Opinion, Personal, Politics, Safety

Safety

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The overgrown and unmaintained trail back in here is beautiful. Of course, I have to be careful walking barefoot. Or I’m supposed to be. I saw and heard 29 different kinds of birds. None new on this walk. 

The idea of safety followed me among the trees, the brush, and the birds.  I don’t need to remind you of my past to echo the stupidity of safety. A glance down at a phone, an unstable artery inside your brain, and even airplanes falling can precipitate an unexpected demise despite a life perfectly lived.

Because of a purported leader we allegedly chose, now we have to be concerned that anyone can be kidnapped under the color of unidentified law and taken to a foreign prison. Our country is supposed to be founded on justice for all. Yet, we collectively look away as people who followed all the rules get snatched from their jobs and family. 

It can’t happen to anyone I know, or so people think. An injustice permitted upon one is an injury to all of us if we’re decent people. When there are no clear lines, there will always be people who take advantage and do wrong.

The Golden Rule stipulates that we should do unto others as we would have done to us. That alone should serve as a warning who go one step too far and harm other people. 

I’ll listen to the birds and enjoy the beautiful weather because that’s the only option I have. To ponder the potential of our current state of affairs too long can only lead to anger and frustration.

We once believed we were better than all of this. We’re not.

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Poetry And Prose, Romance, Story, Writing

May (A Story)

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For a year, I searched for May in the crowds and along the city’s walkways. My eyes sought her out in the early morning or late evening during all manner of weather. I only met May once, on a warm afternoon in early June. The times I’d fantasized about meeting her again were countless. Something about her convinced me she had dropped her guard with me in a moment of spontaneous connection.

After a few months, I occasionally left a scribbled message along the walkway: “May, remember me? Clark.” More and more frequently, I’d return to the messages, hoping I’d see a sign.

Months passed without an answer. I questioned whether she might have told a white lie by omission; an implied untruth allowed me to believe she lived nearby. Maybe she didn’t visit this part of town. Every detail of our encounter plagued me.
…

A year ago, I walked fast along a portion of the city’s most unfamiliar walkways. A long, aimless walk was the only thing that might distract me. After several miles, I stopped to sit on a wooden bench near the edge of one of the city parks. Looking for a song on my phone, I sat without paying attention to who might pass by.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind if I sit here.” I looked up to see an older woman wearing headphones. She pulled them from her ears and wrapped them around her neck. She wore denim shorts and a loose-fitting white T-shirt. I’m not sure how old she was. I’d guess she was five years older than me. Her long black hair fell loosely around her shoulders.

“Sure. Just taking a break,” I told her.

The woman sat on the bench. Taking her phone out, she fiddled with something onscreen and leaned back against the bench.

“Me too. I walked too far today. The apartment was too quiet. I could almost hear the shadows, if you know what I mean.”

I looked briefly to my right as the woman spoke. The way she phrased her motivation sparked interest.

“I do. That’s a good way to put it.”

The woman smiled. “I just retired six months ago. Too early, according to some.”

“Congratulations,” I told her.

“Thank you. I thought I’d retire and be happy with my husband.”

The way her voice changed slightly as she ended her comment told me that her husband had other plans.

“Oh? I’m sorry. Did something happen?” When the words came out, I realized how intrusive they might be. I quickly added, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

The woman laughed. “If you can’t disclose your secrets to a stranger on a bench, who can you trust?”

I smiled, thankful that she diffused my awkwardness.

“We planned our retirement early. To enjoy life. It turns out he wanted to enjoy his with someone else.” The woman looked up at the trees on the other side of the walkway.

I don’t know why I blurted it out. “After years of being lonely with my girlfriend, I left her. Now, at least, I’m lonely for real.”

The woman turned and looked deeply into my eyes. “I’m May. I’m sorry about your girlfriend.”

“And I’m sorry about your husband, May.” I found myself not looking away from May’s green eyes. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth looked earned – probably from happier years of laughing and living.

May shrugged. “I’m stuck in a holding pattern, trying to figure out what’s supposed to be next.”

I nodded. “I agree with that sentiment.”

We fell silent momentarily as a young woman walking two large dogs passed by. We both waved at the woman simultaneously. She waved back and smiled at us, probably thinking we were together.

