Love and marriage (stream of consciousness)

what the hell is love, and what does it have to do with marriage? What does it have to do with life in general?
for years I've sort of assumed that love is what life is all about and that marriage is like the ultimate manifestation of love. Pretty big romantic ideas i think. But really, how much does romance even have to do with it? Does it matter? love, marriage, romance. All three - things that are pretty independent of each other.

You can have marriage without romance, or marriage without love. (Nauseous emoji)
You can have love and/or romance without marriage.
You can have romance without love.
And certainly you can have love without romance.

I think we can, right away, write off romance as pretty meaningless. Like the icing flowers on wedding cake. They're nice and all, but that's not what it's about. (Romance is often the easiest part of life. The feeling of "being in love" the act of "falling in love" and the idea of "the one" are all ideas that exist under the umbrella I'll call "romance." It's what movies portray and of what we get little tastes when we meet someone new and exciting. most everyone knows that this doesn't last forever. As hard as you might try, it eventually fades into a memory. In fact, often the harder you try to preserve this, the more quickly it disappears.
So if the idea of love and marriage are all wrapped up in romance, there might be trouble in paradise sooner than later.)

Marriage is the thing that stumps around 50% (so I'm told) of us. And I'm not going to pretend to not be completely mistified by it. Marriage is, by all accounts surveyed, maybe the hardest thing in life. It's about taking two things and melding them into one thing. Like when you mix oil and water, you need a special tool to emulsify them. And you have to constantly emulsify them otherwise they will eventually separate. Either that or you have to introduce a chemical that physically changes one or both of them to permanently emulsify them. Sounds like marriage to me right? Like you have to constantly work to stay emulsified. In and of itself, marriage seems to be able to be simplified to this concept of work. So marriage by itself is just another job.

That leaves love. The most elusive of them all. "Love is a thing that you can't define."
The harder i try the more nebulous it becomes. It seems to be something like "happiness" or "the meaning of life" in that you can't find it, it has to find you. But it also must be the missing factor in the marriage job and the fleeting romance. Perhaps the thing that ties them all together.

"Love is hard, but life is harder."

Maybe it's got something to do with choosing a person who you want to do the work with, who you want to fight through life with. And you make a marriage out of it, and find romance hiding in the corners and the cracks.

small packages (;

it seems like sometimes words are just words.
sometimes they mean nothing and sometimes they mean a lot.
words are little packages that we wrap our thoughts and feelings in and ship them out to people hoping they can open the box and peer inside.

words can seem personally meaningful at the moment, and then months pass and looking back on those words seems like someone else said them.

when you tell someone you'll never leave them.
then you leave them, and have to reflect on those words.
when you say "sorry"
then months later, you forgot what you were sorry about.

but there are some words that occasionally stand solid through changing scenery.
like when i say things like "i love the river."
those words have always been true.

maybe the key to love is to find people who's chosen words
weather the seasons.
so you can wrap your insides in three little boxes "i love you"
and it will always mean a lot
always true.

(this one's angry)

"she just doesn't use her brain to think for herself," he said as he repeated the words he heard his father say over and over again.

every four years this political scene erupts on the face of this country like deep cystic acne. and each time it is worse than before.

hell, i don't know. maybe harmony only exists in tension. maybe in order for there to be balance, we need to be opposed in viewpoints. but i do know one thing:

everyone is small-minded. no one thinks for themselves.

maybe we should all just shut our loud, fucking mouths for one goddamn second and look in the mirror long enough to ask ourselves why #hatetrumpslove in our own minds. why it's so easy for us to look right past the plank in our own eye and point out the damage the other person is going to cause driving with that piece of wood stuck in their eye.

jesus people! get over yourselves. you're no better than that asshole you're criticizing.

your shit stinks too. i guarantee it.

comfort (loneliness: the most comfortable companion)

i listen to radiohead sing

"everything, everything, everything,
in its right place. in its right place."

and i put all my pieces in their appropriate places. and it feels like cliche, but also rings true in my ears. i wonder why everything feels like it's in its right place only when i lay my head down at night and nothing, no one, is there because i've put everything, everyone, away. i wonder why, so often, the only feeling that feels real is loneliness. why the loneliest space is the most comfortable one.

