Thursday, February 18, 2010

A work in progress...

Yeah, I'm not thrilled about sharing works in scares me.

I'd be the guy who would spank it, knead it, massage it, refine it, update it, refashion it....until it's exactly as I want it to end up. That's because I want you to LIKE me, and I don't want to be criticized. Not very Buddha nature, I know.

So that's my dilemma. I have to work with the challenge of being unfinished, and unpolished, unrefined, undone. So in that spirit, I'll stop typing now, and without looking back, I'll just post a little snippet of an idea I've been working on, which I'm going to add to later, and make a full piece out of.

OK, maybe I'll just go back and check my spelling once.......

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

This Vessel....the sequel

Most often, when we post on Facebook it's little humorous dalliances, fun little musings and other fluff from the minutia of our existence.

But then, someone will post something that really shakes you...

A friend, a wonderful person who I have known - and had worked with way back in the '90's - just posted that his partner passed away today, calling her in his sad post "the love of my life". This is the second post like this I've seen recently, from folks who were once in my life in a bigger way, and then moved on somehow. Facebook is a boon for these relationships, allowing us to be a little bit in touch. This guy is living 1000 miles away.

So many mixed emotions...I reach out to comfort and give appreciation for a person whose troubles I would have never been aware if not for Facebook, and that seems like a blessing -- to be able to at least try and be of some comfort.

I'm thankful for that opportunity, as I concurrently hope - with some doubt - that my words give the comfort that is compatible with how I feel. It feels like an affirmation to reach out. Of course, I feel the sadness as well, being well acquainted with the goodbyes that the end of life bring.

Still, I've never said goodbye to a partner at the end of their life. It feels clumsy, presumptive and embarrassing to say I know how it feels.

At a particularly low ebb in my life, I once wrote a fatalistic song. The opening lyric: "we're all alone my friend, we're all alone today -- and we're born and we die that way."

But is that true? We're born with a mother in waiting who is instinctually prepared to nurture us to maturity, and likewise instinctual is the propensity to comfort and help those who are passing, or are losing their loved ones.

I recently met a man with inoperable cancer who didn't have long to live, and he told me "my cancer is a gift." Of course he quickly added "I'd give it back if I could." Still, he was seeing an opportunity that was coming up because of it. He passed away about 2 weeks ago. So it would seem that my song lyric was a point of view, which has a ring of truth, but ultimately as fact it falls apart on reflection.

At the same time however, I sit in my room high atop Manhattan's never ending cycles, staring out at the sweeping view, where lights have faded from the frantic pace of rush hour, and the sense of aloneness is palpable. Outside, even now at 2:00 AM, a siren wails quietly, a train horn's plaintive sound in the distance and the garbage trucks making their rounds takes me back 25 years in an instant, to those days when I was a new transplant, roaming NYC's streets at this hour with the optimism and joy of the feeling that anything could happen. Just around the corner, there's greatness waiting patiently for me.

Tonight, there's two thoughts I think. The first is: what is it - this life - all about?

The second is: who am I...really?

More on the second thought later.