I, like the cat, have had lives to try
I, like the cat, strive to look past the lie
I, like the cat, am destined to die
for I, like the cat, can't help wondering why
April 27, 2007 2:43am
I've spent most of my life staggering from one point to the next,
often seeming agile for My ability to land on My feet
but the truth of it is, if I had stopped to tie my shoelaces,
there might well have been less stumbling to recover from.
I've twisted, turned and slid sideways,
all - attempts to avoid the bruises
Often 'paying attention' only just before impact
Occasionally dealing only a glancing blow rather than that last large one
Smiling at My clever abilities to remain in tact
I am a man of moments,
strung together with glittering objects strained to grasp
tiptoes hovering on that precipice, arms akimbo
the maddening clown, sure to fall any moment
somehow brought back from that final tipping point
at one of those last possible, precious moments
I blundered into and out of much of my life,
one day, I blundered into you...
Fully expecting the bruises and scrapes that oft' accompany my travails
only to find your arms there to steady and sooth Me
over and over. Until... I realize
your careful steps.
And so, slowly I turn and mimic your stance
hands and eyes locked to yours
finding that I am suddenly... without facepaint
and floating just an inch above ground as we move together
finally at peace.
you stabilize Me.
In seeking beauty, I've seen much ugliness
In seeking love, I've seen much hate
In seeking truth, I've seen much falseness
In seeking peace, I've seen much violence
In seeking myself, I've seen much in others
In seeking experience, I've raped my innocence
4/24/1993 5:20p (shuckers II)
I pour myself some liquid courage
Three dollars to the jar
Fifteen dollars, feelin' better
Just can't find my car
Live's a bitch, and then ya drink,
sink down, feel no pain
Kill the worries, just don't think,
Face down in the rain
A lovely time was had by all
...if we could remember
caught up in a drunkard's ball
back since last september
We had the fun, we paid the price
we nursed our tender brain
each morning came the sacrifice
no asprin could contain
The Storm - 3/24/1993 4:30p (Shuckers II)
I knew it was approaching
could feel it in the air
I sensed the gloom encroaching
-- but still caught unawares
In due course, it slapped me full
a white-faced, startled glare
It Grumbled, Flashed, Demanded rule
no mercy left to spare
I screamed defiance, yelled rebuke
fists clenched in a dare
a drenching onslaught was it's refute
...My answer met no care
I know the storm will depart some day
and leave me in it's past
I must hold out during the fray
My courage strong and fast
Apr 1, 2007
we tend to be captured by a flavor of a word -
and fail to examine the symbol in all of it's aspects
reducing the effectiveness of the chosen presentation
we condense experience - boil it down
then we imbue a set of symbols with that distilled experience
and the reinforcement of that symbol-set with the distilled experience
will infuse and forever mingle (taint?) that symbol-set with the experience
making in impossible to 'natively' appreciate the intended value of any symbol
in other words, all of our symbols are overlain with a patina of experiences and results that will 'color' and 'flavor' each symbol beyond it's pristine definition
words grow into a different creature than the original intent because of the emotional and value hierarchy that we drape over the symbols
who can see us for the fog of the sematrix that permeates our awareness?
who can see themselves?
I suspect it is the goal of budda... to live without words. without the semantrix.
Once there was someone who was very sensitive.
They Felt much of what others were going through, good and bad.
It felt like everyone else was screeching or howling or giggling or humming;
hurling these emotions and overwhelming with the knowledge of discontent as well as driving them along with mirth and happiness.
Stunned and aloft in the eddies and currents of other's visceral emanations, they slowly learned, by trial and error, how to dampen the onslaught of the emotional broadcasting. A mental valve, slowly twisted, reducing the flow more and more... until the clamor was squeezed into a barely perceptible trickle.
Managing the din, they could now focus on what was going on.
They didn't think to turn the valve back the other way for many, many years.
People considered that they were cold, heartless, cruel and uncaring.
Yes, it certainly seemed that way, but deep inside, the tender, hidden tears loomed.
One day, events conspired to bring to their attention that rarely is someone perceived as cruel given much consideration by those who dispense kindness.
Slowly, it became apparent that not only were they denied kindness, but that there was a sort of lie going on each time they valiantly refused to show pain or dismay.
It no longer seemed noble to suffer silently - providing the illusion of invincible strength by walling off all awareness of what may hurt.
There was a gathering shift in perspective, and they realized they needed to expose their sensitivity in order to be more human, to be more willing to interact with others in their pain and by delving into the morass of discomfort and even agonies shared and exposed, they became far more alive.
They finally began to see what benefits and sacrifices were required for living a full life, and they started tearing down the facade, brick by brick; hoping one day they would become a really valuable, loving and loved human.
It now seems that I’ve spent most of my life trying to show that I didn’t care. Not that I didn’t care, but make it SEEM that I didn’t care. Because I found that when people realized how MUCH I care, I became ineffectual. I was not seen as “strong” or capable. I was just another weak, tender bleeding heart that anyone could crush or disregard at will. I spent decades building a persona that was Tough. Someone who could withstand whatever was thrown at him. Spit on me? pfft. I don’t care. Kick me? So what. I am strong and whatever you think you can do to me will not affect me at all. Why? Because I don’t care. I believed that caring, being considerate, thoughtful created gaps in the armor that cruel people could poke sharp things through and wound. If I just snarl and stand fast regardless of the attempts at being gouged; if I did not ’cave’ when I was wounded then I was showing myself to be un-damage-able. You can’t hurt me.