I realized I hadn’t introduced myself. “I’m Clark, by the way.”

“That name suits you,” May answered. “Rumpelstiltskin might have worked, though.”

I laughed. “Too much writing.”

May smiled back at me. She looked away quickly and then immediately back to me.

To my surprise, May reached for my right hand with her left. Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around mine. I didn’t pull away from her touch. May stared at me as if she wanted to say something.

I’ve often thought about what I did next, but no good explanation comes to mind. I moved my fingers from hers and held my right arm up above the back of the bench. May understood my intentions.

She stood slightly and moved to sit beside me, her leg against mine. May leaned her head against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed her right arm. Had I known May, it would have been the most natural thing in the world to do.

May sighed. I felt her body relax into mine.

“Clark, you feel so good. I haven’t been held in such a very long time.”

“Likewise, May. Can we sit here for a month and just hold each other? Pretend we’ve been together forever?”

May nodded against my shoulder. Her left arm pushed behind me and around me. She squeezed my ribs with her fingers. I rubbed her arm like I’d done it a thousand times.

We sat for several minutes, unmoving, each of us lost in our thoughts.

May began to speak in a low voice. “I had been married for thirty-three years. The first twenty-five were amazing. And then they weren’t. My daughter, April, moved to Australia, and my husband seemingly had to work all the time. I knew something had fundamentally changed, even though I couldn’t quite identify what. We planned our retirement, to see the world, and to enjoy life. And then he was gone.”

I squeezed May against me. Her right hand moved to rest on my chest and rubbed. Whether it was subconscious or deliberate, I wasn’t sure. But I did recognize that it was something that she probably did when she felt safe.

I spoke without worrying about how I might sound. “I spent years trying to feel valued, much less touched with passion. One morning, something snapped. I realized that being alone might be better than being scared of being alone. There is no doubt about it: I need to be with someone to be happy. But that someone has to reciprocate.”

“Of course,” May whispered.

We once again fell silent. The birds and nature sounds filled the gaps as we softly touched one another.

Five minutes later, we heard a dog barking as it ran down the walkway. As it approached, May raised her head to look. She sat up quickly.

“I think that’s Bert, my neighbor’s dog. Susan will be out of her mind.”

Feeling disoriented, I sat up as May stood. May turned to me as the dog scampered past, trailing its leash.

“I have to catch up to it. Bert is too old to go looking for her dog. I’ll see you later, Clark, if you’d like?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’d like nothing better.”

Before I could tell her where I lived, May smiled at me, turned, and walked away fast. I watched her grow smaller in the distance, heading away from me.

It wasn’t until she was out of sight that I realized I should have accompanied her if only to be near her. I still felt May’s body leaning against mine.

That was the last time I saw her.

…

As the months passed, I felt messages on the walkways. I looked not only for May, but also for a Labrador with a long green leash. Nothing.

The one benefit to the chance encounter was that I walked miles each day, learning the city’s secret and hidden paths. No one knew that I searched for May. Thinking of holding her again occupied my thoughts. As unrealistic as my fantasy might be, I hoped she might want to be held again.

Last Saturday morning, as I approached the bench I shared with May, I bent to leave another message—the same one I always left.

A voice interrupted me. “Are you leaving notes for May Smith?”

I looked up, still bent down. A woman wearing a tracksuit and absurdly white shoes stared down at me.

I stood up. “I’m not sure. I don’t know her last name.”

The woman gave me a look of suspicion. “It seems odd that you don’t know her last name if you leave odd notes on the concrete.”

I shrugged. “You’re not wrong. I can’t explain it. We met about a year ago.”

“Does she have long black hair? Green eyes? She’s sixty-six years old.” The woman seemed hesitant. Her curiosity got the best of her.

I nodded, smiling. “You know her? Sixty-six? She doesn’t look like it. I’ve been looking for her for a year.”

“Yes, that’s her. I’m not telling you anything unless you can give me some context. There are too many weirdos in the world.” The woman gave me a look as if to indicate that I probably was one of those weirdos.

