Theophany Journal

2008-07-21T21:08:00.001-04:00

String Quartet

It is a mess at first
The bow strikes and glides across a single string and back again
The note wobbles for a moment
Then settles to a steady call

Joined then by the rocking and striated rhythms
Of another set of strings
And another
Then another

The tatters of sound assemble
Like clouds and squalls
Of a sea storm
Then silence before the storm

Slowly comes the rain
The thunder
The wind
Singing softly its message

We are awash in a sea
Of harmonies and melodies
Here it is useless to navigate
This storm will take us where it wills

Surrender is always
The best option
When accosted
By beauty

-Theo

NOTE: The local Eastern Music Festival brought four young people to play before a group I attended last week. I was inspired to write this piece after their tuning and playing.

2008-07-17T20:32:00.001-04:00

Blue Hole-Walk and Talk

Your now seldom trodden paths fall under new feet, withstanding each impact of soul and sole, bearing up upon unyielding and ancient rock the weight of another exploration, an adventuring spirit, another of the millions of creatures that you have felt wander across your very spine, and with thoughtless query your impatient question of 800,000 years rises again...

Will this be the one? Will this be only another impertinent and transient creature that errantly uses the earthy mystery of this space for gathering dirt and stone, or ripping foliage aside for consumption, or splattering in fury, another's blood upon you hoping you will shroud its evil form detection? Or will this one impede the conquest and domination long enough to pause momentarily, stand still enough - long enough to allow your archaic message to creep from the core of this vain of our origination and stir as deeply within them as it resides within you, the tendril of impervious and undaunted myth that is your message?

NOTE: Written after walking the Blue Hole path in Bermuda.

2008-07-16T20:34:00.002-04:00

Awarded - Arte Y Pico Award

John has been bestowing stuff again. Among the stuff he has been bestowing about the place is the Arte Y Pico Award… which he has apparently bestowed upon me:

As with all such bestow-able items, it comes with its own list of rules:
1) Pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.
2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
4) Award-winner has to show the link of “Arte y Pico” blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award: Arte y Pico.

So here are my selections.

- AP (Alcoholic Poet) - Here you will find RAW passion and an amazing torrent of poets images and angst. I always leave moved and often wrenched.

- Michele - The most amazing community has evolved from her games, welcome and simple hospitality. There is laughter and blogging whimsy here. Her design is simple and crisp.

- Unguarded Utterance - S. L. Corsua writes the some of my favorite poetry on the web. I am humbled by her knowledge, technique and creative power.

-intothequiet - Another Poet and prose writer worth your time. Her community of visitors is packed with talent as well. The design here appeals to be, as well and this blog is easy to navigate.

-Dena Harris - And to prove I love to laugh, I finish with Dena's blog. Dena (she is more than a "cat" writer-really) writes regular and often humorous posts about her life. Her stuff is real if a bit twisted through her creative/retentive/over structured existence.

So now. Get your mouse clicking and visit these fine cyber spaces. Be sure and tell them that they have been award this high and holy honor!

Go. What are you still here for?

2008-06-30T21:01:00.001-04:00

Writing Work

A friend of mine has recently helped me get motivated to begin a writing routine. I have a story (maybe a book?) that I started several years ago. I have set a time to write for 30 minutes each day.

It is strange to me how difficult it is to do the work of writing. I love creating the story and the task of putting it to words isn’t that difficult, but something stands in the way of spontaneously writing.

When I first began this work, it was self compelling. I had to make myself stop and do something else. Somewhere along the way, the internal motivation waned and I found myself choosing to do other things.

I believe I am about a good tale and it smacks of a specific genre’ and has a bit of originality. It is worth telling. It is a tale that is alive within me.

So, tell me dear reader, why is it such work to write? What is your take on the passion of creativity turning to the labor of necessity?

Test

2008-06-17T10:01:00.001-04:00

Quotable

A happy childhood has spoiled many a promising life. - Robertson Davies

2008-06-11T21:47:00.003-04:00

Dolphin Musing

Using a writers prompt, I penned these words. May they bring you some of the peace that they brought me this day.