it feels like a cruel joke. to have bound the two together inside a soul. inside a person, both the longing for a thing and a strong aversion to it in adjacent heartbeats.

rafiki

"look harder..."
"you see, he lives in you"

at once i felt a comfort and an ache.

i was on the elliptical in the gym minding my own thoughts, when something made me smile - a genuine smile. the kind you feel on your face and in your guts.

just then i caught my own glance in the mirror across the room and my heart stuttered a little bit. because for a split second, i saw my dad. smiling back at me. through the bearded mouth and the smile that kind of turns down. through the eyes that were bright and deep.

an idea(l)

i've come to... an idea.
and that is that love is truly the most important gift we're given in life. it is the highest form of human experience - the most important thing in life. maybe it's even the much debated "point."

but love is kind of like perfection.
we can experience moments. glimpses. and we're driven to pursue it, but as long as we're alive and human, it's an impossible goal.
this is so because

love is the absence of selfishness.

and as long as we are human, we are, in our deepest layers, selfish. it's in our nature to be self-centered. in this way, it's much like trying to be perfect, and sometimes feels like climbing a greased pole. maybe this is why love feels so elusive - why many of us become jaded and turn our backs on the pursuit. when we try and "fail" and are tempted to believe that our failure indicates something about love itself rather than about our own humanness. perhaps this is the reason it seems so fleeting. indeed, impossible.

but it's far from futile. maybe if love itself is the highest form of human experience, then the pursuit of love is the most noble of all human endeavors.

"love is for the fighter,
born to lose but never quit.
swinging for the moon in the water." - dawes

rain / breathe

when you live down here,
you learn something about tenacity.
day after day you press through the searing
when your eyes burn and blur
and your lungs feel like poison.

when frustration moves your soul
feels just out of reach when you need closeness
feels like no room to be, when space is what you need

but you keep living.
you keep straining to see the mountains

because one day it rains.
and just for a moment, you can breath
you can fill up your lungs
and it doesn't burn.

just the way you are

"I was neurotic for years. I was anxious and depressed and selfish. Everyone kept telling me to change. I resented them, and I agreed with them, and I wanted to change, but simply couldn't, no matter how hard I tried.
 What hurt the most was that, like the others, my best friend kept insisting that I change. So I felt powerless and trapped. Then, one day, another friend said to me, 'don't change. I love you just as you are.' 
 Those words were music to my ears: 'Don't change. Don't change. Don't change... I love you just as you are.' I relaxed. I came alive. And suddenly, I changed!"

- a story

dad

he was the weathered sea captain who knew. he knew the quickest way to tie down a sail when a storm came up out of nowhere. he instinctively knew the best angle to guide the ship versus the waves. he knew the way the deck smelled after a rain - the way the sunlight breaking through the clouds near the horizon made your soul rest at ease. he knew because he'd done it. he'd sailed these very seas. he knew that the storm would pass because he had ridden it out himself.

and he knew the only way a person could know those things was by
taking a deep breath,
watching it come, and
fighting through, then
watching it pass.

"and in times of trouble
i could turn to my [father]
and i knew that would understand,
so at age 18 i cried to my [father]
and he told me young man,
there are moments when you fall to the ground,
but you are stronger than you feel you are now,
you don't always have to speak so loud,
just be as you are.
life is not always a comfortable ride,
everybody has scars that they hide,
everybody plays the fool sometimes,
just be as you are."       -(adapted from) be as you are - mike posner

 i miss you so

Human

"For to be human is to be incomplete, yet yearn for completion; it is to be uncertain yet long for certainty; to be imperfect yet long for perfection; to be broken yet crave wholeness."

"The metal of these wrenches is so cold it hurts the hands. But it's a good hurt. It's real, not imaginary, and it's here, absolutely, in my hand,"
-Robert Pirsig 'zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance'

My Dad 1951-2015

He was, perhaps first of all, an individual. Both in thought and expression, he blazed his own trail and made his own rules. And with his insatiable sense of curiosity and adventure he continually searched for his own truth. He was unburdened by social convention and he had a knack for sharing this uncommon sense of freedom with people he met. He was truly unique, like a yellow tulip in a sea of red roses.

