A Moving Moving On

What is the value of a tear when it falls, and how long do you let it rest easy on the cheek before wiping it away?

Cheeky Distraction

i never learned to cry on cue

i never got the pretense

i rarely find occasion to

emotion's disappearance

- JB 01/09/2012

A myriad of thoughts win out over the budding of emotions. I am too oft-distracted by inner dialogue to conjure the requisite emotional certainty for tears. I do not blame the analysis, for it aids me in coping. I do not miss the outward expression, though I suspect others do. Still, I am human and find occasion from time to time.

I tend to think we are more than the sum of our experiences – that we are affected by events which occur, but still must need make choices through the exercise of free-will which inevitably determine the nature of our relationships with things. Both nature and nurture fall into the equation but (as with most things) this simple dichotomy is not an accurate approach to understanding, for we do not exist in the vacuum of self but are made up of a diverse subset of “self(s)” which interrelate with such others as make up our friends, family, and acquaintances. These others in our lives affect how we relate to things, and shared experiences are group-interpreted through a simultaneous interplay of subtle emotional and physical cues, combined with deeply seeded unspoken thought and spiritual searching.

What does that mean? I don’t really know. I’ve had trouble organizing my thoughts lately… thus the non-posting since November. Based on my failed attempts to edit this into an intelligible read, this post appears no different.

Emotionally speaking, I feel that life is more non-dynamic than ever. At the same time I cognitively recognize that the reality of things has not changed so much as my guessing at the future has been proven wrong.

I do not believe that this physical world we inhabit is the end of things. Instead, it is an inglorious start to the process of growth we must all partake. Life is not a contest to live the longest, nor is continued life the point of existence in this world. I believe that mankind is meant to endure this world through the growth of spiritual qualities which provide a clearer understanding of things… and that this new understanding is what guides how we define our relationships with the changes and chances that we encounter.

This world is full of beauty which I have at times been blessed to see, but that joy is inconsistent... for life is also a burden. Everyone suffers, including the prophets of God, for suffering spurs the type of spiritual and emotional searching that precedes growth.

I do not really mourn the station of the one who passed on, because prolonged life is not the goal, but I mourn the loss of my expectations and the hope I had for a stronger and more developed relationship. I am pained by the sadness I see in others, and the half-made plans we must once again store in the attic. I am frustrated by the process of growth, but that is inevitably the point. Recognition of the purpose of tests eases the burning in my heart, but does not alleviate it.

As I return to work and other things considered the normal activities of my life, I carry the experience with me... knowing that pain will fade with time.

Not all tears are wiped away before they dry.

An echo coming back, reverberating softer now

I'm in a mood to write this evening, which usually means that my mind will flit from topic to topic and fail to bear fruit.  We'll see what I come up with, but for now I am lifting this post from my Facebook notes, titled 'October came like an echo.' 

Nostalgia hit me, so distant, like longing for a memory of a feeling and not the feeling itself. I remember being little, that much I recall.  I know I jumped in leaf piles because someone told me it would be fun, and I know that it wasn’t.  I remember climbing a tree and collecting a bowl of buckeyes for show and tell, and the epic foot-race against my best friend Derrick.  I remember bike rides so risky that I was actually hit by a car twice, though fights with Derrick caused far more injury.  I remember the tree swing that would always break and the big-tire sand box that I could jump over in a single leap.  I don’t know why the sound and smell of crunching leaves reminds me of 1507 Cincinnati Street, and I don’t know Derrick anymore – but I do still dream of bonfires with my family, and the backyard we sold. - JB 10/20/10

I think of Derrick often, actually.  He was my first best friend, and stayed one long after his mother moved out of his grandparents house next door.  We wandered the neighborhood with a freedom I don't expect I will ever permit to my own children, though I think it left us a real(er) childhood than many.


One of the comments on Facebook said that this writing made them sad for the loss of childhood and relationships never fully developed.  Not surprisingly, that poster gets me.  She is my mother.