A New Awareness

So, My Dear Reader, here we are. The opening pages of a new chapter … in a book that has just closed the preceding chapters. Two thirds of the way through what we can reasonably expect to be our individual contribution to Life’s ongoing story. Mom was the last of the forgoing generation … and I (as the eldest of the next) stand in line for the present in succession to the role of most senior of our family.

There is an uncertainty to this position. Prior to Mom’s passing, last Tuesday (the 4th of January), there was an unrecognized barrier between me and the threshold of mortality. Even after Dad passed, in March of 2006, Mom’s presence kept me in the role of one of ‘the kids.’ That is now gone.

Though I was never before aware of it, I rested in the unacknowledged ‘safety’ of my parents as a natural buffer separating me from the altogether usual and natural happening of my own physical impermanence. The absence of that unconscious buffer has brought an unexpected set of neither unpleasant, nor uncomfortable, feelings and sensations.

Though no one will say it, I am now in the position of the “next in line” to go. My sister, Linda, at two years younger; my brothers, Steven, at eight years, and Tracy, seventeen years my junior, are logically expected to survive me. I am the “lead domino.” [silly grin] And I am aware of a whole new sense about life. I am actually engaged in a rather exhilarating moment. I feel really, really good. How’s that for weird? I know! Me too!

I don’t share this for any meaningful or purposeful reason … just to do as I have always tried to do … remain completely open and vulnerable to you, Dear Friend, for whatever benefit there may be in it for you.

I am working on a several bits of reflection that I will post when I have digested their individual ideas sufficiently to regurgitate them here. [smile]

‘Til then, I send my heart’s truest affection for You, Dear One, and thank you for your kind and generous companionship in my life. I do, truly, love You.

In Our Hands

I ... You ... each and every One of Us

hold, in our hands ...

in the grasp of our will and control,

the Happiness

of our Self ... and every Life

that we touch.

Be gentle.

Please.

One Word

It may be that I am vastly different from others. I really do not know how the putting away of feelings and impressions is accomplished by those around me. But I do know that I have a need to place the stuff of my life in order, with something akin to the systems that we employed in my 5th and 6th grade classroom. Our class was housed in the school library. Each day was begun by the checking in and shelving of the library books returned by the school’s student body.

Hence, we had to know the classification and sequencing system of each book in order to shelve it properly. So it is with my thoughts and feelings. I must identify, with an appropriate ‘label,’ each experienced emotional happening, in order to ‘file it away’ comfortably. So, you can see why those ‘labels’ are important to me.

Thus it is that I have been vexed for a number of years by my inability to affix a word to a couple of significant happenings in my life. I have long-known that the process of thought ... the management of impression, emotion, ideas, and the like ... is made possible by the ‘tools’ of thinking. Namely, words. Without those words … those tools … no processing of ideas, feelings, or emotions, is possible.

This awareness is what motivated me to devote every possible moment to the enriching of my son’s linguistic abilities. I would converse with him about totally inane subjects … matters of meaning and import … concepts of vague or abstract impression … specific linkages and/or sequencing of elements of life ...anything that would enable him to better engage in, his own private and personal, experiences of thinking, and sorting out, his mind and spirit’s workings.

I am pleased that I can rest in my knowledge that his abilities, in those areas, developed far beyond the most optimistic of projections, offered by specialists, in disciplines devoted to the treatment, and development, of persons with disabilities. He excelled over any projections presented in estimations of the long-range effects of his cerebral palsy. So, you see, I have a keen understanding of the import of those critical tools of language.

So a word … just the right word … is vitally important to me. And I never relent in my quest for that particular word … as I seek to define, and better understand, and respond to, my life experiences. That one word … that will enable me to place that experience in its proper place on the shelves of my experiential library.

Now, that’s a hell of a lot to say as a prelude to today’s happening. The light-bulb over the head moment when the perfect word presented itself to me. The word that identified, with absolute exactitude, that look that was in my daughter’s eyes when I last saw her. The word that explained all of the depth of meaning being transmitted by her words, demeanor, and spirit, as she dismissed me from her presence. The word that speaks of the volumes of understanding that was present when I was similarly dismissed from my mother’s presence as I, at age 20, left home. One word that I have not for all of these years, been able to find … that I might be able to affix an understanding that would satisfy (and bring resting comfort to my groping for closure.) At last I have been given the wonderful gift of that specific word … it is 'contempt.'

Now, at long last, I can rest in an understanding of what was being conveyed by those two individuals, in those happenings of five years ago (in the instance of my daughter’s presentation) and over forty years ago (with my mother’s indelible look.) I had not encountered that sensation outside of those two experiences … until last week. It was then that I was revisited with the flash-back recall of all of the feelings and emotions associated with a confrontation with contempt. In that instant, the clock of history was spun back … and I, again, saw that look in my mother’s eyes. I relived all that was still fresh from the archives of my recollection. I, afresh and anew, saw utter contempt in the face of my mother.

But now, unlike the previous time, I can simply, and quietly, label it for what it is … and shelve it … with determination to never check that volume out again.


Oxford English Dictionary

contempt
noun
The feeling that someone or something is worthless or beneath consideration.

