condos and shopping malls.

We are all to blame…

Why am I told that I should not be like this – to not take things so personally, overreact, or mourn the departure of a co-worker? I should be able to set the timetable of my mourning, to move when I am ready, and to never forsake the compassionate side of my humanity.

I do not believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I would want to come back as an animal, oblivious to life and death decisions, taxes, sorrow, and the pain of separation, but most of all oblivious to the sadness that I would feel if I were cursed with humanity.  

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.