I’m Me

I’ve been looking for myself,

With time alone at the Oregon coast,

With prayer and meditation,

With Tarot and IChing,

And then on my way into town for groceries,

On my Silver Wing Honda Scooter,

It came to me.

I was reeling from the description of someone I love,

Of her torment and terror while abducted for over a year,

Wondering how it is that she could then construct the

Beautiful Angel she has beccome,

With a large heart, a mission in life, a caring spirit

Who gave food and shoes to  the homeless,

Who hospiced people in  transition

And hospiced dogs and cats through the last moments of their life,

And wept when they left this world, and then did it again

While standing up to the power structure, brave and

Invincible.

I knew that much of the reason for the latter was that

She survived the  former with out committing a felony

By becoming Jewish; by becoming a nurse; 

By becoming a human being who realizes that the others

Are human too.

She is the sum of the  experiences of her life.

She is who she is.

And I am too.

I am me.

The same me  that played cowboy with Keith and had a crush on  Jerolyn,

The same me that made it through high school with girlfriends and drama.,

The same me that became a father, a devorced man, a husband and a 

father of adopted children

I am no better nor worse than I have been all my life.

I am  the sum of my experiences, some I chose and some that chose me.

And I’m not done yet, at age 74.

As long as I draw breath, the same  me as always will persevere

And find happiness, the same way I did before.

I am exactly where and who I’m supposed to be and I don’t need anyone who denegrates that or tries to  shame me.

I won’t let them, because

I’m me.

  
Small town boy

Life’s three rules¬†

Upon nearly reaching my 74th name day,

I decided to impart some wisdom: three rules of life I have found.

Rule 1: Don’t give up.

Rule 2: Make wishes 

Rule 3: Have faith.

That may not be in the correct order, actually they’re meant to be done at the same time. I also don’t know which has priority or whether two or three of them work well in conjunction with each other.

These weren’t the rules I grew up with, those usually unwritten rules that catch you after the fact. I think these are the three rules from days gone by:

Rule 1: Clean your plate, or no dessert.

Rule 2: Use your manners.

Rule 3: Get home before dark.

Now I have found broader application to these rules, for instance clean your plate also tells me to finish the job. The carrot here has to do with. Your income.

Manners were so inculcated into me that I can not not say please and thank you.

The last rule implies that home is your refuge.

I think these three rules are lower order training kids kind of rules. The first three I gave you from my wisdom are sustaining rules. These rules wil help you sustain a fulfilled life. These rules are little pep talks.

A third set of three rules comes from the U.S. Government:

Rule 1: Pay your taxes 

Rule 2: Stop complaining.

Rule 3: Be a good patriot.

Like don’t ask/don’t tell, but add on Don’t bother us.

Church is another place for rules:

Rule 1:  Be a believer.

Rule 2: Come to church.

Rule 3: Be generous.

There are many other rules, as you know, at least ten more. But these are unwritten but universally expected, yes?

I’m retired now and I’ve found rules there too, especially as you age;

Rule 1: Take walks

Rule 2; Drink lots of water 

Rule 3: Take naps.

All else is superficial and meaningless to your well being, you can’t grow older, volunteer, or be any kind of human being without these.

Here are rules I’ve learned about being married:

Rule 1;  Be gentle with each other.

Rule 2: Listen

Rule 3: Touch each other often during the day.

Well I’m sure you will think of more. I just wanted to give you three. 

Love, LMc

I have noticed

It occurs to me

that I am on a retreat,

alone

with the dog.
I meditate, pray, sit still, be quiet,

play pool, write, draw, dance, color.

I am not lonely,

I am not bored,
i’m looking forward to

Burning Man,

Enlightenment,

Being open
I’m forgetting things in my

head

heart

body

soul
and sitting quietly

open

alone

like a rock.
I have this beach house.

I have privacy.

I have the beach.

I have me.
Nothing

Nothing in the past

Nothing in the future

Nothing in the present

The Crow

The big black crow caws,caws,caws.

The big black crow sits atop the neighbors roof.

He doesn’t know what a scarecrow is.

He lives by the sea.

He lives inland.

He flies in the air.

He’s my noisy neighbor,

The one you wish to yell, “Quiet!”

But you think too much of him to do it.

Big black crow caws, and caws, and caws.

Sometimes he is a pedestrian;

Other times an aviator;

And sometimes he’s the alarm.

A very good citizen, no unseemly behavior,

A gentleman to the end.

Caw, caw, caw goes the big black crow.

You try sitting on a branch, or a phone line even worse, and cawing.