Romantic Lunch ... Sidewalk Cafe'

“If you could wave a magic wand toward here, in Ontario, from there, in Florida, and grant my fondest wish … I would wish for a romantic lunch at a sidewalk café … with You.”

These were her words to me over the telephone. We knew each other in only a strict business relationship. We had met in person on the one occasion that brought her, and her husband, to my city on holiday. They had come by my office in response to my offer of hospitality when she told me (in the course of our routine business transactions over the phone) that they would be in our area for their vacation.

I was so smitten with her grace and beauty that I locked an ironclad focus on her husband during the entirety of their visit. I knew that my overwhelming attraction to her would be unavoidably obvious to him if I allowed even the briefest of glances in her direction. The thirty minutes of their stay was excruciating. Upon her return to her post as a contact person between my office and the Head Office of our employing company, no mention was ever made of her visit.

Then, after the passing of several weeks with no reason for contact, I phoned the Head Office, in Ontario, to resolve a technical problem. I did not notice, when I placed the call, that it was the noon-hour, when the majority of staff could be expected to be taking their lunch break. After she answered her phone I apologized for the inconsiderate timing of my call, and offered to call back at a more convenient time. Whereupon she insisted that I stay on the line with the statement “No … please continue with this call. I haven’t any special plans for lunch today.” My response (hoping to demonstrate my appreciation for the generosity of her personal time given) was “If it were in my power, and if I had a magic wand with which to accomplish it, what special ‘lunch-wish’ could I grant you?” Then came her aforementioned reply.

I telephoned her later that afternoon (after scooping the scattered elements of my emotions into some semblance of order) and said “Please know that I live my life with the major part of me sealed in a vacuum. This is how I survive daily life. I must ask that you not toy with the seal on that vacuum, lest you be pulled into something that is far more powerful than anything that you might want to deal with.” This was the first time in my life that I had ever attempted verbalizing something that I was acutely aware of but had no definition for. She then indicated her desire to remove the ‘seal.’

Herein lies the importance of this story for you, Dear Reader. You, I, we all have unexpressed; yet vividly real feelings and convictions lying deep within the core of ourselves. These are far too frequently pushed aside, discounted, ignored, and even rejected outright because we haven't a comfortable or serviceable forum for the healthy consideration and honoring of them. I had not been introduced to the understandings available through “temperament” or “personality styles.” I had yet to be introduced to myself by the words of David Keirsey in his Please Understand Me II;

“Idealists are looking for more than life partners in their mates … they want soul partners, persons with whom they can bond in some special spiritual sense, sharing their complex inner lives and communicating intimately about what most concerns them: their feelings and their causes, their romantic fantasies and their ethical dilemmas, their inner division and their search for wholeness.”

And here I was, for the first time in my life, verbalizing (in the wholly inadequate, yet only terms at my disposal) the most powerful Force at the most central part of me. And I knew that the person who brought this recognition to the surface of my awareness was the single person in my world with whom I could be totally honest and unabashedly candid in the exposure of this aspect of Me. What a moment!


Note: This is an abbreviated excerpt from Chapter 5 of a book in progress.

How Real?

There is always the remote chance that someone reading my thoughts, or engaging me in a bit of a chat, focused on our responsibility to the Moment, will question "How Real" my actual practice of what I profess, might be.

I am sharing today's living demonstration of just such a happening. (Mind you ... I would never offer my personal response as any sort of 'standard' ... only my own individual choice of "Muse satisfaction." [smile])

'Twas upon seeing a very familiar name on a list of fellow graduates from my high School. Good ol' reliable Muse whispered her conspiratorial "Lest she never know!" And I clicked on the "Send Email" icon.

The message speaks for itself ...

Hi [name withheld],

It has taken these many years ... and Life 'nudging' me through Mom's reminding me of the instance (she was always very fond of you,[and knows how much I cared about you]) ... for me to muster the courage to confess what caused me to allow our budding relationship to wither.

Please know that I was totally enchanted with you. And on that night (that you have probably completely forgotten by now) when I was taking you home in our family car, I stopped and told you hurriedly that I had to "check on the strange noise coming from the rear of the car." What I did not then ... and it has taken 'til now to ... have the courage to tell you, was that I had an undiagnosed problem with my bladder. I, in fact, had to frantically get out of the car and hide behind the open trunk, to deal with the fact that my bladder had failed me. Yep! I wet myself. Hence, when I got you home, I could not get out of the car and walk you to the door. My pants were wet. (Believe me, this is still painful to recall.) I was humiliated beyond words.

When I heard later that you Dad forbade you to see me again because of my demonstration of poor manners and disrespect, I was despondent. But it was too much for me to speak of. Even after the doctor diagnosed what he called "spastic colon", and remedied the temporary condition with some pills, I could not overcome my humiliation, and sorrow, to tell you how devastated I was at the loss of whatever our relationship may have held the promise of being (and have revisited that loss with remorse many times since.) I was truly in love with you. There! At long last, I have told you.

I have lived, for a long time, with the guiding life-navigating star of "if it holds the possibility of ever being an 'I wish I had' ... do not let the moment pass without doing or saying whatever holds that potential." If I had not let you know the truth about that miserable night ... it would forever remain an "I wish I had."

