Shadow
March 16, 2010 at 11:18 pm | Posted in Verses | 4 CommentsThere you stand so quiet
Always in your place
I’ve known you all my life
I’ve never seen your face
You follow me around
With me every day
When I turn to watch you
You merely look away
You’re such a faithful solider
You jump at my command
I reach into my pocket
You sacrifice your hand
As morning becomes midday
It is you I walk upon
You try to hide beneath my feet
Afraid to see the sun
Sometimes I don’t want you
But there you are again
I hate the way you mock me
Still, I like to have a friend
The light of day is waning
Its fading fingers stran to hold the sky.
At this time when I am smallest
You’ve grown to mammoth size
Twilight fades to darkness
Are you shrinking out of sight?
No, I am now the shadow
It is you who owns the night
Thank you sizicate
Feeling Dark
March 14, 2010 at 2:03 am | Posted in Voices | 6 CommentsI’ve been feeling dark lately. Not feeling dark as in brooding or a malicious mood but feeling as in a sensation, an occurrence or inquisitive touch. I’ve come to appreciate the darkness. I’ve learned to embrace the absence of light as an opportunity to experience being without seeing.
The light has so many fans. Songs and poems abound to admire its virtues. Painters and photographers trade on every aspect of its nature. Capturing it, manipulating or directing it, they harness and use its power in creating art. But included with the all the wonders of light is the mandate that one must perceive it at its direction. While light is used for all the wonderful properties it holds, and the colors it releases, it can also be blinding, its brightness obscuring its true source. It can be forced into the eye to the point of torture. While the light can sustain life, the inability to escape the glare from time to time can render a life burnt and sterile.
Sometimes I prefer the dark or the darkness. Much maligned for its lack of brilliance or its ability to hide the demons, I think the darkness has so much to offer if one can apprehend it. What can not be seen can be imagined and therein lies the glory of the darkness. It is a medium for internal reflection for it casts not its own shape. It has no margins so it can hold whatever you put in it. You can make of it what you will. It is a blank canvas, available for your inclinations. The darkness causes feeling. When you walk into a dark evening you are forced to neglect your eye and embrace your other senses. Every texture under foot must be considered, every sound is amplified as you struggle to perceive its meaning and its source. Even the slightest change in temperature becomes stark and obtrusive.
I like to experience the darkness. It brings me closer to who I am to be without an image to carry around. When there is no reflection in the mirror, it holds no power over you nor can it cast a representation towards you. Being freed from that yoke, one can indulge in the reflection of the soul, the heart, the true self. We all look good in the dark.
Grandpa’s Gun
March 9, 2010 at 6:06 pm | Posted in Verses | 8 CommentsOn a wall of my father house
A place so dear to me
I gaze up at old grandpa’s gun,
His hands I still can see
I feel the cold and the winter sun
The bite of frost and fields
I think of all the game it felled
To make his family’s meals
The stories he would tell me
with a blink, a wink or smile
Tales of old and of older men
their deeds out in the wild
The hardships of a life back then
How each shot, a chance enabled
The goal not of a trophy
But furnish for the table
I hearken to a simpler time
A freedom now not known
A connection to ones nature
Of fields and meadows blown
It might be just a relic
Tarnished, worn and old
But for me it is my history
With a value more than gold.
Thank you SuziCate
Gone fishin..
March 5, 2010 at 1:20 am | Posted in Living Out Loud, Voices | 4 Comments
Gone fishin, …a perfect phrase to evoke thoughts of one’s golden years. Actually, that is exactly where I see myself in the future. Fishing. Maybe guiding on our local lake, or off in Alaska or Mexico, chasing the trophy of a lifetime at some prized destination or maybe just sitting on the pier with the grandchildren.
As I see it, fishing is a pretty good analogy for our time here on earth. Much like in life, there are many approaches to and definitions for it, for what it means and for what constitutes success. Regardless of whether we are casting a $500 rod and reel from a $40,000 bass boat or just sitting along the bank of a lazy creek, barely mustering the energy to toss bobber to a tranquil pool, it is all fishing to someone.
