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?

Addicted to Discontent

Happiness is an illusion.

I am not saying that I am not happy. I am. I border on delirious for a multitude of intense moments; times of laughter and passion when the world seems to slip away. Surreal and sudden and blissful. They happen when I least expect them. The scent of them lingers for hours and takes the edge off my fears.

Yet they are not something I cling to. Not something that I want to recreate every day.

I used to think it would be easy to calm the storms inside me. I used to believe that if I prayed hard enough I would feel a euphoria engulf me and stay wrapped around me like a warm blanket. But that has yet to happen.

Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t try to pray a spell of happiness to envelope me like a mist and shed the scars and blisters from my soul. There are many of us. We drift in between the shadows. Not depressed. Not manic. But in limbo. We know that the fog will never lift, but we have taken it upon ourselves as a burden, a cross to bear.

Many times the trials of life seem too heavy. The reality of our future nonexistence weighs heavy on our souls. We seek to grab the promises of eternal habitation, but their allure slips away as we consider their lofty possibilities.

What holds the gloom at bay? What keeps us from slipping into the abyss? The warmth and promise of love is the only solid footing on this journey. It sustains me. It fills my belly. It feeds the hope that I so often starve. Love is all that keeps me away from the ledge.

I do not seek your pity. I just want you to see me, and if you notice the dark cloud settling overhead, grab my hand and lie to me – tell me it will all be alright. For the powerful light of love is all that can drive the clouds away.

 

Much Ado About "Nothing"

Once upon a time there was an overthinking professor, who spent hours trying to write witty prose that rhymed and hummed along, and also entertained. But alas, it was harder to rhyme than to sail the streams of his consciousness. So he just started writing…

Such is the brain of the scattered dreamer. Even when free time comes his way, and his work is caught up with no responsibilities breathing down his neck, he finds a way to write a poem that doesn’t rhyme about the pain of nothingness. About the pain of emptiness and filling that emptiness with chores and house work and turkey dinners and movies and popcorn and chasing dogs. Such is the reality of the holiday break; the vacation that is never a vacation from his tortured mind.

For if the professor relents to the pull of nothingness, he might find that he enjoys it and that it is time to start thinking about the “R” word, when unlimited time for relaxing will be both his reward and his curse. Many work all their lives for those days, to be able to do what they want, sail around the world, wear out the rocking chair or enjoy watching others worry about how the world is spinning and whether or not we have decided to blow it up, or if we will send a man to Mars. A younger man’s thoughts no longer fit his expanding waste of time.

The professor knows this is a trap. While simultaneously longing for the days of the future when he is in control and no one can tell him what to do, those days scare him for he will become his own boss, and he is a terrible self-manager. Yet there are still goals that he writes on sticky notes and pastes all around his messy office like wallpaper. It is yet to be seen whether or not those lofty goals will ever come to pass and if the sticky notes will be stuck on the wall like gold stars, crumpled in the trash, or frozen in their place like flypaper to serve as a warning for all those who dare to dream.

Music lines his mancave walls by the thousands, books overflow his bookshelves, and the word processor longs to see what adventures he will add to this digital storybook. There is always work to do, but it can wait until he enjoys this remnant of free time, even if it kills him. Choices like swatting flies buzz and pester his brain, breaking his already fractured concentration and nagging him to choose an activity or stare blankly into space. But the music does not please and the books are dusty and full of old men’s exploits. So for now he sits and ponders the future that squeezes him like a boa constrictor, getting tighter and tighter as it vanishes before his eyes. A crowd of younger faces take the reins of time and lead us forward; he knows the world he is preparing is not his own, it is only rented from his children.

Maybe he realizes time is a commodity that not all have, and many more every day lose the battle for control of their beating hearts. Maybe he knows that those few hours of leisure, or writing, or chasing dogs and putting out fires, are all eating into the time he has left. It seems that loftier pursuits should fill in those gaps of emptiness, but that is not his choice. It is out of his control. The down time is there to show him that time is a gift  that haunts him more every day as it ticks away and slips through his fingers.

Always the optimist, he knows he can’t end his ramblings on such a depressing note. So he concludes by looking around at his leisure pursuits, knowing the music contained in his walls will satisfy others after his melody is played out, that old men’s exploits are always going to be the fuel that propels us forward, that chasing dogs is something that is not just reserved for the young, and that love is never a waste of time.  It is time to love those who need it, taste the turkey and smell the dressing, and remember that although he is a professor, that is not how he started. Over 40 of his early years were taken up as a teacher, father, and part-time dreamer.

He ends the day with a deep breath, a smile, and a nod to the nothingness. Let’s dance.

 

EnTrOpY

“Getting old ain’t for sissies.” ~ Sherry Sparks

Every day is a battle, a war against staying the same, letting gravity take hold, or fighting against the forces of time that drag us downward. The more I live, the harder it gets to make the choice to do better, to be the optimist in the room, and to push forward against all that seems to be holding us back.

It is a courageous act to roll out of bed in the morning, punch the clock or fix your tie, then head into a world that values youth more than any other commodity.

I don’t want to coast, to be the coffee-drinking porch-sitter than reminisces and shuns the forward view, who holds nostalgia in higher regard than progress. But the tractor beam of aging will continue to draw us in, changing our blurry view and making us reassess our goals in light of the inevitable course that we all face.

I will not continue to get in better and better shape, write my “magnum opus,” or regain my youthful health and vigor; those days have likely passed. But I can re-mold this sculpture into something that I can be proud of, if I will only fight the battles that I know I can win and acquiesce to the things I cannot control. But oh to know the difference.

The future is not likely to be the vision that you once had, especially if you are a product of the 1960s or 1970s, but with the right lens we can see clearly the path forward.

Is it time to start over, or start again? I am not sure if I am ready for such a commitment, but I know that there are many adventures yet to begin if I can only muster the strength to find them. Is there room for optimism in the last 1/3 of your life? I certainly hope so. For I cannot thrive on the crumbs of pessimism.