Prospective Perspectives And An Open Letter

In my dreams I am still my father’s son - playing in the park while his high school team practices. I don’t recall that park’s name in my dreams. I don’t have to. My consciousness floats from the gurgling water fountain that was too-often not working, to the little creek along the edge of the field, to the tree where my father’s sign used to hang.

I recall the old green monster of a truck that my siblings and I used to ride in, watching through rusted out holes in fascination as the street rushed by. His players used to stick me in trash cans and warn me not to move... and I remember waiting there and wondering if they would notice whether or not I had gotten out.

I remember other soccer fields with a big rock and it was there that I once asked a player why he didn’t shave his “hairy” legs. Still other fields had big hills and apple trees and tall metal lights that were hollow inside. I knocked on one of those lights one time while my mind drifted away and I heard the ringing reverb into seeming infinity... until my father insisted that I stop.

There were soccer fields by the woods where my bus would stop after dropping off the high-school kids and others across the street from summer camp. I played “indoor soccer” in gymnasiums, practiced diving headers at camp and did pendulums across the street in the gravel lot.

Those fields were miles apart and the memories probably separated by years but they might as well be one and the same. Names, exactness and distinction never matter as much as emotion in my dreams.

I used to travel to games on the bus with the high school team my father coached until I was fourteen. After the games we’d stop for food. I remember the time I ordered a whopper for myself. Not a hamburger. A whopper. That young-boy-grown-big memory sticks out in my mind and the emotion associated with it is pride.

Burger King would later sponsor the high school team when I played on it. I felt quite loyal to that company, even if I used to order a water and fill the cup with soda when I was younger. I’m still young but Burger King gives me acid reflux. Perspectives always change.

The thing is, everyone seemed so old when I was young. There is a sense of certainty associated with those memories, suggesting that the things everyone chose to do were well-informed and right. When I was little, high school seemed like the destination. I’m still young but high school was half a lifetime ago and I never once felt certain of anything when I was there. And my father never coaches soccer anymore. Perspectives always change.

I attended the elementary school that neighbored that park and that field with the gurgling water fountain and the tree and the creek that I used to play in. Classmates and I wrestled on the school’s soccer fields during recess. Five or six years later my father’s high school practices would move to those same fields that had once witnessed so much of my boyhood tumbles.

When I was in high school we built a goal-sized kicking board at that elementary school and I would sometimes jog there, dribbling a ball the whole way. I figured the kicking board would last forever and I’d master my abilities using it. We moved soon after that and I played most of my own high school career for the team that had always been my father’s greatest rival. I’m still young but that kicking board was torn down years ago. Perspectives always change.

This world is a strange place. This life is a queer existence. We seem to spend much of it either dreaming of things that have long since passed or longing for things and future ages that will fail to fulfill as imagined when we get there. Too little time is spent truly enjoying that which actually is. It’s only in moments and patches of clarity that I seem capable of lifting my head above the water and looking around at the landscape of things – capable of living life in a manner that sets out to achieve the things I would list as most important.

When I consider what matters in this world, I am drawn to a simplicity that goes beyond a goal of simply wanting to want less. It is about more than mere anti-materialism. Wanting a different life than the one I often choose isn’t a testament to dissatisfaction. I’m actually quite happy. One can be happy with life and still want to refine it. There’s ample room for more consciousness and awareness and intent in my life.

Perspectives don’t just change over years, they can change in a moment. When I get to the end of the day and consider what occupied my mind, the list is rarely made up of things that carry real import. Somehow, the hustle and bustle of life distracts so completely that it renders progress along the intended path impossible. Minor daily incremental misuse of energy adds up, too.

No child wants to grow up and be a drug addict. Many do. No child wants to grow up and be a murderer. Many do. But those examples are extreme. A simpler example is that no child wants to grow up to be rightly described as untrustworthy or to become desensitized to the suffering of others or to be a womanizer or an alcoholic. There are many and more obvious examples of personality traits, habits and moral failings we all begin to internalize and exhibit to one degree or another.

The point is that nobody wants to have these flaws, we just grow into them – whatever they are – over time and fail to find that minor moment of needed self-correction before a habit is formed. Perspectives change. Gradually. Daily. Unnoticed.