"Write a one-page description of what it would be like to swim with dolphins."

It seems like more than a few years ago. I stood on the bridge spanning the inlet at St. Augustine, Fl. Statuary of regal lions poised themselves as sentries guarding access, an access now in no need of guards, concrete or otherwise, a mere gateway from one tourist infested section of the town to another.

That evening, late, I stood on the crest of the low bridge and gazed blankly into the grey swirl of sea below. Small caps of sea foam occasionally formed and then faded, improbable punctuations, a writer's words quickly deleted returning the emptiness to the page. I had been unable to write for weeks. My mind blank, no, so filled with images and sensations falling over each other in chaos that no assembly of words could seem to contain my thoughts. So there the formless confusion of my mind was met by its reflection there in the dark sea.

The first one almost escaped my attention. A thin slice of light grey broke the ocean plain, a small twist of foam, and it was gone. I strained to see. I heard the song. At first I thought it was the wind carrying children's voices, softly to my ears. Then I saw them, dolphins. They swam below me, hiding just beneath the sea's veil, shadows, wisps of silver form. I leaned over the railing, dangerously far. They circled below me, entwining among themselves. There where three of them, two adults and a small one. They seemed unaware of anything but their own dance. What grace and poise they created with movements so fluid and quick; touches so gentle and tender.

I fell. Somehow my foothold failed and although I grabbed hold of the rail, my body already hung over the side and my one handed grip wasn’t enough. I tumbled the few feet and into the surf. I felt the sting of the water's chill. It had barely warmed from these early spring days. Something brushed my side and I felt myself being pushed toward the surface. I lifted my head to the night air, rubbed the salt water from my eyes, and as I began to tread water, was astonished to see the smallest of the trio of dolphins floating just inches from my face. It rolled onto one side, exposing one eye to the surface and lifting a fin as if to wave. I laughed. I heard them sing again. A gentle high note that seemed to hang in the air and settle in my soul, even more, it settled my soul.

The two adults were on each side of me now, and as I shifted my weight and began floating on my back, I could feel them moving around me. Soon, there dance included me. I joined them. I swam gently, rolling my body with the shift of the currents, allowing my hands to touch them and then the sea. I closed my eyes and listened to their song and swam with them.

Perhaps it was the caress of the sea, or the magic of the moment, or maybe just the release of my daily constraints, but, my head spun in delight and I felt a drug-like euphoria rise within my being. I was at once lost in bliss and fully present with myself.

Later, they bid me farewell and I felt a bit of sadness as they vanished into the darkness of the night and the vastness of the sea. I know that I found something that night. For even now, years later, I can close my eyes, breathe in the smell of the sea, and hear their song, the song I learned the night I swam with the dolphins.

2008-05-17T16:01:00.001-04:00

Summation

I'm holding the dog so it can sleep. What more to life is there?

2008-05-07T20:48:00.002-04:00

Amusing Myself

You are dancing again.

Yes.

Have you missed it?

The dancing?

Yes.

Yes, but I have missed other things more.

Really? What?

I have missed the attentive look on your face as you treasure me.

Treasure you? That is a bit assumptive of you.

Perhaps, but I see it tonight in your eyes.

You annoy me sometimes with you self assurance.

I'm not so assured, so confident about most things. But, I know you.

Indeed you do.

Dance with me.

I already am.

Do you love me?

Always.

I'm glad.

So am I, eventhough it keeps me forever troubled.

Troubled?

Perhaps unsettled would be a better word.

If you were not unsettled by me, you would be worthless, you know.

Yes, and sometimes I get tired of the desire, the longing, the …

Amusement?

You make me smile.

I make you laugh.

And dance.

I dance for you.

Thank you.

You make me laugh.

I know. I know. Dance.