I truly hope that this strange and unusual note finds you basking in the fullest of this Christmas Season's joy and happiness. I remain, forever, your admiring Friend and Servant,

John-Michael

There ... now You, Dear Reader, know that I do (even in the most awkward and challenging of circumstance) honor my Spirit's claim on me. As bizarre and odd as this example may seem, (and I know that you cringed [with me] as you read it) I cannot deny Life's claim on me. Responsibility to the demand of the Gift of each moment is what drives me on. And I promise You that it is a joyfully satisfying and fulfilling path to follow.

Just listen ... then trust the result or response to the omniscient power of Life's unfailing Love. It NEVER blunders.

I love You.

Our 4th Visit to an IDEALIST Neighborhood Card Shop

We Idealists are, if you will, the “Neighborhood Card Shop” of life’s market place. We do not offer the “necessities” of life … the lumber or nails … the motor oils … the bread or butter, nor the wine or cheese. We offer, instead, the reminders of the ideals that make all of the essentials worth their pursuit. Meat and potatoes we do not present … but we do offer the bouquet, the candles, the card that expresses the sentiment that You might wish to convey over the fine dinner prepared from the meat and potatoes. We do not provide essential nutrients for the sustenance of the Flesh ... we offer the reminders of the Spirit and Soul, the Emotion and Desire that inspire the Heart as well as the Mind. We provide the ’soundtrack’ that adds dimension to the ’movie’ of life.

There are far fewer "Card Shops" than there are other merchants. There is good reason for their infrequency. Life’s day-to-day requirements have material need for far more of the providers of ‘basics.’ It is also true that The Almighty created a fewer number of us Idealists in life’s mix. (Providing evidence of obvious 'Divine Intention' in this design ... fewer 'spices' are necessary in the 'recipe' of living.)

I know my place. I do not offer myself as your provider of your day-to-day material requisites. But, My Dear Friend, I ask that you grant proper acknowledgment and acceptance of … respect and care for my place in the “shopping district” of your world. I will serve you happily and faithfully.



(Those of you familiar with this blog will recall having seen this message before. I replay it here, once every year or so, to allow new Readers to know me better. I do hope that this little 'window' into my Person serves that purpose well.)




IMAGES [top]Silvia Doberti,
[center] Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com
[lower] Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Lookie Who's Here!

Well, Hi there! ... my Darling Friend. [smile] It has been a little while since I have been able to be here with You. As my Precious Lime has been kind enough to let you know, my computer has gone to whatever place in Torment that is reserved for mechanisms that vex and test the character of those who rely on them.

So, Dear One, I speak with You from a physical Place that is some 30 minutes from my home. I am caring for Henry (one BIG baby of a pit-bull dog), and Billy (one devious, lightening quick, and totally cuddleable cat) at the home that they share with my Dear Friends, Dav and Heather (who are away for a couple of weeks ... in Iceland [Dav's homeland].) They graciously invited me to use their fancy-schmancy computer and to enjoy the tranquility of their lovely home whilst they are away. So here (as pictured) I am ... having my morning coffee and allowing the serenity of the view to do its work. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

If I may, I will be sharing, with You, my journal notes made whilst revisiting the Place of some of my most precious Beginnings ... the words of Joseph Campbell, as recorded by Bill Moyers, in The Power of Myth.

Sunday, 02 Aug 09

You and I ... we all respond to the symphony of Creation ...the undulations of nudging Influences.

Some choose to respond by situating themselves in a comfortable place that affords little jostling or engagement. Perhaps just letting the occasional "tapping" of their "emotional toe" suffices as a means of acknowledging Life's underlying "soundtrack."

Others of us welcome the music of The Intimate, and permit it to be demonstrated through our very Being ... some in ritualized formalities of ordered and structured "ball-room steps" ... elegant and inspiring ... while some lean to the interpretive forms of expression that give free-spirited declaration of their inspirations. And there are (of course) all manner and degree of varieties between and around those extremes.

What is universally unavoidable is ... response. Maybe hardened entrenchment in a marching cadence that unwaveringly dictates each daily decision, direction, and debate. Or, perhaps, some primal and unstructured willingness to follow the lead of The Muse's faint whisperings ... accompanied by the insistent throbbing of a muted "drum." But, in whatever way, and to whatever extreme of perceived "music", each and all of us do make those choices ... we all respond in some way. Life does not permit deafness to its summoning symphony.

Monday, 03 Aug 09

I am, forever, indebted to Joseph Campbell for his redirecting of my Spirit's focus ... from its earlier search for life's meaning ... to its present search for the complete experience of living life.

I never was satisfied with sticking labels of social, religious, or political propriety on containerized pieces of my life. It has always been my desire to know and savour the content and quality of each Moment's experience ... with complete disregard for the labels that those around me would want to affix.

Content ... not Image ... has always been my thirst. When engaging in the presentation of an image, or parading a role, it was always for the purpose of gaining access to that treasured Place of comfort and welcome, that would allow an intimate and meaningful exchange. I discount the playing of a role, and/or presentation of an image, as "dues to be paid" for admission to that sacred place of intimate Being.