We are all born noble, yet imperfect. Mistakes will be made. Personality flaws will come to be. The goal is to, at every moment, (or as many of them as can be managed), seek after those things that would bring one’s “better self” closer. This is the mindfulness that I find elusive.

In the immediacy of everyday life, daily concerns pre-empt ultimate concerns... ultimate concerns which are taken for granted and not thought of consciously for days on end. I can look back over my life and see how my pursuits led me towards things that I no longer value. Were such pursuits wasted time? Not necessarily. Such is life, I think, and I don’t regret climbing monkey bars as a child or playing cards at coffee shops as a young adult.

The real question is how much of this is inherent in life... how much is of lasting value in terms of personal and interpersonal growth and learning... and how much is truly a pastime becoming a waste of time. The real question is how much I don’t notice – how much of my life do I fail to think is an issue because it’s easy to judge oneself by the standard of others instead of a more perfect standard. I’m still young but I imagine that I’ve truly wasted plenty of time.

I think of my own past and future but I also think of the future my son will have and the role I play in his foundational perspectives on life. Perspectives change, true, but they change by building on top of existing frameworks of thought. This life is difficult. A healthy perspective can go a long way towards navigating it effectively.

One of the interesting things about navigating life effectively is that one can only do it if he has a belief about the nature and purpose of life. What is the goal of life? One’s own personal answer determines whether or not one has lived it effectively.

Despite that we cling to them, I suspect that he goal of life is other than the accumulation of wealth in money, experience or comfort and I don’t believe for one moment that the goal of life is continued or perpetuation of life.

The goal of life is like love... or maybe it is love. Love is not easily definable or encapsulated. It is most often associated with marriage or feelings of longing and lust. Nevertheless, I love my son. I love my parents. I love my siblings. I love lamp. Each of those loves is different because love is simply an attraction of the spirit. It is unique to each combination of two things. It is only known and defined as experienced.

Life is about growth of spirit - not just in terms of a soul but also that intangible essence which radiates from within when we are passionate about something. The goal of life is to grow one’s spirit in both ways and the exactness of that goal must be self-determined and pursued.

As an early parent, my thoughts on the subject seem to revolve around and return to both God and shared experience. Our purest form of existence is in worship of God but that worship need not be exclusive and direct. Service to others is worship. Work is worship. Endeavoring to build and shape society and family and community - this is worship.

The sidekick wife and I decided a long time ago to write letters to our son. I struggled with this because what I want to say isn't encapsulated easily in words. I loved my son before I knew him. I want him to become a vibrant, dynamic force in the world. There are many wishes and desires for his life that I hold dear but I've learned that those perspectives will largely change over time and in some ways I wonder... what's the point in expressing something that I won't agree with, necessarily, in the future? I can imagine many different lives for my son to live but the reality is that none of them really matter. The events of life are meaningless. The intentions and efforts of life define everything about true reality. 

I return to thoughts of foundational perspectives on this world... but what should those perspectives be?

I have a jumble of unconnected things that seem to matter in my head. There is joy in nature. Qualities of humanity are reflected in a wooded, quiet place that one can only find by detaching himself from others. The things in life that we’ve never tried before are the things that hold the most knowledge of who we are, because new experience teaches us about ourselves. Nothing is ever static unless we choose it to be. Serving others, learning about others, truly seeking to understand the whys and hows that guide other people as they attempt to navigate the same world with the same pitfalls – these are actions that are of value. They’re more results than the impetus, however.

In the end, the foundational perspective of life that matters is a recognition of who we are – that we are noble beings created by God. I can imagine many outcomes that would seemingly bring me joy in this world. I want my son to be intelligent, caring, to impact his community, to find love, to give love, to exhibit a multitude of virtues. All of those outcomes would bring me joy... but if they don’t stem from a recognition of his true self, they’re only partial parenting victories.

Some perspectives change like rays of the sun emanating from the center. All are progressions forward. Only the direction is different but that direction completely changes the path the ray will take as it moves out into the universe.