Caw, caw, caw, is that food I see? Can I get it befor that vehicle gets here?

Is it my turn today to get food for the nestlings?

I am the crow, and all of my feathers are black.

  
Small town boy

Friends

What? I’m trying to be bohemian here,

Friends, what do you think of fiends?

“fiends?”

This is a boring start, do you want,

could you, won’t you pick up the pace a little.

OK

He reached down into his pants and …

STOP!

What? I’m trying to be bohemian here.

Well yes, but shouldn’t it be “seemly,”

Fuck off! bohemian is adverse to seemly.

I’m reaching here.

I grew up in Coleridge, NE

I had to my father just killed himself,

I was 9.

Hey, that’s great; it’s a great start for your work.

I know, but weren’t we discussing friends?

I had a friend in Coleridge in the late 40’s 

that I didn’t meet until 2014.

She lived in the country, but remembers by brothers NAMES.

I lived in the village, but we share memories of the time:

The grocery, the First Congregational church I lived near,

Of the  library opened in the old city hall.

Needless to  say, we’ve become fast friends.

Same age, same memories, same church….

I write for her to read in  chemo, lots of stories,

and one poem.

Now she’s no longer going to chemo

I need to write for her leasure.

“So what’s the finish? the moral? the end?”

Nothing yet, but we are hopeful.

Wait, I could makeone up?

No

Stuck in the sand

Each day I walk out onto the beach

And each day they are still there, stuck in the sand.

There used to be more, maybe two more, but time, tide and those two boys on the beach have taken a few from the circle of posts. 

  
 

But today I headed straight toward them, or what was left (yes, I think two were missing) of them because I had a stick of my own and it wanted to spend some time with them. My ironwood walking stick from Africa (via a Dorry Days booth a few years back.) (It’s Dorry Days this week. I should stop by the booths to find a new find.)

  
I think the one on the right looks like a woman waiting, although today she looks more like death, if she had a sickle. I don’t yet know what or who she is waiting for, maybe a sailor, or a fisherman or maybe waiting for that guy on the other side of the walking stick to speak some great pronouncement.

You see it now, right, the cowelled monk? He has been very mysterious and holy in his vow of silence, always turned toward the sea, waiting for Neptune? Or a sealion coming ashore and turning into a messenger from Atlantis? (I thought Atlantis was on the east coast, but just go with me for a bit.)

But the little guy atop the walking stick is not to be intimidated by these holy Giants, precisely because he does sit atop the walking stick, at eye level with both of them.

Why has he come? Is there word? About what? The threatening earthquake and resulting tsunami (kiss your ass goodbye earthquake and tsunami, 35 foot waves! There are emergency packs near the door if the beach house that we are supposed to grab and run up the hills to the east, which are sand for 5 miles or more, so I’m betting it will be time to go to the beach, watch the ocean disappear as it inhales, bend over and kiss my ass goodbye.)

But that’s another story. Back to the walking stick. ( I fee like Garrison Kealer when he wonders off the path of his story’s plot but eventually finds his way back.)

So they are all sitting there as you can see.

And I’m waiting and fiddling with my iPhone trying to get the best angle for my shot. As soon as I get the photo, the stick is ready to move on and he helps me on the wet sand walk, and then the more difficult dry sand climb, back to the beach house.

What did they do, talk about, communicate?

I haven’t the slightest idea, and the little guy atop the African walking stick from the booth at Dorry days ain’t sayin.

-Small Town Boy

 

My FaceBook Friends

Check out my FaceBook friends: (not in any significant order)

They are lesbians, drunks, recovering drunks and druggies, nurses, teachers, students, family, foreigners, men, women, gay men, pastors, sinners, people who  speak Spanish, cousins, lovers,wives, new friends, old friends, youngsters, oldsters, peers,some grieving, some celebrating, professors, burners, indians, white people, black people, asians, motorscooter buddies, dentists, priests, women priests, gay pastors, school administrators, fat friends, skinny friends, strippers, former military, band members, massage therapists, long time friends, relatives I’ve never met, old college friends, old high  school friends, pseudo daughters, in-laws, former boyfriends and  girlfriends of my children and  my grandchildren, people with  fake names, neighbors, neighbors who are crazy, church friends, volunteer friends, work friends, children of friends, people I’ve forgotten, ex-lovers of  friends, deaf friends, blind friends, special needs friends, rich friends, poor friends, Canadian friends, spouses of friends, faux sons of my ex, motorcycle friends, people who have done great things, people who haven’t, women leaders, ADD, ADHD, schizophrenia, OCD, Anxiety prone, claustrophobic, Dog sitters, and those who are dying.

