"I may be weary, but I am not weak.

I can sing a song of suffering.

Baby, someone's song is
dancing on the tip of your tongue." --
Brett Dennen, Someday

Lately, I've been thinking about conversations I've had with friends. I've been thinking about the cadence of these interactions: the revealation, denial, or disguising of an incident; the presentation of oneself as more noble or favorable than is true; the acceptance or denial of one's actions; the fear of judgment; black and white versus gray thinking; what I tend to feel versus what I say I feel. All of these thoughts have been a constant guest in my headspace within the last couple of weeks.

We, as people, are so quick to judge, dismiss, abandon, scoff at, or distance ourselves from the others. And you know who the others are! Don't you? Oh, yes, you do. They are the ones who sicken us, because they are not as noble as we are. They use drugs, have a new sexual partner every night, are the town drunks, pimp others, steal, lie, cheat, are abusive, completely selfish, shallow, and in short, they are no good! Corrupt to the core! They are not like me . . . and us.

So, I've been doing some self-reflection, putting things back into perspective, and finding myself humbled by the results. I have them all fooled. I am the worst of the whole lot, especially when I think I am so much better. I am devious; I lie. I have schemes beyond schemes, always plotting, far less noble than I may appear. I say I walked away when in reality the situation walked away from me. I tell myself to do one thing, and I find myself doing the opposite. I make escapes to avoid myself. I am weak-willed, always giving into temptation. I have secrets that I only share with myself, and that conversation happens all too infrequently. I am perverted in my concern towards others. I tell others to see themselves as beautiful, yet, I see myself as disgraced, God's nemesis. I reject love from those who want to love me, and I love those who can only reject me. I embrace shame, and have secrets that not even Vegas can hold. I am the worse offender: I don't hear the words you speak; they are mumbled, a cacophony of nails scratching on chalkboards. I wound you with my kindness. I tell you great tales of how strong I am, how things don't eat away at me, yet, I wonder what chemical treatment exists for my cancer, my poison. It's been chewing on my hope. I believe less and less. None of us are noble. You ask if I think less of you? I am darker than that, young one. I think the world of you, because that belief is about your potential. I can't think less of those I expect to fail. I am so confident of our failure. We are doomed. And when you move to or are moved by the grain, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and that makes me love you more.

And then along comes these others that say they see my beauty, my fear. You see nothing, but what I show you, and if I show you distance, do not think this is the way I operate at all times. I am distant to those who think they can solve this rubrick's cube. You claim, "I can no longer be invested in this friendship! We shared so much, and look at us now!" We shared only what I knew you needed to hear, to believe. I don't know the depths of my sickness, but I am certain, it will be the death of me.

My daughter will grow up with me as her father, and who knows what dark horses she will have to ride to take flight of my self-inflicting sword. In my path, I have left others feeling less after they have met me than they did before. And please, let me not hear the voice of your false comfort. The stench of vomit permeates your insincere words. They offer no comfort. Do you really believe you have it figured out with your fortune cookie ramblings? Do you think pretending these things are not our destiny is remotely helpful? Have you examined any of this and how it applies to your life? Am I the only one in this sinking ship? Is there not one tired soul out there who can slice away some of my skin and comfort me? These echoes are haunting me.

My daughter just asked why am I sad? Why am I crying? How do I answer her? What truth can sum up these ancient tears? I am sad, Saskia, because I don't know why I am sad.

All I can do, my friends, my daughter is to try to see the dawn, allowing it to rush over me stronger than these emotions.

"My salvation is ahead of me
I can feel it calling me
I know that I
I know that I will be ready."
-- Brett Dennen, Someday