Others perspectives don’t change and I guess that those are the perspectives that truly matter. This world is not the end. It is a step along the way. Given my belief that the next world is spiritual in nature, spiritual capacity and qualities are what I'd like to assist my son to focus on throughout his life. In the end, his own investigation of reality may lead him to believe other than I do... but if his beliefs about this world arise from a true attempt to consider life, self, the possibility of a higher being and what that means about how he should live... then whatever he chooses is a result of his relationship with God, no matter what form that relationship takes over time.

Everything else in this world stems from that and there are near infinite directions it can take a person. In looking back at my own life, I am left with the realization that my son's immediate concerns aren't overly important. He will play and he will grow. He may ultimately choose to be an athlete, an engineer, an accountant, a pioneer, a teacher. He may change his mind and go in a new direction, grow in a new direction. After all, his perspectives on life will evolve as my own did.

All of his potential directions are of value if they emanate from that relationship with God. I’d be happy with any of them.

Sidekick Wife Does A Full Circle

Happy mother's day to mothers everywhere... but especially the sidekick wife.  Motherhood is an amazing service and incredible station.  Flowers don't really do it justice.

I've been converting some old videos of my sidekick wife and posting them on Facebook.  I've always enjoyed them... but approaching fatherhood has made me appreciate them even more, I think.

We can all imagine how our loved ones were before we knew them but it's sort of fascinating to truly see the woman I now know... as a child.  I can almost envision how she became who she is, how layers were added to that child to create the uniqueness that is Michelle.  It's like being told how a magic trick works, like witnessing the birth of creation.  I've seen the end result already... but witnessing the initial impetus and genesis is all the more intriguing and enjoyable.

Little Shelly has the same smile that I love, only it is full and free... unfettered.  For all that I cherish seeing her smile and laugh as a woman... to see the pure version of it on a child fills me with awe.  Joy radiates from her in a way that I've never seen before... not because she's no longer good enough but because the adult, modern version of my sidekick wife is too complex and full of exquisite subtlety to capture such a single, unbridled emotion.

I like that little girl in the videos.  She is sweet of heart, earnest and creative.  I would want her to be my son's friend... and, fortunately, she will be.  Michelle will be his best friend.  For years.  She'll be his first love, first kiss, the standard by which he judges all future women.  I like that.

Not everyone walks the road of being a parent and for awhile it was hard for us to find this path.  We're fast approaching our tenth anniversary.  When we were married I would have laughed at anyone who said we wouldn't even start trying to have children for almost a decade.  I imagined having multiple children by now... but life is a strange, mercurial thing.

Michelle and I are both thirty.  When I think about that I am simply astounded.  I still think of myself as a barely-adult, an almost-man.  Thirty sounds so... mature... on a different level than that which I feel in myself.  As a child I always thought adults had acquired enough knowledge to fill up every decision with reason and wisdom.  They always seemed so... confident.  One of the interesting things I've come to believe is that only fools are ever filled with the sort of absolute confidence and security in life choices that I used to associate with adulthood (a confidence and security different from trust in God).

I'm an adult and I'm winging it as much as I ever have.  Sure, I think ahead more.  I plan more.  I probably make wiser decisions than I used to.  That doesn't mean I'm not guessing at things.  It's a less than inspiring feeling when I think of being a father, honestly.

Fortunate for me, I know this simple fact:  Michelle will be an amazing mother.  All of the wonderful qualities of intent and joy and radiating spirit that I see in those videos of little Shelly will come full circle... and I'm the father who will get to share in and benefit from it.

This is the first mother's day that we have been blessed to have a living child... not birthed yet, but present  and constantly kicking and full of electric life.  I am excited for what the future holds and constantly thinking about the incredible mother that I will witness as much as the son that will be with her always.

Another Day Goes By. For Me.

I showered today, I carpooled with my wife to work, drank coffee, ate lunch, and realized that I forgot something for filing my taxes.  I felt love, I felt nervous for the future, I got frustrated, I was happy.  Another dreaded Monday is coming to the end as I sit on the couch, clicking away at the computer.

So much about life is mundane.  We are made up of these many mundane moments mixing together.  Life seems to pass quickly these days.  The sidekick wife and I have started our birthing classes and every time the weekend arrives it feel like it was just here.  The future of a lovely little baby boy abusing reusable diapers in Castle Black feels far away, but I suspect it may arrive swiftly like Lancelot in a Monty Python movie.

