Archives: December 2003
Tue Dec 30, 2003
Enchanting Pauses...
The burden is lighter, today. It is a burden, or so it seems to me,
that I have been walking through each day weighed down, leaned upon by
some weary traveler, some necessary companion on a traverse through
life. My companion, bares the likeness of me, yet, in his face, I see a
more aged self. In his eyes I can witness fear, a lingering terror of
some unspeakable memory, some otherworldly reality that holds him now,
even in this restful place of tree, grass and sun.
We rest today. Our only troubles are the needs of body: food and sleep.
Resting with our backs to the truck of some ancient tree, whose roots
surely reach into the depths of primal soil, the sun warming our faces,
allowing only the squinting eye to gaze upon the field of grass,
dancing in the breeze. In this momentary pause of our journey, I can
tell that there still lingers hope. For in the darkest of the tree’s
shadow, there be fairies dancing.
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Mon Dec 29, 2003
what will tomorow bring?
job interview today at 11:00 this morning. by this time tomorrow, i will either be packing to head back for another 12 weeks of work away from home, or starting a new job.
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Wed Dec 24, 2003
The Blog Wreath Thief!
stole this fromLeigh!
To become a blog wreath thief, steal the above image and link it back to the blog from which you 'borrowed' it... teehee!
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Mon Dec 22, 2003
The Reverberations of Poet's Pain
reading an entry over at MadPoet,
i was reminded of how deep poetry, and prose for that mater, reaches
into my being. it is a living witness to the full gamut of my life,
even though i am most driven to write when my spirit is in pain.
yes. for the scars that remain after the battered soul heals, for the
ongoing hemorrhage of internal hope, for the fears arising from
tortures too ghastly to be mentioned, for the pit of despair where
rests stagnant laughter, mired in decay... for these pieces of the
poet's being... there must be poetry. for in the words of the verse,
hammered out on life's iron fist, i often find relief and sometimes, in
moments of purest grace, wonderful questions.
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Sun Dec 21, 2003
at last...
not since i was a child, with my nose breathing mist on the front
window pane (preparing to pass time, anxiously awaiting the arrivial of
my extended family so that we could open all of the gifts, hace i be so
completely satisfied with an expection. i'm home. i'm content.
heck. i just had eggnog and chocolate candy, dos it get any better than
that?! well...this morning, waking up with my wife sleeping beside me
wasn't half bad either! heh.
not to sound too corny, but, "there's no place like home for the holidays."
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Fri Dec 19, 2003
Look Homeward Theo
The first of October, I came down to Georgia to work a sale and learn
more about managing furniture liquidation sales. I haven’t been home to
North Carolina since then and but for three days, during which my wife
and her mother came to visit, I haven’t seen any of my family since
then.
Tomorrow morning I leave for home. I have made some good money, learned
a lot about this business (through disappointments and personality
conflicts), and even more about myself. I know that I can do this job.
I can take care of myself. I can maintain a recovery program and
survive without my spouse. Now comes the join of reunion.
Now also comes a time for choice. I have a job offer and an interview
next week. It would allow me to remain home, but I don’t think the
money will amount to much. Enough? We’ll see. The question is about
living away from home again for another three months, or maybe four. I
can come back to the furniture business for another sale.
Right now, however, I am more concerned with one joyful reality: I am going home tomorrow. That is all that matters right now.
Theo is heading home.
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Tue Dec 16, 2003
the falling of the curtain
i'm not sure what is up with me, but i think i may be emerging into a man of limited expectations and depressed dreams.
there are things that have always inspired me: poetry, art, theater, music, theology...
i remember so clearly, to the point of feeling, the hope and joy with
which i entered college, seminary, and the early years of serving as a
pastor. the future was always bright, filled with new conquests,
successes, possibilities. i always new that the next event of my life's
journey would take me further to the great success and status that was
to be mine. for some reason, i have always felt destined for greatness.
i saw myself in a large church, preaching moving messages, helping
others, leading the flock. i thought also of branching out, into
counseling, spiritual direction, or some cutting edge form of ministry.
