michaelboy

Loneliness can settle into the deeper parts of us moving through every day, we walk this familar circle as missing twines its spiraled course around the heart unravelling the confidence in who and what we see
(eat, walk, sleep, keeping moving along, be a good person)
and knowing this has never been unfair or even unkind, this wake of untouchable hope in what could never be

My self-derived axiom is to multiply by 6, the estimate of effort it takes to accomplish any task in life. Of course there would be an applicable sliding scale which would vary the multiplier progressively in an inverse fashion by age increments from childhood leading into adulthood. At my age, I’m still somewhere
around 5.6. This quantification is beginning to sound like a scientological derivation. Just six is okay.

* * *
In spite of all the numerical jibber-jabber above, what I have found is that if you start to expend a greater effort on taking care of and keeping up with everyday things like repair, housework, yardwork, laundry, etc, it ends up being less total effort than if you are forever slogging around in a mess. It also makes it way easier to multitask.

Makes little sense, but it sort of does.

This is a photograph of my parents
... way before me.


We lived a good life growing up and they were always pretty good to and happy with each other. That is, until severe health issues beset them both. Mom had severe spinal problems with back pain and after several surgeries ended up losing a leg to amputation. A few years later, Dad had a series of debilitating strokes.

She wasn't able to care for him properly and he wasn't able to show much appreciation towards her because of his significantly altered thinking and diminished rationale. Eventually, they both began to resent each other. It was so difficult for me to see them this way.

They've been gone for quite a while now but I often try to just remember them in a place of the days before those last few years. I know I can never erase any of it, but I need to believe the good times will always have outweighed the bad.

* * *

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
- "Love is a Place ", e.e. cummings

Many years ago, my mom cut her finger on a piece of glass and one small shard remained under the skin for the rest of her life. I would occasionally see her toying with that particular spot with another finger -- often unconsciously. Even in her last few months, it was a small routine that that seemed to bring her a palpable measure of comfort.

A few years ago, I smashed the end of my finger between two rocks:

Since then, it has long healed, yet there’s not much feeling in that finger pad -- but even this has found a useful purpose. The numb spot not only reminds me of mom but it also continuously prompts me to consider the imperfection we all share and how this is an important part of defining our progress and place in life.

It is so easy for all of us to generate a laundry-list of why someone else or their way of thinking is flawed. It is even easier to share those reasons with others in endless cycles of “gotcha’s”. Such negative indictments are often unkind, yet seldom bring about change in another’s way of thinking. Recognizing that we all have flaws may bring us to consider the goodness in people and hopefully a more productive pathway to change.

In the sixties and early seventes, this Donovan song was one that caught my ear. It was filled with love and yearning -- which appealed to me -- the young hippie-type teenager that I thought or wished I could be.

But then soon enough, I graduated college, cut my hair and started my career as a mining engineer in downtown Pittsburgh. I made a whopping $18,000/year, drove a rusted-out 1978 Chevette on my commute, and parked in a free lot on the outskirts of the city.

This license plate was lost when I backed into a snow bank at the edge of the parking lot so I made the temporary one. (Not a bad job for a young twenty something non-artistic engineer). I found it about a month later after the snow melted. It followed me through several new (used) cars.

So much has changed since then. Of course, there is a dull pang of grief for all of this that was -- especially when considering I had so much life and life to look forward to -- the yearnings and the incredibly immense hope to learn how to catch the wind.