As in life, one can plan and prepare, study and stalk, labor and hone one’s skill until every aspect is scripted and on point but the results, or the interpretation of thereof can be so dependant on one’s perception of success or failure. Too often success is measured by the outcome rather than the quality of journey. Too often the results are not a product of our labor but a result of factors beyond out control. The most meticulously planned trip can be overcome by the weather or the waves or just the fact that they are not biting that day while the off hand, unplanned last minute run to the lake can provide a bountiful harvest and boundless enjoyment. The kind of thing that leaves you and others wondering, how can that guy be so lucky when he doesn’t work for it at all and I care so much and don’t catch squat! We all know that guy!
For the novice (or the young) this can be frustrating, when all the time and expenditure of resource can seemly be wasted if the creel is not full at the end of the day. I remember as a kid, going fishing with my grandpa. All I wanted was to catch one, or better yet, catch many that were bigger than he did. Now as a father, I sometimes still can get caught up in the count, but more often I relish in the time spent with my boy, watching him in his pursuit of the big one, or just enjoying the time we are having together- now understanding that it is growing smaller. Too quickly he will be a man. With his own young to care for and teach, he will soon be unable to spare his attention for the old man. Often I catch myself, leaning against the bow of the boat, thanking God for all I have in my children and a good wife and health, blessed health that enables me to ply my vocation and engage in my entertainments. I know that soon, I will have not so much time. I find it already making a speedy escape from me. Like the cyclist that has labored to climb the hill, I now stand at the precipice, peering across the valley and gazing at the vast basin below, knowing that the labor is no longer in attaining the apex but in braking the unrelenting momentum of the descent.
I’ve come to realize that the true good fortune of being over the hill is that the climb is behind you and the trip downhill, while it constantly brings you closer to the end, takes much less energy to maintain. It is however, a bit tricky to maneuver at this speed.
But, between here and there, I still see myself fishing. Casting a line, watching it sink below the surface and hoping, wondering, anticipating that nudge on the other end and what wonders it might hold. While I still pursue the trophy, I have come to appreciate more and more the act itself. I find I am just as fulfilled by the environment as in harvesting its inhabitants. Fishing is good but going fishing is better and hey, I might even catch one now and then. These days I practice catch and release. I hope for the fish to see another day. I pray we both do.
The Middle Child
March 2, 2010 at 1:29 am | Posted in Voices | 11 CommentsLike so many others across our country and the world. I was more than a little interested in the Olympics that ended on Sunday. Although a proud American, there was a little piece of me that was rooting for the Canadians to do well. I like Canada and Canadians. They are a proud bunch and an agreeable people by nature. I look at Canadians as friends, allies and brothers. The US has no better friend in the world than the Canadians.
As I thought about Canada, it occured to me that Canada is like a sister to the US. With that in mind, I could not help but to consider the relationship of the nations of North America and how they are similar to those of a family of siblings.
First Americans, the first born with all the attributes of the eldest, type A personality, overachiever and trend setter. A little aggressive, we were the first out of the nest and see our selves not only as the protector of the younger but also as the trail blazers who are determined to out perform the parents.
Then you have Canada. The typical middle child, they are the peace maker, the negotiator, the calm voice and comely personality. She avoids trouble but will stand with the family when trouble arises and is a true ally in turbulent times. You know you can count on her
Mexico, the baby of the family. The youngest that just can not seem to get herself together and again and again, finds herself in need of being bailed out. Constantly unable or unwilling to stand on her own and consistently requiring attention. Typical of this kid, she moves into our home becaue she has no food in her fridge but insist on waving her flag while lounging in our living room. A great place to party, but you would not want to send grandma to live with her.
Ok, before everyone out there starts hammering me with threatening comments, I will admit to being the baby in my family, and while the above is certainly an exaggeration, there is a morsel or two of truth in it.
The real subject here is the Canadians, those loveable Canadians. God bless the Canadians. While I was cheering and cursing and pulling for an American win in the great hockey game yesterday, I must admit that there was a sense of righteousness in having those Canadians win that game. As a good older sibling, I could not begrudge my sister in a win she wanted so much, and worked so hard for and that was so important to her. You go girl. We love you Canada, you done good!
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