Grabe had tremendous heart. And it showed in the way he lovingly cared for his "flowfies", took in stray animals, and even made personal sacrifices to stand up against injustice when he encountered it. For 28 years he consistently showed me unconditional support and encouragement. When the world around you grew dark and nothing seemed clear, he was the type of person who could make you feel hope again. And he did that, time and time again. 

perhaps most of all he was the most genuine human being I've ever met. He never pretended to be something he wasn't, and never hid who he really was from anyone. He was intimately acquainted with the human condition, and yet he had a powerful skill in seeking and unashamedly finding joy in life. He was full of it. He was known to become visibly excited at the prospect of eating broccoli. His eyes would often sparkle when he had a good idea and he knew the pleasure in simple things like bright colors and pretty flowers. In many ways he was pure heart. 

he was full of light. But he also wrestled with a sort of inner darkness. unswervingly introspective, he fearlessly carried his light into the darker places. It was as if his soul was forged far out on the sea at the very point where the awesome light of the dying of day meets with the enshrouding darkness of night - melding together to create a most beautiful display and the most perfect picture of life itself. 

and that's just part of who he was. More than all of that, he was my dad. My father, my bloodline. The same blood that pulsed through his veins also pushes it's way through mine. He taught me how to navigate these waters. Taught me to look for beauty and wonder, and reassured me that you can always find it if you really look. It's right there in the way a leaf on a tree flips back and forth in the breeze. Or there under the rock where the bugs crawl. It's there in the moonlight that bounces off the river's surface at night. 

white knuckles

there's something in my genes that wants to be able to stand up under my own load. muscle up. drink some coffee, put some tupac in my headphones, and just do it. i really want to believe that i have the strength in me to pull it off. if i just hold on tight, i wont lose my grip.

it occurred to me today that i might get this spirit from my dad. perhaps his were the whitest knuckles of them all. he fought hard. with every sunrise another battle. i know because i read some of his last journal entries. they betrayed a man, full of bravery, fighting - tooth and nail - determined not to lose his grip.

the problem with white knuckling is what happens when you at last lose your strength. and there's no one there to catch you when you collapse.

we need each other in this journey. we have to learn how to lean on each other and how to be present to be leaned on. i don't think my grip is strong enough.

Saint Anthony

I stood on top of the mountain today with my face turned toward the wind and shouted. I looked up at the sky and screamed, "is that all you got?!" and i felt something churn in my heart. It was like the words took on an intensity I didn't intend for them to take. Like something in me wanted to confront the darkness that has haunted me and my family.

It was a type of genuineness I haven't felt in a while. And it shook me. I looked down at the horizon and then over at the guy standing with me and laughed nervously, hoping he didn't notice.

rubber ball vs. gravity

there are times when my whole mind, my whole being twists up and fights against this notion that

"losing is something we all do in life."

when i was six, i lost my favorite jean jacket. i left it in a restaurant or something on the side of the highway somewhere.

when i was seven i lost my cat. he was black and had a kink in his tail. he got hit by a car on the street.

when i was eight i lost my pet rabbit. my mom's siberian husky...

when i was ten i lost my favorite dog. we gave him away because he was a trouble maker.

when i was 22 i lost my grandmother, ruth. she was my ally. always giving me delicious fruit and telling my mom to be nice to me. she fell asleep one night and didn't wake up.

but i'm not writing a sob story. i mean, we all lose. it's part of life. we learn to live with it. we learn to let go. we find a way to  say goodbye to the things we thought we'd always have.

but when i was 28, i lost my dad. on the verge of a bright future, he left me.

and my heart won't accept it. i can't concede, in this case, that "losing is something we all do in life." there's no part of that statement that sits well in any way. my heart contorts and tenses up. as if, letting the thought inside would mean admitting it's okay somehow. and yet the second hand keeps moving. i have to get dressed. go to work. life doesn't let up.