I felt like another person took control of my voice as I answered. “Her husband left her. All I can tell you is that we sat on the bench over there and held each other for what felt like a month. I think we had a connection. Her neighbor’s dog Bert ran by. She left too quickly before I could find out who she was.”

The woman listened intently. Finally, she shrugged. “What the hell? Why not? That’s her. You seem genuine. I’ll give you her address. But I will need to see your license if you’re one of those quietly crazy people.”

I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and opened it for the woman to inspect. She carefully looked it over.

“I hope you find her and what you’re looking for, Clark.”

I typed May’s address into my phone as the woman recited it.

“Thank you so much!” I felt the excitement in my chest.

“Good luck to you both. I wish my husband were so interested,” she said as she walked away.

I stood for at least a minute, arguing with myself about walking to find May immediately.

…

Thirty-five minutes later, I turned at the corner of Williams and Jones. The street was lined with nice two-story townhouses. May’s unit had to be somewhere along the street. I walked faster as my eyes scanned the numbers on the front of each building.

Up ahead, I saw a woman opening her mailbox. As she reached inside, I felt a twinge of anticipation. I knew it had to be May. Her long black hair covered her neck. She turned to walk back toward her townhouse.

Even though I was at least thirty feet away, I almost shouted. “May, is that you?”

The woman froze. When she turned, I saw the recognition in her eyes.

I didn’t know anything about her. She might be with someone now or not remember the encounter as magical or laden with potential. The “what ifs” almost stopped me, but the hope of the “what ifs” drowned out my worries.

“Clark!” May excitedly answered.

We locked eyes as I stopped in front of her. As I struggled to speak, May took away the need. She opened her arms despite the mail clutched in her right hand.

I moved in to hug her. May’s arms wrapped around me and squeezed.

“I’ve been looking for you for a year, May,” I told her, melting against her.

“I’ve wondered about you every day, Clark.”

“You have?” I almost lost my voice as the emotion of a year of searching welled up.

We wrapped our arms around each other more tightly. May’s face pressed against my shoulder. Once again, I felt like we had known each other forever.

Finally, May stepped back. Her eyes held mine.

“What are we doing?” May smiled.

“Getting to know each other. We can’t hug forever, you know.”

“I don’t see why not. I’d love to get to know you, Clark.”

I gulped. “I’d love that.”

May continued to smile. “Then come inside, and let’s start the dance of getting to know everything about one another.”

I followed May into her townhouse and into another life.

Love, X
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Music, Personal

Inopportune (A Song)

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You enter a small, intimate club. A piano, backlit by a soft light, is on the small stage up front. A microphone stand is to the right of the piano. The singer is due to come to the stage at any moment. You sit facing the stage. To your left is your husband, who looks across at you nervously. He admires you and your dress, then smiles.

A brightly-dressed woman with hair wrapped like days of old enters the stage from the left. She sits at the piano, adjusts the hem of her mid-thigh dress, and nods. The audience lights go dim.

Your husband abruptly stands, bows slightly toward you, and then makes his way through the onlookers.

As he climbs the five steps up to the stage, you realize he’s conjured a surprise. Long past are the days when such surprise once ruled your lives. Unbeknownst to you, that drives his nervous legs onto the stage.

He turns briefly to the pianist, who smiles, nods, and places her hands above the piano keys. His right hand cradles the old microphone as his left grips the stand below.

“I know we’ve lost a touch of magic over the years. I miss the connection we once took for granted. I still see the same bright, beautiful woman I met all those years ago. This song is for you, hoping you want to rekindle the flame that needs fragile attention.”

And the music begins to play…
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Inopportune

[Verse 1]
swallowed desire doesn’t nourish a soul
lasting long enough, it takes its toll
like standing at a banquet admiring the food
wondering why no one hands you a spoon

[Pre-Chorus]
beauty gives confidence; therein lies a truth
but it also lies to those who perceive it
any fool will throw away the pan
if they can’t find the gold

[Chorus]
we don’t live in a theory or in our heads
the same beauty you relish is a pain to behold
you might as well be standing on the moon
seeing but not experiencing is inopportune

[Verse 2]
if it’s all take and no give, what’s the point
you might as well be looking at a painting
behind an impenetrable blindfold
keeping your secret desires untold