The "Why" Behind "The Cost"

Here, I am sharing a bit of a “peek” behind the veil of what You would usually know. It is customary for you to see whatever I post … and nothing of the pre-posting thought or considerations, nor any of the post-posting reflections. After publishing the little thing about “The Cost,” I was having a not-too-frequent moment of questioning. “Why” I asked myself, “do you even go into those ponderous areas of philosophical and oh-so-burdensome topics?” And (as has, so frequently, been the case) my precious Lady Muse delivered (in tangible and real-time form) Life’s answer to my frustrated uncertainties.

I (just a few hours ago) received a phone call from a Friend. She shared with me some updates of inconsequential and usual stuff about her life’s goings on … and then, as if in after-thought, something that rang the bell of my needed reassurance. She told me that she and her eldest son had read the “The Cost” piece … together. Then he and she went fishing … (He [who has no fondness for fishing … let alone the mandatory handling of those wriggling worms used for bait] caught five fish … she [who is an avid (if not maniacal) fisherwoman, caught none. (teehee) But I digress.) … and they, whilst in the leisurely enjoyment of five hours of midnight-to-five AM fishing, had a discussion of what they had read together. In the course of their discussion, she was delightfully reassured of her son’s grasp of his personal sense of responsibility, for seeing to it that he invest, all of himself, in living a life of full satisfaction, and enjoyment … through an awareness, and appreciation, of his innate gifts, and abilities.

This was a huge thing for her. For, in August, this son is to be off, to far-away Oklahoma, to pursue his post-graduate degrees in his chosen field. Knowing that he has such a firm grip on the foundational precepts of a personal responsibility, for a healthy, productive, and happy future, gives her a wonderful sense of comfort and peace.

“There!” my Lady Muse said. “There is your demonstration of Life’s loving wisdom in ,motivating you to share your thoughts and feelings in that piece. You took some of that ‘compost’ of your past … and let Life apply it around that developing young life. Ya done OK, John-Michael! Now lighten up!” And, I am thusly, quite nicely, reassured. Hence, I have had those nagging doubts and hesitations about my seeming propensity for writing about such “heavy” and cumbersome considerations, allayed. And, because I do enjoy making You, Dear reader, privy to all that is the Truth of who I am, and why I am … I am now sharing, with You, this peek into something of the “why” in my doing so.

And, as always, it is my intent to serve you well, as your faithful Friend, and ever-willing Servant.

What Do You Want?

I was , a while ago, asked by a new friend (as she she sought to discover just who I am), "What do you want?" 'Twas a very fair and honorable question. In fact, a question that recommend, to You, Dear Reader, as a comforting and refreshing exercise ... this asking of your Self, "What do I want?" To my Inquisitor, I responded with an Email, containing the little summary, that I now share, with you.

I share it with you, because it occurs to me, that we could have a delightful time, allowing ourselves to get to know ourselves better ... and enjoy, and thereby, ourselves even better ... if we were to candidly examine our first "knee-jerk" reactions, to that very fundamental question.

Because I have found that by listening to someone else, discussing their inner inclinations and appetites, I become easily engaged in reflections of my own ... I submit my bit of a response ... and encourage you to do what I did, that morning. Perhaps, you will feel inclined to make some mental note of, or jot down, your own spirit's reflexive responses, to the question.

Hence, ... what I want is ...

INTIMACY ... in thoughts, ideas, conversation, feelings, and shared activities.

CHILDREN ... Their sounds, curiosity, silliness, struggles, laughter, and hugs. To know their sense of security and comfort in the bosom of my presence and care.

TOUCHING ... Fingertips, arms, face, neck ... freely, often, comfortably, gently, appreciatively, and spontaneously.

KNOWING SMILES ... Private, quiet, random, filled with meaning and fun, lingering and savored.

UNBOUNDED ACCEPTANCE ... All inclusive.

MUTUAL ADORATION

KINDNESS

And as the song goes ... "These are a few of my favorite things."

Life's Tears

I return, today, to a thought shared three years ago, and, again, early last year. For, this afternoon, I sense (after some phone calls, this week, fraught with fears and sorrows) a ready and wanting Soul looking and listening for what lies in this reflection.

“Dad …Why do you always cry? You cry when you are happy and you cry when you are sad. Why?”

I knew that this was one of those rare moments when my concrete-thinking daughter was open to an insight that could have long-lasting consequences in the development of her ability to relate to her feelings. I had best be brief, succinct, and accurate. “Please God” I silently prayed.

“I cry because I allow myself to feel … and tears are an important part of the feeling system. You see, Sweetheart, we were created with our hearts capable of feeling both joy and sadness. But our hearts can’t contain too much of either. So … we have a safety system that keeps our hearts from breaking if we feel too much of either sadness or joy. The extra comes out as tears. They can be happy tears or sad tears. But they both come out so that our hearts don’t have too much of either to hold. Because I permit myself to feel a lot … I have a lot of extra.”