These days we want to nest but can't because we're fixing up the basement to expand our 830 sq ft grandma home.  The construction could start in as little as a few weeks or approximately as long as who the hell knows?  The bank just asked for even more documentation of income and such last week (even though we're already approved)... and we aren't allowed to start some of the pre-construction work until we get permission from them.  This uncertainty of timing is frustrating and inconvenient but it's all part of living... and not much of a complaint.

I, we, are excited for the future on a fundamental, base level.  We've been married for ten years and are finally getting around to having the children that we thought we'd have eight years ago... before we found too many reasons to continue not trying... before we were reminded of the lack of control we have over things.  I never thought I'd be 30 and childless, but after everything... this year feels like a gift, like a mercy, like a true joy.

I consider the qualities I want my child to possess... what hopes I have for his future life.  I smile at the knowledge of his loving, sweet mother's guidance.  This will be a home of peace, of love, of shelter.  This will be an attempt at demonstrating how to properly interact with the world.... how to get by without giving up that which is most important... how to worship God, not self, in every act... how to be the person we all wished we'd become when we were too young to know better... to know worse.

I fear this world.  I fear the effect it has on me... on my inner self.  I often wonder if living a good life in every single seemingly interminable act is somewhat harder than choosing to give up your life for God in a single act.  I feel confident that I could make the latter choice... and I daily fail at the former.

This world is full of joy.  It's overflowing with happiness.  There's more good in the world than could ever be consumed, experienced, and described... but there's also sadness.  It's like a dirty sheen that covers everything.  It's an oil spill in a crystal-clear ocean and we're suck trying to live in the midst of it, praying to stay clean.

Today I made it through another day.  Someone else didn't.  Another day went by.  For me.  For someone else the day ended early.  It wasn't cancer.  It wasn't a heart attack.  It wasn't a tornado or an earthquake.  It wasn't the rainbow variety of changes and chances this world offers.  It was none of those things, though they happen.

Today a once smiling child with a happy heart and love in their eyes woke up... older... twisted... deformed  by the world and self.  Today a father lost a child... not because of any good reason... just because.  Because someone else decided they should.

This is no rare act.  It's a daily reality in some places.  On the newscast when it happens to generic others... it's almost like background noise.  We've grown accustomed to that suffering, but not when it happens at home.  This one has emotion...feeling... and it isn't pleasant.

This bombing at the Boston Marathon is perspective.  It is a wake up call.  This type of death is tragic.  It is unacceptable.  It is many things and none good... and the lives lost shouldn't hurt and anger me more just because they mirrored my own.  God doesn't value an American more... but somewhere subconsciously I do.

I need to re-awaken to the reality of the equality of mankind.  I once left the US because I felt it was fine and well to wax intellectual about equality if I was always comfortable and surrounded by familiar things... but it was another thing to go somewhere different to live the reality of "different isn't worse."  Mankind is beautiful and full in diversity.  I'm realizing that this semblance of indifference to suffering around the world is the same superiority malaise from a different angle.

It's an interesting juxtaposition... my eagerness to bring another soul into this world... a world of too-oft sadness.  I think of parents who loved their children before birth, who dreamed of them before even the act of conception and who had the hopes of a full and vibrant life... like I do... and I can't imagine the burning grief and sorrow they feel today... a sorrow someone else wanted them to feel, just because.

This world civilization we have collectively grown is not sustainable.  It simply isn't.

I refuse to be satisfied just because another day went by.  For me.

A Dream, Awakened

a jumble of thoughts

life is a mixed up puzzle

a dream awakened

-JB 11/14/2012

I feel like my mind is flexible today, as if I never really woke up.  Interpret this dream for me.