[Pre-Chorus]
we want admiration, desire, and passion
without it, we might as well dine on air
it isn’t enough to be standing and staring
a cyclone of needless despairing

(chorus)
we don’t live in a theory or in our heads
the same beauty you relish is a pain to behold
you might as well be standing on the moon
seeing but not experiencing is inopportune

[Outro]
food for the eyes is food for the soul
the primal beat of our human hearts

Behavior, Government, Justice, Law, Politics, Safety, Security, Social Rules, Trump

The Great Experiment

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I was in DC when I was young. Historical monuments and artefacts take on different meanings as you experience more in life. Witnessing the ebb and flow of government and the people who deem themselves worthy to serve us as public servants.

As for the Declaration of Independence, I can’t read it without feeling as if bolts of hypocritical lightning might strike me. Only a small percentage of adults have read the entirety of the document. Read it again if you have a few minutes and tell me that you don’t feel massive cognitive dissonance upon doing so. Regardless of your political affiliation, you will feel twinges of recognition in light of current events.

Most of us were taught that the document embodied the ideals of those who assembled around it. But then we independently learned about the struggles of women and minorities wanting their place at the table along the white men who kept a straight face while signing a document indicating that we are all equal.

Two and a half centuries later, we’re struggling with the consequences of corrupted capitalism, oligarchy, and white christian nationalism, all of which now boil in the crucible focused by someone who has no substantive interest in treating the Constitution as sacred.

It’s strange to me that as individuals we mostly want to be left alone, yet so quickly join forces with movements and groups that collectively seek to accentuate inequality and promote favoritism toward their particular cause.

I’m a liberal and as such, I relish the days when we actually return to following the concepts of the Constitution. That we stop saying words like equality if we are going to behave as if the term applies only to our cohort. If we continue down this road toward marginalization or reduction in freedoms while simultaneously imposing a particular religious viewpoint or worldview, it is a certainty how this great experiment will end.

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Lemon Moment, Personal

Red Moon Eclipse

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Because I’m up early enough every morning, I went outside to enjoy the beautiful weather at 1:00 a.m. and to watch the red blood moon eclipse. As with so many things, it doesn’t matter whether I post a beautiful well-defined picture or a careless one. I took pictures when the moon was crimson, but oddly prefer the crescent-lit luminescent bites of the Moon. You can find beautiful red shots of the moon in other places. All of them will render second hand experiences if you weren’t up and outside to witness it

Pictures have meaning when they are anchored to first-hand experiences. To stand outside barefoot close to the Ides of March, looking up to the sky in the dead of the morning was special. But it’s like trying to explain the color blue to someone without vision. It was my stolen moment and I’m sorry you weren’t there to witness it.

X
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Behavior, Opinion, Psychology, Social Rules

(An Odd Zen Realization)

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Every path comes with a price.

Decisions narrow your options. 

You can’t travel to two places simultaneously.

To choose one thing lessens your ability to do others. 

To choose one person is an exclusionary decision.

Specializing in one job means you can’t work elsewhere. 

Setting aside time for a hobby reduces the time, energy, and concentration for others. 

The contradiction in life is that unlimited choices aren’t real. 

Once you’ve chosen, the battle is appreciating the hobbies, the people, the job, the place you live, and all the results of narrowing your options. 

In all things, be as enthusiastic as possible in the choices you’ve made.

Happiness results from freely choosing and doubling down on what you’ve chosen. 

Freedom is the ability to make those choices. 

Money can’t buy happiness but it definitely provides options. 

Perversely, most people do not take fruitful advantage of the options that money provides and instead insist on accumulating more wealth. 

What would your life look like if  your financial situation could never improve?

Make your choices deliberately and wisely.

Time is limited. 

Avoid passive choices or paths you didn’t take on purpose.

What approaches us will likely greatly reduce our ability to make choices. 

Chaos is inevitable and you need to understand that even if you do everything correctly, you can still fail by whatever measure you judge by. 

We live our lives independently, but each of us is subject to a myriad list of things out of our control.

Each of us will need to adopt a new attitude and find ways to do more than merely survive. 

If you can’t be creative and find a way to live meaningfully when things get tough, you will needlessly suffer.