Those with whom I have shared the first part of my emerging book 'Why I Am Here and You Are There', will know that I live my life in response to the leading of “The Master Gardener” as my “still, small” inner voice speaks to my heart. Today I awoke with the recollection of the dialog (with my daughter) that I just shared with you and an acute sense that there is someone, some “plant” in the “Master Gardener’s” care that is in need of the nurturing benefit of this little message of encouragement. In my capacity of “Minister of Manure” I am compelled, by previous commitment to the Master, to spread some of the “compost” of my past experience where preparation has been made and a receptive Heart is readied. So, My Friend, whoever and wherever you are, here is the answer to your petition.

Go ahead … it is OK … allow yourself to feel … to embrace … to experience … to savor life as it is being presented to you at this very moment. Your heart will not break … tears will protect it from the hazard of too much (and the garden all around you will benefit from the watering of the excess of your courageous participation in the adventure at hand.) Live life … all of it … saving it is not an option. Invest YOURSELF in living. And if tears are the result … let All (your children, your family, your friends) know that the tears are from a heart overflowing with the excess of living life.

The (Sometimes Impaired) Tortoise

I am gifted with a slow wit. My mind is blessed with shackles that do not permit dashes to conclusion, understanding, or expression. I am compelled to know such words as “tarry,” as operative terms for my comfortable functioning in life. I simply must linger, dwell, and know quiet moments of uninterrupted consideration … before I can appropriate an understanding of any setting, concept, hypothesis, theory, encounter, or engagement. This is the core operating Truth that governs the Being of One who is created as a “conceptual” thinker. I must form a concept … “see,” “feel,“ and “sense” the “picture” that lies in every element of life … before I can respond, effectively, to a circumstance, opportunity, or situation.

This is something that I have come to peace with in this world of “multi-tasking,” and hurried business, that denies precious time for stillness. I am a “Tortoise” in our world of exaltation of the “Hares.” If only I had understood this unflinching fact much earlier in my life! Instead, I was (most frequently) labeled, “Lazy” by teachers, family, employers, and some friends. For, you see, my “potential” (as exhibited in I/Q tests, and general functionality in my day-to-day tasks), was not being realized. And no one knew what to do with me. Most importantly … I did not know what to do with me.

Then Life visited a supreme Gift upon me. My son. And I became (through my immersion in his struggles with mental retardation) aware of the marvelous reality … that our brains function quite individually … with their own distinct set of “operating systems.” (If you will) And, unfortunately, those operating systems are just as likely, to be flawed, and hampered, in their functioning, as they are to be enhanced. So … not only are we working with unique and individualized “operating systems,” but we have varying degrees of operational efficiencies in each Individual’s brain. Wow! We are not “cookie cutter” replications of a “standard” set of capabilities! Some of us have learning and functioning challenges that are perfectly OK ... just requiring particular tactics and methods to deal with. This was a tremendously liberating insight for me.

Thusly, I became quite adept at recognizing my son’s abilities … and was able to address each aspect of his life … and its inherent sets of requirements … in the light of what he was naturally equipped to “process.” And, the same was (and is) true for me.

So, My Darling Friend, as I look at your lovely ’comments’ on my blog, and realize that I haven’t the capacity (at that moment) to respond to your thoughts (as I so enjoy doing.) I am at peace with my understanding that I must be patient with my Self. I must wait until I can linger, tarry, and be still with my complete focus on You and your message, alone, before speaking to your Presence. Then, when I am at that Place, I thoroughly enjoy the intimacy and special-ness of actually Being … in spirit and truth … with you through our shared exchange. This is a beautifully sacred reality for me … something that I relish and cherish. It is completely unacceptable, to me, to offer Life’s sweet Gift of our encounter, anything less than all (undistracted and undiluted) of who I am.

In light of all of this, I am permitting all of the mechanisms of my Self to deal with my ever-present Companion in life … dear clinical depression (not the "mood modifying 'Thing,' but the chemical 'functionality-limiting' Thing) … with an understanding that at the end of this particular “bout” I will, once again, return to that place that will permit my immersion in thoughts of You. For, you see, ‘Mister D’ saps those conceptualizing abilities … and leaves scant-little with which to focus and consider, all that a response, to You, deserves. I am not "down" ... just unable to focus, conceptualize, and appreciate the dimensions and scope of new thoughts or ideas. So, I thank You, My Darling Friend, for your patience and understanding with this old Tortoise. I will be back to celebrating your posts ... and responding to your comments on mine ... real soon. [smile]

My Life's Theme Song

IDEALIST

▶ noun UTOPIAN, one who forms ideals, visionary, one who lives according to some standard of perfection, fantasist, romantic, dreamer, one who pursues high and noble goals, Don Quixote.

I Differ

There are some things that are (by their nature) a bit difficult to discuss. Topics that cause a little uneasy squirming in mentioning. Orgasm is somewhere near the top of that list. The very word encourages a turning away of the gaze, and nervous shuffling of feet. But I found myself speaking (albeit in a somewhat obtuse manner) about orgasm and foreplay during a prolonged exchange of candor with a dear Friend, just yesterday. So, as is the natural course of things with Yours Truly, my mind continued on with an expanded consideration of the subject, today. And, bless your enduring and tolerant heart, you, My Darling Reader, are now confronted with the outfall of some of those considerations.