then eventually there are days when i'm too tired to keep fighting it. and i crumple underneath it. my shoulders slump, my eyes burn, and my heart feels broken. and yet i feel a sense of rest that is somehow comforting.

i think the point is that, no matter how hard i fight, the truth remains as solid as the planet on its path through the universe. losing really is something we all have to endure.

but i'll still fight. in the same way that a rubber ball bounces against gravity when it hits the ground.

scars

when i was a kid my older brothers were both big fans of virginia cavaliers basketball. they loved it so much they decided to cut and bend a metal hanger into the shape of the v, then heat it up over the stove until it was visibly ret hot and press it into the sides of their arms. i remember watching them with a mixture of awe and confusion filling my eyes as they yelled out and pulled the oven mitt away and the pieces of hanger stayed stuck to the melted skin underneath.

in the days that followed, the wounds scabbed over. but my oldest brother insisted it wasn't good enough yet. he carefully picked the scab off so that the wound re-opened and would need to scab over again. once it did, he picked it right off. the purpose was to increase the size and depth of the scar. and to this day, he carries a broad v-shaped scar on his shoulder and he never forgets where it came from.



(i never understood the driving force behind this action until now. it's been said, perhaps too many times, that time heals all wounds. but what happens when you don't want to move on? what happens when you don't want to heal? because to heal means to let go of something you desperately hold on to in your heart. i don't want my wound to scab. i want to pick the scabs. i don't want to let go.)

warning

it's really difficult to process all the different emotions and thoughts that plague me in the wake of losing my dad. but i am going to begin to try to approach my thoughts and feelings here on my blog. ever since i started this web log, it has been the most effective way to take the upstairs neighbors (my thoughts) who stomp around in their steel boots and disturb and interrupt every thing going on in my life, and get them out/give them a vent so they stop stomping around so obnoxiously.

i'm not sure if this blog has any regular audience anymore, so these posts aren't really for anyone but myself, and yet i leave them public because if anyone was wondering what was going on inside my head, this is the most close to accurate resource there is. that being said, if you, reader, are a regular visitor of this site, consider yourself warned. you may want to take a short vacation from it.

dear so-and-so

life's a funny thing. in all that's happening i feel at once a strong desire to truly live my life while i'm alive as well as a reflex to withdraw from it and hide. feeling shaken, guilty, lost, alone, abandoned, and scared, all while trying to remain positive about the future and secretly harboring a great fear of failing.

it makes me think of that quote from some movie trailer we both saw and liked (i think it was transformers or something): "fate seldom calls on us at a moment of our choosing." i feel like with all this burden i bear, it is up to me and me alone to stand up under it. to step forward despite my fear. maybe this is growing up? maybe these are my defining moments. where i choose what kind of man i want to be and what kind of life i want to live.

but man! it's hard! i keep looking around for someone to be there to help me, but find no one. and maybe that's the point. maybe that's when you become a man, when no one is there to help you and you're forced to find a way to do it on your own power - to find out what you're truly capable of. maybe this is my modern rite of passage into manhood. this is me hunting a bear alone with nothing but my hands.

i feel that i lack courage. and yet i know that courage is innate. it doesn't come from anywhere but inside me. so the moments i doubt myself, doubt my courage, are the very moments that courage is born.

Darkness and light

I haven't quite begun to wrestle with the massive aching emptiness you've left in my heart. But I know this much: my world is a little more lovely because your light shone upon it. I don't quite understand how someone who had such a bright and positive influence could become so enshrouded in darkness. And yet I have recently felt the chill of a particular darkness begin to envelope my heart and I feel afraid and alone. And it makes me wonder if you felt that too. I just wish I could have been there to dispel some of that oppressive darkness the way you did for me so many times. You were a bright light in my world. And I promise to do my best to carry your light through the rest of my days in your stead.

"from the bed near your death,
and all the machines that made a mess,
far away the falcon flew.
now i want to be near you."

"What's left is only bittersweet,
for the rest of my life, admitting the best is behind me.
now i'm drunk and afraid, wishing the world would go away
what's the point of singing songs,
if they'll never even hear you?"