Chosen

Few are chosen
The last are among us now
The first are but a distant memory
If even that
"Have their bones been found?"
Dust to dust...
Posterity a feeble memoir
Token respect for those about to be forgotten
Fleeting thoughts
For intention is not deed

My youngest daughter and I were having a conversation about Adam and Eve, I am not even sure how we got to that topic to be honest but they came up. I was asked if their bones were ever found and does anyone have them now. I explained that they were alive so long ago that they would be nothing but dust by now...so, no, nobody has them.

The thought occurred to me that not everyone believes in the Adam and Eve origin of man, not that I necessarily believe the classic biblical account as it is set out, but we started somewhere with someone being the first people on Earth no matter the belief.

The current removal of all things religious in schools and public life leads to the forgetting. Of course that does not stop everyone from enjoying the resulting statutory holiday periods. Unless those that do not believe in the Christian ideology choose to not observe these holidays and receive the typical monetary compensation I figure that perhaps they should reconsider complaining about the various respective representations in society.

But that is a soapbox that I will not mount today...end of mini-digression.

"Few are chosen" was actually just the topic of a stock market blog entry having to do with traders that get selected to trade for proprietary trading firms and the lack of any real successful traders among the throng. The words just seemed to jump out at me and suggest something altogether different and brought to my mind the conversation with my daughter.

Jeff.

Poking at the dregs...Subdued by Default

Today I am in the throes of organizing my self, my work and my life...not necessarily in that order. The odd thing is that in organizing I find that I need to disorganize first... touch the anarchy to find the order and let the order go to allow everything to find it's own order.

Perhaps I am just hoping that it will find it's own order and save me some trouble.

Which brings me to the dregs, some of the old jottings that I never finished or just never posted. This one seemed to fit with my mood today and, seeing as I have not posted in a very long time, I figured that it was time to re-visit myself from a year ago. This bit certainly is appropriate given my thoughts today...perhaps this was meant for me to read now. Sort of a message from myself to myself from the recent past.

(I was going to touch this up but decided that it means more to me exactly as it was put down, so I left it.)

Busy-ness tends to keep the mind off of the important things...perhaps in the fear that the important stuff is not actually the good stuff. That and the trivial stuff tends to overpower the important stuff due primarily to it's relative volume. I have been trying to find the time to do some meditation...I have been doing that for a long time actually... trying to find the time that is. Some really serious "not thinking". Too tired, I know that I will fall asleep.

I think that we all entertain ourselves too much in order to lessen the inner turmoil as if in not having time to face the beast it will be subdued by default...

Within structured monotony
Anarchy reigns supreme
Unknown to the self
Unseen by others
Hoping to get by
Without restraints
Skulking around the corners
Viscous liquid
Putrid black oil
Brushing against the bounds
Trail of inky passage
Careful to avoid the thin decoration
Not to wake the false master
Fearful of the stain
Fearful of the damage
Fearful of being subdued by default

Heh.
I am not sure how else to express this but the fear of being subdued in and of itself subdues the beast and lessens our experience of the awakening of our true inner selves.

Jeff.

All Aboard!

"All Aboard!"
Echoes of journey's beginning
Sun glancing off polished metal
Steel, brass, copper
Steam hissing
Piston learches
"Whomp-Whump"
Dull throb of power
Felt more than heard

Movement
Inches at a time, slow acceleration
"Whomp-Whump...Whomp-Whump"
Wheels slip
Metallic screech carries down the rail
Momentum builds
The journey begins...only,
I watch as the train pulls away
Here, glued to the ground
Sounds of progress fading in the distance
I feel a drop of rain

I am having a bit of a melancholy morning today and I am feeling like I am missing opportunities ... actually, I know that I am missing opportunities and most of that is due to circumstances that might appear to be beyond my control. There is not much more to say about this other than this just came to mind for some reason.

I always liked steam power so as soon as the words "All Aboard!" were in front of me the rest just followed along. So while I am expressing a feeling of missing something I also am recollecting summers past.

My Grandfather had a steam tractor, 1908 I think it was built. I recall times of traveling with him to rural fairs around the area. We would load the tractor onto a flatbed to float it around most times. We would set up the tractor on old threshers or stone crushers ...whatever old equipment that may have been available and would normally have been belt driven by a steam engine. So it was definitely a working unit, they don't built them like they used to...actually they don't build them at all.

There were a few times that were took the tractor to the local fair by driving it along the shoulder of the road. I always remember the big hill along the way. As we would approach the hill he would syphon more water into the boiler and I would stoke the fire hotter to get the steam pressure to maximum...we needed it. The trouble was always that we would build up too much of a head of steam, (no "head of steam" cliche here, this was the real thing), and as we peaked and started to head down, coasting and not using steam, the pressure relief would blow. That was always a startling thing even though it was expected.

We still have the engine but it does not get fired up any more. Too much red tape to try to bring these relics to fairs anymore, safety concerns with old boilers and all, fuel costs to float them around.

Those were the days.

Jeff.