2008-04-30T20:58:00.003-04:00

A 50 Year Hike

For the next four days I will be retreating to the mountains of North Carolina. I plan to do some hiking with my wife and enjoy the higher perspective that the mountains afford me. There is something wonderfully expansive and encouraging about a little time in the mountains.

We will hike one of my all time favorite trails in the Great Smokey Mountains, The Alum Cave trial. The 10 mile round-trip hike has a total elevation change of about 3600 feet and is a demanding day hike.

I'll turn 50 while on that hike. Seems appropriate.

2008-04-21T21:28:00.002-04:00

Never Quit

If you spent the last few years of your life trying to achieve a success, and you had fail not once or twice, but 49 times, would you keep trying?

I'm glad she didn't. Congrats!

2008-04-14T13:31:00.001-04:00

In From the Sea

When the wind blows in from the sea you can hear
The crackle of palm fronds breaking free from the heat
The hiss of sea oats defiantly bowing inland
The whisper of sand celebrating its lofty release from gravity
The sputter of foam cascading skyward cut from wave caps
The chimes of delicate shells dancing across dunes
When the wind blows in from the sea you can hear
The prayers of ancient mariners reaching home

-Theo

The above poem is dedicated in loving memory of my grandfather who was, among many things, a sailor.

2008-04-07T20:25:00.001-04:00

Departing

My grandfather is dying. He has lived 94 long and powerful years. There is no grief over the span or quality of his life. His family has grown, along with him, to replace any misgivings and injury of history with a real and current admiration and warmth. His is a life worth celebrating and he is a person worth having known.

I have spent three days visiting with family as they have gathered to share in his ending. I have spent two nights alone with him, but for the beeping of monitors and the peripheral movement of nurses and technicians. He is not cognitively alert, although I suspect he is more aware than he can demonstrate.

The most amazing and challenging aspect of it all is the interpersonal dynamic of my family. In such time of pain and stress I find myself moving in and out of a family functioning largely on self. Everyone is about their own stories, feelings, needs and ideas. There is little room for silence, prayer and just being. They seem to be living in their worries and words with a constant agitation.

I chose and cherish the over-night duty I did with my grandfather in his ICU room. There, among the sanctuary of our time I was able to simply be with him and myself. We really have no unfinished business. I am at peace with his dying. He is suffering some, but this too is part of the final journey for him. I love him and have let him go.

I have traveled back to my home now. My life is here; my wife, children and vocation. I won't be going back until time for the funeral. The other members of my family continue their vigilance and he his. This is as it is and I believe the Divine is working some more things out during this remaining time.

I don't really have a story to tell here. I just wanted to put some of this into words, for now.

2008-04-03T13:11:00.002-04:00

Life Complaint #497

Leaving the gym this morning, I saw a 30 something woman park a large SUV in the front line handicapped space. She flipped a handicapped sign onto her mirror and literally jogged into the gym. Does this bother anyone other than me?

Your thoughts?

2008-03-23T20:22:00.003-04:00

Burnished Life

We all have them - scars, wounds. Just moving through life assures us of damage.

The pain of an abusive childhood, the confusions of divorce, solitude through the loss of a job, physical injury, and the growing limitations of getting older all can keep us from the elusive joy of success.

Something tells us that we are supposed to be happy, healthy, and whole. We strive for it, pursue it and then there are the times when we seem completely separated from this deserved joy. Life's pleasure eludes us and we become too familiar with suffering.

I have often and long thought of this question - Why is joy often painfully elusive. I do not have an answer. I do have some experience and an observation.

It might help you to know of some of the scars, wounds and blows upon my life. My father died at age 36 (I was 6) of a massive heart attack leaving a gapping hole in my family and leaving me with a life-time of an absent father. I have walked through a critical and dangerous illness with my first child. I am divorced and remarried. I have watch four children grow in our blended (meaning there were two broken families) family. I fell into drug addiction, lost my career, professional credentials and bearings. I have physical conditions that bring me pain everyday. I have lost jobs, destroyed relationships, abused others and violated most of the values I believe to be important. My step-sister was raped and murdered when I was 15. My sister and brother are addicts in addiction or recovery depending on when you read this. And yet, my life today is good and I am happy more days than I am not.