I had a dream where my wife and I bought our first house in a town that visually was unfamiliar to me now that I think back on it.  We were neighbors to a very large red house with white trim.  This was notable at the time.  My wife bought the house before I had seen it and there was excitement as she drove me home for the first time.  There was some sort of group meeting at our home, almost like we were a band out in the wilderness making camp, and I had to make sure that I woke up on time for work... but it was more than just going to work, it was something more significant and meaningful to the group.  I went upstairs as I explored the house.  I noticed that the previous owner had left the house furnished with dressers and beds and the closets were filled with clothes.  One room on the left had an old computer that played retro games, which excited me to play again.  That room had other old electronics that excited me to see again. There were more rooms in the house than it initially seemed, and at the end of the hall was second staircase down to the first floor kitchen that I had missed when I first came in the house.  Another staircase was next to that.  It was narrow and twisted a bit, but I could see that it went from the second floor all the way to the basement which I had not yet been to.  From the top of that staircase I could see that a light was on in the basement and the floor was red like the floor in our real home.  My wife was sometimes my brother and sometimes my wife again and all of the things left in the house, once belonging to someone I realized was now dead, were new to me and I was excited to find out what was valuable, but also just excited to have new things.

Neenah, WI and Perception

I took a walk with my sidekick wife down the streets of Neenah, WI.  “Perception is a funny thing,” she remarked thoughtfully.  I agree.

Neenah, which almost sounds like my childhood neighbor’s nickname, seemed quite a beautiful town that night.  The wind was blowing softly and the May air carried a chill that felt almost like fall.  Would it have felt as electric on another night?  Probably not, but this will be my lasting memory.  Perhaps it was the wideness of the streets, the styles of houses, the age of trees, or maybe the “somewhat run down but not really” industrial feel of it… I’m not sure what it was exactly, but I was reminded of Lafayette and wondered what it would be like to live there.

I watched an episode of Sherlock on PBS and something about the introduction reminded me of watching television at my Grandmother Agnew’s house.  I remember watching Nick at Night.  I remember the uproar when we realized that they might cancel the Cosby Show for that (not as good) cartoon the Simpsons.  I remember Count Duckula, and David Letterman, and the thrilling knowledge that I was staying up too late.  Now there's no time of the evening that holds the same sort of magic.

I dreamed of highschool soccer in Lafayette again, and a friend and former teammate who died when he, his little brother, and his mother jumped off a parking garage on Purdue campus.  I learned a song about Comet Cleanser riding with them to a game during happier times, and have for years been somewhat haunted by my failure to win a youth league when his father sponsored the team in their name.  I remember my father choking up while relating a story about him that year, during the annual end-of-year soccer dinner at Jeff High School.  The Broncos… a team that had been my life growing up, a school whose halls I walked more than most students ever did, a building I almost felt a sense of ownership for, and a mascot and color scheme that still holds more sway in my dreams than the team I eventually played for years later when my father retired.  One moment you think you know it all, then your friends die and you play for your enemy.  In the end, it’s just a game, but sometimes it feels like life was stolen.

I never knew my Grandfather Agnew.  He died of a heart attack at the age of 50, long before I was born.  I hardly knew my Uncle Dan, though he gave me religion before dying a vagrant on the streets of San Diego - a brilliant mind dedicated to drugs and alcohol.  My living aunt and uncle don’t speak to one another.  My mother tries mending those fences, sometimes, when life and rejection don’t leave her buried in sadness.

I knew my Grandmother Agnew before she passed a handful of years ago, though some would say I never truly knew her.  To me she is cookie jars, television, and over-cooked meat.  To me she is laundromats, euchre, and a woman well-versed in the Heimlich maneuver that once saved my life as a child (I don’t eat butterscotch candies anymore).  To others she was a poor mother, irresponsible, selfish, weak willed, and needy.  To others she was about as bad an alcoholic as the world has ever seen.  To others her failings allowed a fractured family to further splinter.  To me, she is a long-recovered alcoholic, a staple of AA meetings, and an inspiration of how far back up the ladder of self-respect one can climb.

Yes, perception is a strange, transient, inconstant thing.   Are we best defined as a sum of our actions, an average, or a point in time?  Often, I wonder if it is not the latter.

To me, Martha Agnew is best defined as a woman whose last living word was “love.”  I hope to follow in that path.

