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.

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.