I am tender and caring. I just have all of this armor that I’ve pulled over my tender spots to try to protect myself. Now I find that the armor has deflected far more than just pain and hurt. It repels most interactions. I am inside this fortress with little to give or take because of the fear of pain. Creating and maintaining this fortress of disregard and ’carelessness’ about all things that might manage to damage me. Pushing help and consideration away from me as hard as I can because that shows that I don’t care - and that - I have assured myself - will protect me.
Now I am protected and disconnected from most people and events.
People who have known (and loved) me realize that I am just pretending to be hard, but most find the effort too taxing to bother with peeling through all of the armor to get to the soft gooey center that is my heart. I was crushed over and over in my youth. This was my solution. There was no balance to it - no consideration for ’what if we need to go out and get water or food or help’ - the fortress was only for protection, not for growth or survival. “You can’t hurt me” became my rallying cry - my motto - my way of life. I’m sure that I’m not alone, but I am more successful at insulating-by-seeming-not-to-care than many people. I suppose that is because most of them woke up and realized being alone and without help or friends is a less than optimal method of living.
The first thing that I do when someone hurts me is figure out a way not to care. Oh, they spoke harsh to me - well, I don’t care - their opinion doesn’t matter to me anyway. Oh - they hit me, well I don’t care - it’s not like it hurt much. On and on it goes, developing stances and methods to avoid showing pain by Not Caring.
There are thousands of times I’ve said “the pain will go away when it stops hurting” - gruffly indicating that I was not going to let pain stop me from doing what I thought HAD to be done. Recently I heard my daughter tell me the same thing - “like you always say, daddy, the pain will go away when it stops hurting, right?” And she trudges on. It is a survival mechanism. But as a way of life I suspect that it bleeds into every part of my being - slowly turning me into this unflinching, unfeeling creature that can stand whatever pain is hurled at them… but at a cost of disconnection and dehumanization.
I have to tear down these Careless Walls and just learn to handle pain and disappointment like everyone else. I don’t expect this process to be without trauma, but I am slowly beginning to fear the insulation more than I fear the potential pain that touching and living can present. I have to find a different kind of strong - one that isn’t just hundreds of sandbags outside the heart-tent. I have to be strong while allowing people to see that I care and that I want good things for all of us.
I do care. And I intend to find ways of having people know that I care, rather than seeking ways to hide the care and consideration that I feel for others.
I begin to see that caring is the only way that we can surpass flaws and issues. Caring is strength. Caring is commitment and exposure.
Caring… is what separates human from animals. Caring (and SHOWING it) is what makes people willing to be with one another.
I have lots of work to do. I’ll need lots of friends to point out the armor I may still have tacked on. I hope to become fully human in the near future.
As ever - I don't claim to be a Master.
I never expect to 'arrive' at mastery of anything.
I have been ... when asked... (occasionally) a Guide. a haven in wilderness. a shelter against howling winds.
I have also failed at this quite often. Sometimes because I think I lack control (of the situation, of the other... and occasionally of myself). Sometimes because I know I lack control. And sometimes because my attention drifted when it should have been focused.
All these things are harmonic disturbances in a tightly wound relationship - and too much harmonic convergence... can bring a sturdy building down.
I think I have been a good guide when I sensed guidance was wanted; I've even been a pretty good guide even when I thought guidance was Needed. It's reading the situation and reacting consistently that allows comfort and trust.
I try to be very consistent in thought and deed.
I'm sure I've failed some times.
I just read an article - they related that it seemed to them that all people live in a deluded state - to insure they are comfortable enough with life... that they are strong and capable of Things That Need Doing. But that most of humanity's brainpan activity ... is wired to offer bolstering inaccuracies at the drop of a fear... or pleasure. We are all living in our own story, we are the writer and the lead character. All else is plot ajuncts and secondary characters. We produce a story that makes sense to us... never mind the poetic license we all take with the neurochemically modified awareness that we all create within.
I do the best I can.
Sometimes it is enough.
Sometimes it aint.
I regret the latter and hope to reduce the frequency of it's occurance.
The further down you go into any rabbit hole,
the more difficult the process of presenting your experience
(to those who haven't been down that hole) will be
In the end, we all travel down separate rabbit holes,
some are just deeper and wider. twistier than others.
trenches are easer to describe than all of the turns
of a shifting tunnel dark in the middle of the unknown
I suppose the more curious of us are cursed with the need to find Out
and those of us who attempt to re-present those explorations
inevitably enjoy the friction that accompanies the transference of information
and at times I do wonder about the futility and ultimate inability
to effectively convey our experiences fully to another
but we all live in our semantic matrix - the linguistic underpinnings that our perceptions are thus labeled within. Words create our describable world - but they are an after-experience - language is not the way we see the world, it is simply the way we attempt to impart that which we have already seen
most of our experiences can only be REpresented in words...
else it's another experience - not being symbolically REpresented!
words; symbolic constructs of our paradigm
and... no matter how often you shatter your paradigm, you still exist in a paradigm
there is no escape from paradigm, other than the cessation of awareness
I don't want to cling to a belief system for comfort
I want to know what the hell is going on
even if it hurts a lot
and if I can't know Truth, or if I can't fathom it when presented,
they wont say that it was because I didn't care
.... I'm sorry, it's beyond My control
layers, levels, slippery semantics and an overarching sense of futility...
that may very well be the scent that follows Me down that final rabbit hole.
but I do not intend to go quietly