always, i saw myself as achieving a certain level of status and
greatness.
yes, i guess seeing these words now, coming from my own hand, sound
conceited. perhaps i was. yet, inside, i was always driven by this
hope, this yet to be realized destiny. in my youth and young adulthood,
many of my mentors, friends, and associates would remark hope bright my
future was, how talented and creative i was...
i have had many successes, but each one, one by one, i have turned to
failure. each possibility terminated in less than victory. each time,
after the failure of my marriage, the loss of my job in one
denomination because of unspiritual behavior, the loss of my financial
assets (again and again) because of mismanagement, the losses to
addiction, rejection by yet another denomination, job changes,
vocational adjustments... each time, i managed to find hope again, find
that dream that somehow, that victory, that moment of my success and
achievement would come, still...
today, i may be emerging into a man of limited expectations and
depressed dreams. i don't believe in me anymore. don't get me wrong, i
believe in my ability to suit up and show up for the daily tasks (work,
family, self-care, recovery), but, i don't believe in my own ultimate
success. i believe in God and all the wondeful things that God has done
and continues to do. yet, in the words of Jack Nicholson, from the
movie of the same title, i wonder if this might be "as good as it gets."
what does this mean? i don't know. i feel as if i'm in a hole, and am
somewhat resigned, surrendered, even, to this place of lowliness.
my mind tells me that there is a lesson in humility here. my thoughts
turn briefly to question what spiritual adjustment God might require of
me. then, with a sigh of thought, they turn away. i am beginning to
believe that God may in fact be done with me, other than the life of
quiet desperation that seems to be mine. devotions leave me empty.
poetry holds little interest. theology seems to be a waste. writing
holds no purpose. and, my envy of the many forms of the arts, leaves me
aching rather than inspired. it hurts to be a man with a poet's soul, a
preacher's tongue, and no time nor form for my art. of late, even the
desire to 'perform' has left.
this blog is about the only form of expression remaining to me; my only
pulpit, my only stage. for the rest, the curtain falls, the applause
echo into silence, and the man with the broom sweeps the stage...
looking for me to move out of the way
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Thu Dec 11, 2003
Writer's Prompt - Leaf Pile
From Musings, yesterday's prompt was: Write a 250 word story about a pile of leaves.
She walked back up the sidewalk, thumbing through the mail. She saw
the usual things, bills, credit card offers, bulk mailings for sales
and yet another letter from Omaha Steaks. She didn’t even eat meat. She
sighed, and stopped to admire the leaves again.
Her shoulders still hurt. Her hands now blistered from the rubbing of
the wooded rake handled, over and again through the three hours she had
spent raking. Looking at the almost chest high pile of leaves, resting
next between the sidewalk and the based of the towering maple, she
remembered how much she hated raking when she was a child. Every year
her father would insist on her helping. Every year, her father would
get tired and ill tempered. Every year, the raking would end with him
grumpy, foul mouthed and mean. It wasn’t that he ever hit her; it was
just that she always felt like it was somehow her fault. Today she
could still feel a twinge guilt just from the memory.
She sighed, again. Closing her eyes, she tilted her eyes to the sky,
breathed deeply and exhaled strongly, just as her therapist had taught
her to do.
“In with the new…out with the old,” she could hear her speaking.
She thought of happier times and whispered to herself, “Yes. The day
mom jumped into the leaf pile with me.” She felt the warmth of her
mother’s laughter, again, the way she always knew what to do.
She opened her eyes and looked at the pile. The wind stirred and a
small flutter of leaves swirled across the top of the pile, almost as
if giving her the signal. She dropped the mail in the yard, skipped
into a run, and bounded toward the pile. The laughter rose quickly
within her. She jumped and landed squarely in the middle of the mound.
She heard the sound of the snap, like a dry twig crushed underfoot. She
felt the pain instantly in her right arm.
“Damn it,” she cursed.
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Sat Dec 06, 2003
rushing in...and out
with no internet access at the apartment, i'm somewhat crippled. i'm missing being able to post my thoughts and feelings. this blog has become such an important part of my self-care routine. sigh. More...
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