I have been, for quite a long time, bothered by, and even, with some regularity, aggravated by our world’s fascination with and propensity toward what we lump together under the heading of “Extreme Sport.” I am vexed by all of the expense that is funneled into … and all of the time, energies, and pre-occupation devoted to .. Bungee-cord jumping, sky-diving, snow-boarding, black-course ski slopes, running of the bulls … well, you catch my drift. I listen, with intense focus, to the interviews of participants as they breathlessly describe the orgasmic satisfaction achieved at the peak of their short-lived experience … and I have yet to be impressed. And, until the light of understanding began to glow in my conscious awareness, yesterday, I really dismissed my lousy attitude as just some individual, and yet-undiscovered, hang-up. But I now know what “the deal” is with me. I yearn for foreplay. Yep! That’s the whole story in a proverbial ‘nutshell.’

I am far more enchanted with and excited by the intercourse between the Performer on stage and their engaged and captivated Audience, than I am with the orgasmic applause at Performance’s conclusion. I savour a day of hand-holding and silly whisperings far more than the immediate and conclusive pinnacle of sexual climax. And no! … you may not dismiss this propensity as the natural consequence of three-score years of living. Nope! I have always known this preference as my own. But, until yesterday’s conversation, and today’s writing, I haven’t had the clarity of understanding or comfort in expression, necessary to express my preference. And, lucky you [smile], you get to be the first to be assailed with my opinion.

I clearly remember my tears and sense of wonderment and appreciation as I watched Red Skelton sharing moments of unstructured and spontaneous silliness with his adoring and readily included Audience. Though I always (including today) shed tears of loving admiration at close of each of Mr. Skelton’s performances … as he humbly and graciously thanked those who had granted him the honour of the time and attention shared … I never (before now) examined the “why” of my reaction. I dismissed it as just another example of my over-the-top predisposition to sensitivity. Today, I have a clearer understanding and appreciation of my values. I would live a life of unending foreplay. I would choose the sprinkling of moments of sweet sighs amidst a mist of consistent touches, kisses, messages, looks, giggles, brief dances, and playful comments … over the occasional happening of the wildly athletic sexual rodeo (though those will always have a welcome place in life’s repertoire.)

So, Dear patient Friend, there you have it. Yet another glimpse into the not-so-orthodox inner workings of your John-Michael. I do gratefully thank you for your generous enduring of my altogether personal openness. I accept that as a rich personal compliment ... and leave you with This.


(Note: If you have no success with the link above, I ask that you do your Self the favour of copying, and pasting ...
http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_PIadFsvDk&feature=related . You will be glad.)

Your Presence

With the melded effects of sleigh bells and Flamenco finger cymbals,
You come, lively and stimulatingly streaming into my consciousness.

And I am awakened to pleasant interests and quiet challenges.

Wanting to let none of the experience flow by unappreciated,
I am torn between the impulse to immerse my Self … or drink it all in.

Both promise satisfactions … and the moment seems to be rushing by.

Neither knowing … nor caring … from whence you come,
Nor to what … of the infinite possibilities … You are hurrying toward.

I am a bit overwhelmed … while reassured … by this wonder that is …
your Presence.


My reflections on a new Friend

John-Michael
24 October 08

IMAGE: Tim Curnow (viewer) BBC News

Responsibility ... Unyielding, and Unavoidable

You see, the hell of it is that I do not want any more responsibility … not of any kind, sort or description. I am weary, tired, spent, and yes … probably lazy. But I want to avoid any entanglement in individual accountability. I am through with campaigning, crusading, and the championing of causes. I want to blissfully cruise through the remainder of my decades here on this mortal globe sipping delightfully cold and refreshing beverages and basking in the company of funny, pleasant, and complimentary companions. This does not seem, to me, to be an outrageous desire. I am not holding out for riches, lavish accoutrements, or decadent comforts. A simple diet of daily pleasantries and niceties will do just fine (thank you.)

But alas… life is not served up in accordance with my stipulated selections, on my individualized copy, of an imagined ‘room-service menu’ for living. And on 20 December, of 2006, I was confronted with the nasty little reality of personal responsibility, yet again. There I was … ensconced in the Intensive Care section of a local hospital … feeling myself to be very much the weak, wounded, and greatly in need of nurturing and care, Victim of physical mishap. When, at the unearthly hour of midnight, as I was having my “vitals” measured yet again … there appeared before me the figure of some strange Being who looked upon me as one would upon a stray dog wandered into One’s back-yard, uninvited and unwelcome. No introduction was offered … no overture toward civility or gentility … just a demand to see “the wound.”

I surmised that this person must be the surgeon that I had been fore-warned of (by the physician admitting me to the hospital), by surveying his attire and comportment. He was clothed in surgical garb, head to toe (including the shoe-coverings, at the floor end, all the way to the hair-covering, surgical cap.) And he presented himself with the dictatorial finesse of something between John Wayne and George Patton (with just enough Donald Trump to trigger near-nausea.) “You must have immediate and aggressive surgery to stem the spread of that infection and you must have it as soon as possible.” was his proclaimed summation of my state. “But you have no idea of the progress that the antibiotics have already made, against the infection, since just yesterday” I offered. “Makes no difference,” he declared “you have no idea what can become of something like that if we do not go after it with aggressive and thorough surgery (then he went into graphic descriptions that I will spare you here … all with an attitude that bespoke a desire to intimidate, overwhelm, and make me as subservient as possible as quickly as possible.)