Sidekick Kickstarts

Night Vision

your breath against my back

the slow rhythmic sounds of dreaming

theres darkness all around

but I see you better than ever

-JB 03/23/2012

I imagine your mind floating slowly across an infinite sea, a Magellan finding land and meaning in the vastness of possibility. Aware as I am of your sweet disposition, I wish I knew what wonders and delight your brain-captain will find tonight as you drift about like Max in a wolf costume, wild in spirit and things of substance... and the thought keeps me awake smiling.

Mr. Sir Awesome Masterpiece, Himself

I'm at a coffee shop thinking and writing today, while my side-kick wife is off on an adventure of her own.  It's her side band, of sorts, to hang out with her friends... and I'm not the jealous type.  I hope she enjoys herself as much as I plan to.

One thing I'm doing right now is to try and consolidate a few of the sporadically written/typed thoughts for my sci-fi book, which at one time or another have flowed copiously from my brain.  Mind-wrapping them together is going to be a task without trying to organize them first.  Much of what I find is interesting, but more in the vein of a passing thought than a building block for a novel.  Some of the better stuff is fun to read again.  Because I haven't revisited much of it for over a year now, it's almost like I'm reading someone else's work.

Here is a passage that I found today, originally written on August 21st, 2010.  It is (in theory) coming from the Mr. Miyagi/Yoda-type character, as he tries to open the eyes of his protege.  What I like about it is that I feel it hits on a fundamental truth, yet I could never have come up with this myself without trying to dream up something which sounds mystical and profound - two words which I would never use to describe myself.  In a way, even though I wrote it, I didn't think of it... an imagined character did, and then shared it with me.

Some will tell you that man exists to bring order to the world.  We build things, we create, and our society provides structure for a life which, through sciences and intellectual discourse, is ever-advancing.

I believe that the world exists to help man bring himself into order, that the essence of knowledge is not what one knows about the world but what one knows about himself, and that all existence speaks to the reality of man. All we have to do is to learn to listen.

Other times I find little journal entries that I wrote from some character's perspective to try and get inside their mind.  Reading them again, I see myself in the character I'm trying to create.  Am I becoming more like them, as I dream them up... or are they just a reflection of a formerly hidden self that I am uncovering slowly?

I watch the leaves falling from the trees and wonder what it would be like to do the same - to watch as unwanted bits of myself fall slowly to the ground while the rest of me remains standing, solid, and resolute; growing through it all.

Is man capable of such a revolution as the changing of the seasons?

The last type of thing that I am finding are little blurbs written here and there as cultural proverbs, as a means of trying to delve into what makes a society tick.

If ever you arrive again at the same fork in the road, you must have chosen wrong the first time.

This is fun stuff for me, and should be exciting for you.  This post amounts to a free sneak-peak at my awesome masterpiece in-progress.

That noise you hear is joy within your heart - softly booming.

Hippie, Once Removed

"I take photographs, often while in my favorite places.  I don't know why I take these photographs, as if to chart the passage of time like a flip book, filling yet another volume with near identical snapshots.

I lean out onto the rocky outcroppings to capture the familiar, not-quite-right framing of building, lake, and trees.  My skin is cold in the early September air, but within me I have a heart which is warm, alive, and beating.

And hiking around, the soles of my shoes are worn.

And hiking around, my own soul is revived.

Around me the air is full, brimming with the scent of things nearly done living.  Inward I draw their spirit as it passes from the world, and exhaling I share the joys of summer given.  The leaves that remain lend a voice to the wind and it cries of change, sighs renewal, and proclaims the moving on of another year well-lived.  I hear it now, in a one-time performance, and will not forget it.

Why do I take pictures of the same things when they already fill album after album?  Maybe it is to fulfill the superstition.  Maybe capturing the spirit of life and holding it still in time will remind me that I was once young and there was a day when my wife and I held a devotional in the forest, and took communion with the wind in the trees.

I am here now, in this moment, breathing in the spirit of things which have existed only to pass on - to me, at this exact time.

*click*" -JB 09/05/11

I love trees, and I would consider naming a child River, Lotus, Sage, or Autumn - but I am not truly a hippie.  I am the son of a true hippie - a man who sought truth passionately and, I like to think, found it.  There is a freedom in searching, as you give yourself away completely to the process.  There is a freedom in finding yourself again, transformed.