It is my experience that in the face of my life's difficulties and among my own ill placed choices I have always known that a larger and benevolent presence was at work in life. My journey has certainly taken me toward and away from the Divine, but I have never doubted the Divine's existence. In my darkest moments I guess I knew that I could choose to not be a part of this larger benevolence, but my choice did not mean it wasn’t there nonetheless.

My observation is that my life has endured even the worst I have experienced. In fact, I can affirm that I have more than endured, but am thriving. Why? I'm not sure I can tell you why. I can tell you this - the scars and wounds that remain are the remnants of life's polishing of me. Perhaps polishing is too bright of a term. I have been burnished by life. In much the same way a welder may burnish metal to strengthen a contact, or a sculptor might burnish a piece of bronze to refract light in a particular way, life has rubbed and burnished me. The result is a being that cannot be mistaken for anything more than a man, a human being, like others, who has found some admiration of his scars and the peculiar sheen they reflect.

I feel triumphant because of my burnished life. Careful here or you will misunderstand me. It isn't because of what I have done to arrive at this moment. It is true enough that I am proud of the choices that have allowed me to live, but if I had been so wonderful I would have made much better choices that could have brought me to this point more directly - or could they? I feel triumphant because there is a peculiar, divine alchemy that has found in my choices and life's circumstances a limited and brazenly beautiful person.

It is also my belief and hope at this moment that anyone can find such beauty and solid joy in their burnished life.

2008-03-20T20:35:00.004-04:00

Regret

yesterday's deeds descend on raptor's wings
talons flair and slice into my mind
tearing through the carefully constructed facade of hope
i bleed, into tomorrow

ancestral wounds reopen with vengeance
deforming logic and maiming reason
proclaiming the torment of self loathing valid
i bleed, fill with sorrow

-Theo

2008-03-18T21:55:00.001-04:00

Red House Talking

heat scared twisted tin
metal remains of the shelter of generations
once marking the boundary between security and sky
seasons' harsh torments of ice and wind
once shielding mother and child and keeping
home hearths warmth within

sentinel timbers stand charred
remnants of hard taught lessons
essential knowings of word and truth
those shadows of learning that stand undaunting
proclaiming our way through life's course
holding us to right of way

paneless windows black and lost
tell of now absent eyes peering outward
watching for familiar faces and tracing memories
in winter vapor smudged glass and then speak
of curtains drawn tightly muffling the magic
giggles of life long love and randy youth.

now the boundaries of roof and wall
yield openly, freeing lives long bound here
prolific gaps grasp not even nature's breeze
but, to have it dance delight
fully resting
on my mind, heart and dream
then wafting on, free.

NOTE: I wrote this after visiting Levering Orchard in 2005.

2008-03-14T20:06:00.003-04:00

In Absence

It is possible to forget, to lose one's investment in being connected and engaging. It is probable that lack of familiar liaisons will diminish the rush of passion, the surge coursing through sinew and spirit delivering vitality. We can forget even that which is primary to personal essence.

The unused muscle withers. Creative ideas become faded memories and memories are soon enough forgotten, evaporated wisps dissipating across expanding horizons.

Yet, there is in all of such profound leaving and loss something that endures and that piece, no matter how small, abides eternally engrained within. Leaving, being separated from those things and people that affect us so throughly isn't really possible, not really. We are made of the remnants that remain, woven, remembered into a quiet brilliance.

2008-02-07T16:15:00.000-05:00

Quoting

Late to bed and late to wake will keep you long on money and short on mistakes. - Aaron McGruder

Note: Mr. McGruder was surely speaking pre-QVC!

2008-01-31T19:45:00.000-05:00

Upon Seeing "August Rush."

When the creative passion manifests itself within a human child in so great a magnitude that the child is compelled to create, and when that compulsion is made known through the power of creative genius, we call it beautiful, touching, profound.