Reality

Welcome to the "real world"
Tragedy
Hardship
Loss
Shadow
Sadness
Emotional slavery
Psychological leash
Tethered to the deadwood tree
Despair the currency of this reality
Opacity impairing the truth
Who does reality serve if not ourselves

Where lies happiness
Frivolity
Connection
Hope
Love
Down the road less travelled
The winding way
Hiding behind shadows of ourselves
As if lurking and unwanted
Places we cannot reach
Unwittingly bound in this reality
Guilt ridden and blind
Groping aimlessly through life
Snatching joy in pieces
Holidays but once each year
Wistfully recalled while looking the other way
Heart strings tugged
Tears to the eye
Despair for fleeting feelings seemed lost

Reality is our making
Bars erected to our own design
The jailor within known well
We can remain resigned to our manufactured fate
And wallow in self pity until our physical death
No real lessons learned
Or,
Bribe the jailor to leave the door ajar
See and feel beyond
Let our gaze remain adrift
While we frolic in places where we choose not to look
Experience happiness for what it is,
Not what we think it ought to be
Inadvertently the bar has been set too high
In order that we may fail and blame not ourselves,
But our circumstances
The bar need not be lowered, only removed
Like our reality
Happiness is what we make it
Live life as we would rather
Replace the jailhouse with a loom
Weave a life of joy
And create a tapestry of such vibrant colour
That any glancing at it would have tears of despair replaced by tears of joy

I have been thinking that I have been doing well in living as I would rather, but, of course, I keep looking the other way...or do I?

A variety of circumstances lately have had me looking inside again only to find that I am still not living as I might. Living for the now has been a good start as it lets me experience time in a seemingly expanded mode. Every weekend feels like a long weekend, every evening feels like a day. The best part is that time does not drag out but just feels fuller than it used to without seeming to pass by like a speeding train. So I suppose I can consider that a level of progress as others about me still complain how fast the time goes and that time off is fleeting and how unsatisfied they are in general.

Interestingly I seem to tally time as time spent outside of work. Being that I work in a family business I might expect more overlap, but business is business most times and that is not where I really want to be. Not counting it perhaps forces my time sense to fill the gaps as if they did not exist, ignoring the reality and focusing more on the creation of happiness.

So I suppose that this poem reflects where I have been and, more or less, where I am now rather than where I am trying to come from. Sort of a "Been there, done that and have the T-shirt to prove it" thing and a reminder that there is more yet to come.

Jeff.

Secrets

I see you from afar
Stepping back half a lifetime
Or more
Or less

You seemed a fragile soul
Brittle to the touch
Shards, pieces, "please don't shake"
Not handled with care

Living, and dying, in poetry
Parallel understanding
Searching, needing, reaching
Ever short

Cry yourself to sleep when you could
In the thirteenth hour
Life and death conjoin and diverge
Much to your chagrin
Blessed sleep eludes

An owl to show the way
Hoot-hooting a message from the dead
From the past
From the present
To live is to write, is to die, is to live

Sweet goodbyes
Even though unaware
A saving grace
The last good deed
Care taken to ensure small lives

Immortal youth
While still possible
Beating insanity's race
Before the thirteenth hour

The fine line traversed
The final deal sealed scarlet
Blood for blood dried and dust
The dead hold their secrets close

Opinions scatter
Tortured soul
Trapped, seeking release
Insanity's bleak and coloured scapes
Enlightened, ensnared, enslaved

The dead hold their secrets close


I started writing a poem "Handled with Care" (no that is not a typo, Handled is the intended word, I saw the phrase on a moving truck, it stuck) but it had no direction...about a week ago. It found direction and completed itself in light of my current reading and brief investigation of a poet that a friend turned me onto. I am not in a position to comment on any technical observations, other than she didn't seem to like punctuation...(unless that is the fault of the transcriber)...which suites me just fine [;^). Anyway, I like what I have read so far. I see where she is heading with her writing, impression only mind you, but I cannot describe it plainly, which gives rise to the reworked "Handled with Care"...re-titled to ...I don't know what yet as I don't think it is complete...."Secrets" maybe, to keep it short. Lots of gaping holes yet to fill, more reading but it is a start. Like a skeleton it needs some meat and skin to complete it, a project for another day after I have read everything there is to read.

The poet is Sylvia Plath. Suicide in '63. I won't go on about anything here as anyone who might be interested can find all the same stuff I have found by just searching the web.

Jeff

Out of the Shadow

We walk in the shadow of who we think we are
Careful not to tread beyond the bounds of shade
Lest the light burn away our facade
Or to venture too deep into the dark
Should we meet something malign

This is the thin line of life
Neither dark nor light abound
Unsure shadows reveal nothing
Safety in the grey
Languishing as comfort numbs

Each day a new branch in the path
A new revelation awaits
Just beyond the border of dark
We see it, but cannot touch it
For fear of the sun

Thus the crux approaches
To know the light we must know the dark
Step away from our sure path
And chance the cold to endure the heat
One does not exist without the other

Brave steps need not falter
Loathing self pity ignored
Plunge into the icy depths
Secrets faced, released
Embrace the worst to know the best

Emerging from the pit, dark armour intact
A temporary shield to endure the light
Exposed by slow ablation
We take the path we dared not tread
From fear of success going to our head.

I thought I was over the hardest part of personal growth, the awakening. Yesterday made me realize that I have only taken the first few steps and that there is no real destination on this path. How can anyone truly say that they are complete or that they have arrived until the next day is past and the last fork taken to the very end.

Jeff.

Steadfast

Shell formed, calcium hardened
Years of accumulation
Cracks abound, filled with bitter resentment
Mortar of existence
This shell opens upon a new world
One of acceptance and peace
Tentative steps
Bold emergence

But this is not the last cruel joke
A facade, a play
Cloying in it's seduction
Lured into a sense of security
Unseen the whip lashes
Torture begins anew
Old sting all but forgotten
Newly searing in it's fresh malignant manner
Streaks of blood and tears
Familiar pain throbs
Refusing the sanctuary of the shell
Let flayed flesh rot where it falls
New wounds, new lessons learned

This is not of my making
It will not be my unmaking
I will not let it
I hear the whip lash
I listen to the flesh cry
I know the pain intimately
I remain steadfast in love
I Am.


I have nothing more to say about this one.