Sometimes I feel that I have never had to search, but then I remove myself from the trappings of society and, feeling that I have found something of substance, realize that my search was merely quieter than some who have come before.

My father was a hippie.  I guess that makes me a hippie, once removed.

Kodachrome Once Captured

We listened to Tracy chase a Cat, and our chaperone laughed as she drove us to the Devil in your red Pontiac Bonneville.  You a tan peacoat and me my expectation, we saw a sunset burning in the trees and everywhere the sumac was bleeding.  I breathed in life with every breath and the crying down of leaves at the end of the season felt more like a new beginning.

Those are my favorite shoes I've ever owned

We climbed Boulder Mountain with the sweet taste of apple still lingering in our mouths. Driving home in slow motion, your smile lingered long after we'd forgotten about the apples.

 

For so long, I labored under the impression that I look much the same as I did before... and for so long I was right.  It startles me to look at photos from a decade ago and realize that this is no longer true.  Some dour, heavier Jamal has taken the place of the smiling, near-cute one that Kodachrome once captured.

Damn it all.

Decades? We Ain't Got No Decades. We Don't Need No Decades. I Don't Have To Show You Any Stinking Decades!

In the Baha’i Faith, the number nine carries symbolic significance.  The unity and oneness of mankind is seen as one of the fundamental truths which humanity is newly mature enough to accept and cultivate in this era.  As the largest one digit number, nine is, therefore, seen as the symbol of this truth.

In roughly two weeks, my wife and I will privately mark the anniversary of nine full years having passed since that night (and subsequent morning) that we spent chatting on AIM and decided to go down this road... and in another eight months or so we will mark our ninth wedding anniversary.

Nine years ago, my roommate (Asher) had to stop into work and I decided to go with him.  What ensued was one of the few nights in my life when I literally did not sleep at all.  Instead, I chatted with this girl I knew – first in a public radio computer bank on Purdue University campus and second in Asher’s room (the only computer we had) while he slept.

What better way to celebrate an unconventional beginning to a relationship than an unconventional, yet spiritually significant, anniversary party?  We haven’t decided what we will do, precisely, but we will be treating this anniversary as one of the big ones.

THE big one, actually, so please save the date.

One can keep its paper, five its wood, and ten its tin.  Gold?  Diamonds?  Who needs ‘em?  We’ve got better.

After nine delightful years… we got soul.

Please, Sir, I Want Some More

Shelly and I stayed home for the first full weekend in what feels like the entire summer.  We baked fresh foods with ingredients from our garden, walked to a coffee shop and grocery store, cleaned, weeded, cut my hair, and generally relaxed.

Home, Again, At Last

cicadas singing, fan turns round

peaceful nights and summer sounds

it's finders keepers - life is found

-JB 08/21/11

Life is made up of minutes, days, and years; but is lived only in such moments as are stolen and sufficiently and joyously squandered in the simplicity of togetherness with loved ones.

From Sixteen To Marriage

Paranoid Loneliness

cloaked in shrouds of brash words

and the false bravado of youth

eyes unsmiling tell the story

of almost men and near women

searching frantic for someone

who reminds them

of what Jackie Wilson said

- JB 08/15/11

Per normal, I have little meaningful to say - though even less this time.

I was just remembering today what it was like to be single.  Fortunately, I married young or I certainly would have gone crazy.  Everyone I met was first considered as a potential mate and second as a person.  I was an almost man on a mission, for certain, though in many ways it was a waste of time.

I was rarely interested enough to try a relationship and even then didn't commit to it.  Man is nothing if not often self-defeating and I fit the bill more often than most.  Eventually I came to a point where I decided that it was going to happen or not, and I gave up trying.  Within months Shelly and I were dating.

You've Eight Years? More Like Eaten Them.

When I got married, my mother said that we would grow together or grow apart. Eight years later, and that statement still makes me stop and think.