Well! … (as those of you, who know me well, know, all too well) intimidation, overwhelming, and/or rendering subservient, have never been tactics that have met with any measure of appreciable success, with me. And the combined experiences visited upon me by the United States Marine Corps; a legion of doctors vying for control over my son’s life over the 30+ years that we managed his cerebral palsy treatments, care, and therapies; plus the untold vagaries and abuses of dealing with and surviving the corporate world; have tempered the fabric of my Being, far beyond any possibility of malleability, by the performance staged by this individual. So I told him “No!” (a word that he was obviously not accustomed to hearing.)

My point here is to let you, My Dear Reader, know that I was (prior to that moment) very much in the mental/spiritual mode of “Woe is me … I am not well … I am wounded ... Please care for and nurture me back to health … Take from me all responsibility and rock me in the cradle of blissful dependency.” The visitation of the aforementioned individual snapped me back into the reality of life’s continuum of individual accountability … Damn!

What followed was five hours of lying awake in the solitude of that hospital room reflecting on a range of considerations including (but not limited to) my Dad’s death in March of 2006, from the very same kind of infection that had its hold on me (and how that outcome may have differed had he been able to act on his own behalf)… the total aloneness that was mine in that moment in my life (with recall of many other such moments from youth, to then, when isolated solitude was my awareness) … the blessing and wonder of loving friends and family that I have as my most treasured resource … and other stuff … all of which concluded (at 5 AM) with my determined resolve to kick butt, and take renewed charge of my life, straightway.

I write this bit of insight so that you may see that I too have those “moments” that you may feel are yours alone to struggle with. I want you, in the stillness of this moment, to know that we … you and I … are in this “life thing” together … along with all of our accompanying accumulations of doubts, fears, wearinesses, discouragements, and confusions. And we can have a giggle and a sigh of understood unity as we make this shared moment one of mutual acceptance and understanding. For this, My Dear One, is why we are brought together in our pilgrimages … to make the journey more enjoyable, entertaining, and pleasant for each other. To that end, I remain, as always, Your faithful Friend and constant Servant,

What I Desire

I have been asked what it is that I desire. This is not a new question. I gave the matter some consideration early in 2007. And, having reviewed my response, at that time, I find that nothing in my core desires has changed. Thus, I respond to the current inquiry, as I also share with You, My Dear Reader, what I would have “That Special Someone” in my life, know.



It is my desire …

To read poetry to You and watch your eyelids float to your cheeks in serene rest;

To listen to your breath and sense your peaceful comfort in my presence;

To awaken You with kisses lingering at every line, curve, shadow, and highlight of You from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head;

To greet each new day with the awareness that it is to be another together … You and I;

To listen to my spirit, in a moment of solitude, as it communes with your spirit … wherever You are;

To walk through Life’s gallery applauding, celebrating, and reveling in the beauty of all of Creation … knowing that Life’s Masterwork is forever in the chamber of my Heart;

To look heavenward and say, oft and joyously, “Thank You!”… at the thought of You;

For You to know, in every fibre of your existence, that in our Now and in our Forever ... we are One in eternal intimacy.

This is what I desire.

IMAGEs through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

First-Aid Kit

Knowing our innate predispositions, and understanding our natural drives, perspectives, and inclinations, does not … in any way … immunize me against the effects of those characteristics. Oh No! All of the bruises and wounds that my individual nature is naturally susceptible to, I am readily vulnerable to. My preparedness (by virtue of my understanding of our natural temperaments), for our behaviours, neither shields me from, nor inoculates me against, those words and actions that flow from your Nature … and run contrary to mine.

So what good then, all of my knowledge and understanding (would be the expected question) does this awareness serve? Simply that, as I choose to see beyond the complex of our individual sets of fundamental differences … in order to permit Love to flourish between our eternal Spirits … I can prepare myself for those inevitable incidents of wounding and hurt. As I am aware of our disparate Personality traits … I can ready my triage of remedies to heal my anticipated injuries. This … and this alone … is the long-term benefit of knowing our Temperament/Personality types. That I may have my ’first-aid kit’ always in readiness for those instances when you unconsciously, and quite naturally, allow those traits that are quite understandable and normal … to flow freely. And I experience all … that is the natural conflict between your perspectives, and mine … that clashes in (what I feel as) an injurious collision, of malice-free disharmony.

I have learned that my feelings will, rarely, be hurt. I am fairly adept at navigating a course of conflict-free sailing. But when we run afoul of each other … and hurt occurs … too frequently, or is abusive … or if malice is, indeed, the root … I can withdraw from the Source of the clash. But I can NEVER change the natural temperament of any other person. I can only enjoy whatever span of moments we share ‘sailing the seas,’ of harmonious acceptance, together … in the bliss of mutual respect and compromise of desires … and relish that Gift, as the Gift of that moment … only. If that moment should meld into a span of moments flowing into days, years, and more … all the better! But I understand that I must, as a precaution against devastating surprise … keep my little set of understanding Awareness … my ’first-aid kit’ … available.