Where did they all come from?  I love them all. My lifeisricher for each and  every one of them.

Thank you friends

  
-small town boy

Unseemly

1.not seemly; not in keeping with established standards of taste or proper form; unbecoming or indecorous in appearance, speech, conduct, etc.:

an unseemly act; unseemly behavior.

It seems I may have been unseemly.

Some think I should be more in keeping,

With established standards of taste,

Or proper form;

That my behavior is unbecoming

Or indecorous in appearance,

Speech,

Conduct,

Etc.

In my behalf: isn’t that exactly the point?

To get ‘out of the box?’

To move beyond your comfort zone?

To seek new areas of yourself that need to be realized?

I’m exploring here people!

There is nothing wrong with me,

Don’t worry or be concerned (about what?)

One day your self may actualize 

The inner boy meets the outer man.

This has been waiting a long time to show itself and I won’t turn away just because

It might seem to be unseemly, right?

What taboos have you left unanalyzed?

If you wish to be judgemental look to yourself.

That’s what I’m doing.

Our world, the one you and I constructed,

Is too seemly, and often

The seams are invisible

Until you cross one.

So I’m keeping on, learning what I think is unseemly:

Not being in touch with my feelings,

Hiding or lying about myself,

Turning away from someone who needs me,

Not crying in sad movies,

Being danceless,

Saying one thing and doing another,

Lying to myself

Lying to children,

Not giving my stuff away.

When I examined pain so as to better understand those who were hurting,

Was that unseemly?

It would seem not .

  
Small town boy

“As you sow, so shall you reap.” (English proverb)
“The one who does not risk anything does not gain nor lose” (Breton proverb)
“Only the tent pitched by your own hands will stand.” (Arabic proverb)
“Without suffering, there is no learning.” (Croatian proverb)

bohemian: a person, as an artist or writer who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices. An unconventional life.

My path

Walk down my path with me for a while.

It isn’t a straight path right now, but has many forks which I have been investigating.

A friend who put me on this path is in hospice, so pardon me if i’m distracted.

My path was covered with brambles, Himalayan blackberries,

which  had accumulated while I  was being a good person, a good husband, a good lover, a good teacher, a good Christian etc.

My major stressors were to be perfect and to please others. I learned that in  a workshop in the late 70’s, but I think it is still true.

So I have retreated, literally, and am trying to express myself

in written word, in drawings, in poetry, in dance, in costume, in lots of different ways, not all of them within societal norms, not drugs, but nudity.

A big part of this search, and probably much of the reason for it, was the Portland REgional Burn. My eyes were opened. Don’t do  anything drastic for 6 weeks they say. Well its been at least that. Much in the change in my appearance (longer hair, scraggly beard, wearing a sarrong) are in preparation for THE Burning Man, now 43 days away. 

I don’t mean to frighten or worry my family or friends.  I should have done this long ago.

I have recently joined a UCC church that has inspired me to pursue a spiritual path, an intentional path, a path  of enlightenment.

I am also tryhing to clear internal brambles in my body, my heart, my mind, and my soul, so as to be open to life, new experiences, God, and finding myself.

These things shake up those around me. They shake me up too. That’s the point. One does not change without the  shake up. It may be worrysome, stressful, embarassing, etc., but that leads to discovery and change.

I don’t even know if I am brave enough to change or make life changing decisions, but I have people.

My people don’t hesitate to tell me when I’m going down the wrong path or a path that might embarrass or threaten them.  I appreciate that. I appreciate their concern. I appreciate this is how they show their love and support.

But I must lead the effort. I must take a look, try new things, express myself, and change if needed.

Bless me.

  
PS Elizabeth KKubler Ross, On Death and Dying, says that each of us must face death and try to understand it. I agree, but I think the first step is to understand living. I have been given a life and now is a good time to examine what I’m doing with it.

Small Town Boy

Little bird, gull, and rabbit

There was a meeting last night

Or early this morning.

  
Can you see? Can you see?

See the rabbit hopping? Probably a cottontail, 

Though other larger reddish bunnies live nearby too.

  
See the gull walking? Not a sea gull, but a gull.

Probably a Bonaparte’s Gull.

  
But who’s the little guy? I thin the toe prints visible identify it as a bird, don’t you?

But a small bird.

Swallows, sparrows, and chipping sparrow have been seen or heard.

So all this begs the question. Why were they here?

My friend who is grieving her lost lover was here at this exact spot just over a week ago where we held a beach bonfire and tried to contact her.

Maybe these are her messengers? Spirit guides from the beyond?