Voyeur Moon

my wife’s music plays loud

driving south as the moon shines down

she belts out the tunes

on the way to a good friend’s wedding

i listen as she tells me how good each song is

and which ones used to remind her of me

over the years i’ve learned the words

and offering my voice brings peace

-JB 08/12/11

Love is like the wind; a stirring up of emotions.  Love is like the wind; it can be there and gone in moments.  Love is like the wind; it helps by pushing you onward.  Love is like the wind; it will break your umbrella if you aren’t careful.  Love is like the wind; refreshing.  Love is like the wind; you’ll fall on your face if you lean into it when it doesn’t blow back.

There is no recipe for love, nor is there a snake oil cure for being unlucky in it.  It’s human nature to want to share experiences when one feels they are relevant.  This isn’t a self-help book and I’m not opening an ashram, but life teaches as one goes and I find myself valuing two lessons more than others. 

1. Speak from love, and hear love.  Assume the best of the others’ intentions.  When an argument arises, it’s more likely miscommunication than ill-intent.  Have the maturity to let go of frustration and remember that the other person is trying to understand your crazy self just as much as you are them.  Rarely is somebody not trying, so don’t let that be your reflexive response.
2. Be willing to lose yourself to the marriage.  Open up and find the new you.  Your mannerisms are not solid gold to everyone and may not even be solid gold to you, if you only knew better.  More likely, you stumbled onto your habits through happenstance and repetition.  That’s hardly a good reason to cling to anything, and may be just the reason to run away therefrom.

Kissing a Keyboard Softly in the Night Hour

Much has happened in my life since I last posted, though little enough of it was like to amuse such few as might chance upon this blog. Still, at various times, the stray deep thought crossed my mind. In such moments, I made a silent vow to myself that I would post such thoughts at a later date. Sadly, my people never contacted themselves to arrange a time, and unspoken word is not bond.

Yesterday I was intent on posting about life and death, as a 38 year old at my wife's place of employment passed on of a sudden heart attack (while in a boardroom meeting). Before that, I was pondering what one truly owes to family and friends, versus that which makes up generosity and kindness. Still earlier it was just families in general, as the Black family's yearly vacation was underway and/or stumbling to the finish-line full of fire and brimstone, as is our wont. None of those posts were to be, though I will say that my family is full of people generally considered to be fine communicators, however such others as would describe us that way too often neglect the listening side of communication.

Instead, I am left with a few random thoughts and some more potential poetry - mindless nonsense for those with no minds and little sense. Meager fare indeed, though enough to sustain my own interest, at least. Your own interest is for you to measure, though I suspect that I am most respected by my intellectual peers. In terms of the poetry, that means I have to hope that a number of fifth graders enjoy reading of my life now that it is less dynamic.

Night Echoes

pretty bird

come sing in my window awhile

night has come

and you must rest

but i worked all day

while you sang and sang

the moon shines bright

but only echoes remain

if a passing owl

should chance you awake

come sing in my window awhile

-JB 05/27/10

I assume that I am not alone when I feel as though my best intentions of being a productive and vibrant member of society, of choosing the right ways to spend my time, of knowing what will bring me lasting happiness; all these end in disappointment eventually, even if just a little. I think of being young, when simple things were of profound import in my life. Now, complex things take up my time yet leave me feeling cheated – and it matters not that I do the cheating.

If I was a child, I would be chasing fireflies right now and loving life. Instead, I'm chasing myself indoors to artificially cool air where the only flashings of brightness are electronic, and there is but passing joy in their catching. -JB 07/19/11

If it weren’t for my lovely sidekick wife, I would be even worse off. I was thrice lucky with her. We married young and have enjoyed one another's company longer than we might have, she balances out some of my failings (such as my inability to act in ways that would bring about my cherished desires), and she is committed to working together on our marriage and life in a way that (eight years later) still sets the goal of unity higher than self and pride. The final point is probably the luckiest of all.

Slow Morning

a smile rests easy under blue eyes

face creased with happiness

still young, but not like before

a woman’s face has replaced the girl i married

myself not quite a man

slow morning

stay slow

we’ve got nowhere to go

and i want to remember this

-JB 6/29/11

As I think back on the past few posts, I see a pattern. It is mostly Facebook posts revisited, with a little extra nonsense thrown in. Have no fear, however, because I will endeavor to reduce the predictability. My first step? I'm gonna go check myself out at the library. I hate it when people can read me like a book.