I am pained, in agony. For what is crueler than to encase that immense passion within the flesh and psyche of a man and provide him with no prodigy-like form through which to have expression?

I am an artist without a canvas, a singer with no voice and a master with no craft. I meander about the art of creating and dabble in the alchemy of beauty, yet my very soul aches still with a song to be sung that cannot find a note of harmony in this un-tuned voice.

In anger and tears I cry, "There is something that big in me and I have no craft to get it out!" How cruel.

2008-01-24T15:01:00.000-05:00

Quoting

Write a wise saying and your name will live forever. - Anonymous

2008-01-09T20:38:00.000-05:00

Fresh from Reality

I just found this via a contact at work. Strengthsfinder.com is a test that rates your natural tendencies from a list of 34 talents/skill sets. You can purchase the book and it includes an online code to access the test and get your results. The concept is based on the belief that we will reach success by knowing and capitalizing on our strengths rather than trying to become good at something at which we are innately inept.

The test gives you a list of your top five strengths and a report detailing the strength and offering suggested actions to move into that strength.

My top five are:

Empathy - People who are especially talented in the Empathy theme can sense the feelings of other people by imagining themselves in others' lives or others' situations.

Competition - People who are especially talented in the Competition theme measure their progress against the performance of others. They strive to win first place and revel in contests.

Futuristic - People who are especially talented in the Futuristic theme are inspired by the future and what could be. They inspire others with their visions of the future.

Communication - People who are especially talented in the Communication theme generally find it easy to put their thoughts into words. They are good conversationalists and presenters.

Ideation - People who are especially talented in the Ideation theme are fascinated by ideas. They are able to find connections between seemingly disparate phenomena.

The report includes several pages of definitions and action suggestions. I’m off to discover more about me… It is all about me, after all.

2008-01-05T15:15:00.000-05:00

Half Way

And now I'm half way home
Half way to being alone
Half way insane
And half way away from you.

The thought of moving own
Chills my spirit, aches my bones
I how can I live without you
How can we live as one?

Still here I am
Half way home
Half way to being alone
Half way away from you.

There's a half moon in the sky
Half light to drive me
Half dark to hide me
Too bright to find shelter, too dark to see my way.

I'm stopped here
Half way home
Half way to being alone
Half way away from you.

Half full or half empty
The thought does not matter
For I'm too thirsty for half of anything
Too parched for half measures.

Along this road
I'm half way home
Half way to being alone
Half way away from you.

I have less than half of this life to go
A half life gone that seems too long
Half life left seems too much
So, I go

The half way back to you
Turning round to you
Half way back is better
Than all the way home.
Half way to you
Half way alone
Half way, moving all the way
Away to you.

-Theo

2007-12-21T10:06:00.000-05:00

From My Window to Your Home

Merry Christmas and Peace to All

2007-12-13T20:58:00.000-05:00

Better

There is no secret formula, but the remedy is still too illusive.

Thanks to words of kindness from and time with friends, I feel more comfortable. The process was gradual, and still I can mark the moment my mood finally adjusted completely.

I volunteered recently to spend an hour ringing the Salvation Army bell. A service group I am a member of has the responsibility and I signed up. Something about standing there, ringing that little bell and forcing myself to say "Merry Christmas" to passers-by removed the last of the veil of dankness from my life.

Now, on to the holidays. Come Spirit of joy and life!

2007-12-04T11:24:00.000-05:00

Advent

Be it internal chaos or external over stimulus or something altogether different, I find no real joy in this impending holiday season.

I am happy enough. I am satisfied enough. I am painfully aware of how many things are not and are never going to be what I desire. My acceptance is low. My serenity, tentative. I am approaching apathy on many fronts.

I want to eat cake and drink whole milk. I want to spend money and own new things. I want to feel different and that for me is always a dangerous thing.

I have lived with this awareness awhile. I am tired of it. I am tired of struggling with me and knowing that neither the struggle or my failure will successfully save me from me.

These are dark personal days in need of light.