Cruelty: Thy name is weather

The rain was cruel today.
The more it fell, the more dampened my mood became.
Each pellet was caustic, wet, and tiresome.
I am brooding and frightful, (though, I cannot fully blame droplets
     for my malcontent).
I see the hunchback in my mirror; I am the shadow. People cross
streets to avoid my grimace; they fear me not -- I pose no threat.

Their distance

is justified. I am infectious, a contagion, pierced by the approaching celebration
of his birth -- (alas, I had no ability to command blood or halt semen).
I am violently disrupted, scalped away from joy, simply by her existence,
her appetite for recognition.

These are the meditations of rain.
And they are cruel.

I will sleep with fits tonight, and dream of ocean breezes
on September mornings, while avoiding the dirge of troubled souls,
those sirens of fallen leaves that are buried deep beneath
the ice and soil.

msf
7/10/2012

 

Journal entry
7-18-2012
          Picture this: weather warm and mild – high 70s-low 80s, cool breeze off Lake Geneva. Boats docked, boats sailing. Picturesque. The idea of beauty captured in these words. Many of my friends would take endless pictures of all that surrounds this area, rushing them along the wires of social media, attempting to convey the extraordinary experience being had.
          Take this morning, for example. I ate breakfast upstairs in the executive lounge, where one could walk outside to eat or sit inside and take in the scenic view. I ate inside. I’ve never been a fan of outdoor eating. After I ate, though, I did sit outside to receive what so many others before me had received: life.
          I watched the people who were eating outside, and I imagined those individuals retelling stories to their friends and family about the wonderful pleasure of basking in the sun and eating breakfast in this heavenly setting. I envisioned women telling their girlfriends about the romantic ambience set by the supporting cast – the weather, their spouse/partner, sounds of birds chirping, the smell of the air. And the girlfriends sighing with supportive (or competitive) jealousy.
          I was watching this couple eating breakfast while I thought about all of this. Now, I want you to hear the proverbial record scratch, and listen to the complete story.
        That fantastic, romantic couple eating outside said barely a word to each other; he was reading his paper, while she was trying to discourage those chirping birds from eating off her plate. And those peaceful noises? Well, they included the wrenching sound of a two year old screaming at her mother because she wanted to go into the pool like her brothers, and the mother, unmoved by her child’s endless screeching, had me nonplussed by her laissez faire acceptance of this wretched child. Oh, and let me not forget, the family comprised of mom, dad, and four boys showing off how at ease they were with each other, as they spoke in peaceful, Brady-Bunch-tones to each other, changed suddenly when one son accidentally knocked over a teacup, and it shattered on the ground; while the eldest son gave up drinking his coca-cola because the bees, too, thought it had a wonderful taste. And one last thing, that lucky elderly couple who were embracing their retirement years; well, besides drooling on themselves, and shaking like leafs while drinking their coffee, they were chasing playing cards around the veranda when the wind blew.
          Now, why aren’t these pictures ever captured on our vacation cameras? What if all vacations were not extremes, either awesome or nightmares? What if most vacations were just mediocre? Might I suggest that most vacations are just that – mediocre; whereas, it is our pictures, that are stunning!
          I’ve been thinking about our need to construct a reality that is anything but the reality – making others think that we have found the “it” in this life, us keeping private our shortcomings and disappointments.
          I wonder if most of us would stop working, if finances were not an issue. Does our work only serve the purpose for us to reach our vacation locale? In our work, do most of us find meaning? Is there only one task that we must set forth to do, and do well? Or are some of us called to, (pardon the colloquialism), multi-task our way through this maze?
          Certainly, my idea of a vacation differs from others, though pieces of it may share the same cloth. I, too, enjoy sunsets, relaxation at a pub, having a nice meal, and engaging in conversations with locals.
          But my ideal vacation may experience more alone time than is typical with others. I want to read in spurts, write essays, study new languages; I want to literally, get lost. I want the connection of a seduction, flirtation, or romance; then, I want to be alone, again. I want to see hard-to-find films that will leave me disturbed for days; I want to sleep and wake up, sleep and wake up, sleep and wake up, as if I were practicing for an Olympic event called ‘The Awakening of Sleep’. I want to find the best routes in a town or city that will avoid all tourist attractions, even if, (like in the case of the museums of Amsterdam), those tourist traps hold high, artistic value.
          I reflect upon my ideal “vacation”, and I am struck by the realization that most of my life is lived from this vantage point. I am fortunate. I do not work, for the most part. I play for my livelihood. I travel frequently and live somewhat of a charmed life; yet, life itself bogs me down with duties and people who not only rely on my attention to their situation, but they insist on removing pieces of my tranquility and freedom from all facets of my core self. Some of these things and people are hindrances or hurdles on my path to nirvana. And sometimes, I am grumpy about this.
          Such things just are; all a part of the balance. Such as it is, such as it will always be; for this, in truth, is the sinew of life itself. Anyone wanna take a picture?

Maxed to the Max 

(Jag älskar min son, Max)

Because I've been weighed down for the last two years --
(the lies, control, and deception of a sorcerer);
Because it happens to be this day --
(feel I for sad you);
Because I have nothing more to say:
(even now, the feminine progenitor blocks my celebration under her apocryphal marrow);
And yet, you are alive and breathing
(So it is all said and done) -- welcome to journey from the cradle to the tomb.