There should be no shame or regret if your choice is to live in the moment.

X

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Behavior, Government, Justice, Opinion, Personal, Politics, Protest, Racism and Prejudice, Security, Trump

Hate

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Earlier today, someone shouted an old Spanish nickname of mine. It was an odd place to hear an old nickname. I remembered him immediately because he had the same smile, although it was hidden behind twenty additional years of hard-earned wrinkles. I will call him Sonrisa.

He told me he works with my old friend Carlos. After joking about the unlikelihood of Carlos working much and sharing a laugh, Sonrisa told me that Carlos was giving up on getting the citizenship that he had been promised for years. Both Carlos and Sonrisa are incredibly hard workers. Sonrisa told me a version of the same story I’ve been hearing repeatedly over the last few months: most of their cohort has given up on the United States being the promised land it once was. 

They’ll probably return to El Salvador. It will be a loss for everyone. Not only are they hard workers, but they’re funny even in English. 

They didn’t used to be prone to cynicism. Sonrisa remembered that I was one of the few gringos who actively stood out in the crowd in recognition of the contribution of Latinos. 

He wasn’t surprised when I told him that there was not much hope in sight to feel respected as long as the current crowd of political idiots get their way. 

I’m paraphrasing, but Sonrisa added, “You know he’s an idiot when he starts a fight with a friendly white country like Canada. I know if we go back to El Salvador we’ll experience similar authoritarian BS like we do here. But at least it won’t be based on prejudice.” He added, “I remember years ago when you said it was better for people to curse you directly to your face because then at least you knew who they were. We had a few great years here where the racists mostly kept to theirselves. We always knew it was there. But now? He gave them permission and gasoline to act openly.”

There’s no need to explain what people mean when they use the word ‘HE.”

I waved goodbye to Sonrisa and asked him to tell Carlos hello for me.

I silently hoped that 47 and the people who support him don’t get their way. But on the other hand, as always, a little part of me also hoped that they would continue to f*** around and find out.

Not only about the absence of a sufficient workforce to prop up our economy, but also the unavoidable consequences of believing that you can denigrate one group of people without harming the respect threshold for everyone else 

Hate breeds hate, and distrust contaminates everyone. 

There is no “them.” They are us and vice versa. You’ve simply avoided being targeted. Yet. 

Authoritarians and those who believe they have the right of superiority are never content. Fear-mongering is an appetite that never lessens.

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Government, History, Justice, Opinion, Politics, Social Rules, Trump

Over

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47 himself said any president who presides over a 1,000 point drop on the DOW should be impeached immediately. We owe it to a man of such high honor to be held accountable to his own words. Unless they were just one in a million examples of the fatuous bullsh*t he’ll say to dupe enough people to be king.

He’ll offer his hateful brand of politics at the State of the Union address. Countless people who know better but feel like they have no choice will line up behind him to defend the nonsense he manages to enunciate.

Meanwhile, the country is in disarray. It certainly was not perfect prior to the second coming of 47, but it was manageable and subject to the terms and conditions of rationality and sometimes broken cooperation.

The carnage he creates will continue. The water will grow hotter and he will continue to create divides among those of us who would otherwise disagree passionately but still proceed about the business of living our lives in this country.

Donald, as Justin Trudeau correctly named him today, will destabilize our government sufficiently to render it unrecognizable. Even to those who support him. He’s already managed to destroy decades of relationships with our allies. Mathematically speaking, two points are sufficient to draw an infinite line. Likewise, the arc and trajectory of what he’s doing can only end in one place.

I catch myself wishing he would just get it over with and succeed in his ultimate goal to destroy the history and authority of the government we’ve all enjoyed until this point. So that in this manner, we would have no choice but to turn our eyes towards survival instead of feeding our souls with the foolish hope that the people we elected will stand up and demand that the Constitution be followed and to tell him that no man has the authority to circumvent the political process.

If we continue on this course, 47 will be the last president of the United States as we know it.

Chicken Little no longer has the energy to run amok and squawk that the sky is falling.

For all his supporters, I hope you get what you wish and deserve in your choices. That this paragraph sounds like a warning should itself be a worthy indicator of what you’ve chosen.

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