(Yes! … I was just reminded of this!)

It Is ... I Am

I do not propose that it is right. I do not suggest that any other than myself agree, or (heaven forbid) join me in practice. I am not sure that I can even agree with myself. For I have been debating the topic for many years with no satisfactory resolution. It always returns to the statement that brought the question to light. The moment in which I had that “Aha!” experience. The speaker had no intention of enlightenment. She was not, in the least, interested in endowing me with any clarity of understanding. She was simply voicing a complaint. Lodging a a strong dissatisfaction. But what was revealed spawned my compulsion to apologize to my former wife, my daughter, my mother, and my siblings (all on different occasions, and in scattered settings.)

The crystallizing comment was in an exchange that went something like, “You treat me with consideration, respect, and generosity at all times and in all circumstances. Whether in public, or in our most intimate of moments.” To which I replied (in a somewhat bewildered state), “And this is what you are complaining about?” And she said, “Yes! Because you do the very same for complete strangers.”

And, for the first time in fifty years (my age at the time of this particular exchange between myself, and the last woman with whom I have had any sort of relationship), I understood the nature of what has been a point of contention between myself and the world in which I live. Everyone wants to possess an exclusive ‘franchise’ on some element or elements of my Being. And I have never held that I own my Self. I have always had the deepest core conviction that I belong to a world that I am placed in for reasons and purposes that are not my own to determine or capitalize on. Hence I have no right to grant ‘franchises’ to anyone else for what I do not own. Namely … Me.

So, this woman who faced, me with her statement of frustrated displeasure, was telling me that she could not find satisfaction in, nor did she feel any degree of ‘special-ness’ in, my consideration of her pleasure, her comfort, her preference, ahead of my own. For she saw me grant the same to complete strangers who had offered none of the considerations that she had presented to me. So, she naturally surmised, what value was there in her offerings when all that she received in return was just what a passing stranger was granted (with obvious physical intimacies excluded.) She was not (in ‘a word’) “special,” in her estimation.

And this is what my siblings had been trying to express for all of those years. They resented my being the “Mister Popular” in school … the wonderful One who they each had to endure comparisons to as they followed me through all of the same schools … whilst (in their eyes … which is fair and reasonable … for this is how we all perceive our personal worlds) I thought myself “too good” for them when I returned home each day. They had no more understanding than I did, that I was a severe introvert who laboured under the impediment of chronic chemical depression. Neither they nor I knew that my withdrawal into my shell of playing the Blues on my cornet … alone and isolated … was my inner Self trying to find relief from exhaustion and weariness after a day of giving away all of Me to a world that was starved for someone to listen and care.

My family, then, and into my future relationships with spouse and children, just saw what was evident on the surface. What was evidenced in that statement by that one Person who summarized it all in her declaration that she did not feel special. That she received what everyone else received of Me. Hence, when I experienced my ‘enlightenment,’ I went to them all, and apologized for what they struggled with due to my lack of previous awareness and understanding.

I do not write of these things for any purpose other than to see it all in print … and garner some better acceptance of Me for my Self. I ask for no suggestion, nor validation. For none is necessary. I is who I is. And at sixty-two years of habituating Me … I have not even the most remote inclination to Be other than who I am. But it does make it easier to be that “Me” when I can see this written down. When I can acknowledge what has churned around inside for all of these decades and scores of years. It makes it clearer, to my understanding, why I am without a “Significant Other” in my life. For, when I consider all that I have presented here, it is clear that it would take quite a rare and unusual Individual to enjoy and rest comfortably in her “special-ness” without jealousies and insecurities born of my generosity of Self with the world. And, quite honestly, I have no expectation of ever discovering anyone secure enough in her Self, and intuitively insightful enough to know her ’franchise’ to that part of Me that is not available to my world. And I am, for the most part, comfortable with that.

So, there you go. There you have a totally Self-centered and Self-focused bit of insight into who this John-Michael creature is. I could have just filed it away for my own reflection … but you now know that why I can’t be comfortable with that. For, once again, I am compelled, by Life, to put it out there for whomever Life directs to it … for their benefit or use. That is, as it has always been, why I am. This is what I inhale and exhale for. To make available to You (if you are that One for whom this bit of introspection is for) some encouragement … some understanding … some small glimmer of insight, that will let You know that Life is listening to your pleas for sustenance and support. That is, as it always has been in my personal journey, why I am on this lovely little orb. To, indeed, Be your faithful Friend, and constantly willing Servant. For YOU are, indeed, special … to Life.

Imprisoned

The presence of that key, in your hand,

Is no evidence of Freedom.


For, there is no more cruel a Jailer,

Than Choice.

John-Michael
12 June 2008

No Alarm

This is a "WEIRDED OUT" announcement. For the first time in at least twenty years ... I have turned all alarm clocks OFF. I can't begin to describe the totally weird feeling that is now mine. This is beyond strange.





WOW!

Trying to tell myself that I will NOT be rising at 3AM is almost unnerving. This is going to be VERY INTERESTING!