 Image By: Sandra Burnsed The old man stares at his phone. Puzzled by the text he received, he wonder’s what happened to the spoken word. He interprets each emojis and acronyms as best he can. Wishing he still had that old decoder ring he got from an old box of Captain Crunch. It’s hard to find a shaded space to read the screen. But texting and messaging are the only ways to keep up with the kids and grandkids. It’s not like they call or visit like he used to back in the day.
Faded glimpses of a life they hadn’t seen line up the shelves of the rundown antique shop. Remembering fondly, the old man sees memories in each wooden bowl and enamel canning pot. But he holds back from telling the kids why each item would be important in the old family home. Still he fears the memories he holds back will simply fade away, when the light in his eyes starts to dim. For comfort he reminds himself that this is now a burden for a newer generation. A generation that never took the time to listen. They are always too busy looking for some shiny new something the old man never imagined. He remembers an old dinette table that stood in his grandma’s kitchen. Where the grown ups would sit around and hold court. It’s where they told stories and tall tales with a thick haze of cigarette smoke hanging over their heads. It’s where a young man would ask for the keys to the car so he could go to the movies and hangout with his friends. Because he was too busy to hang around old people. Back when words to him didn’t matter. It was awkward kisses by the water that mattered. Being afraid of the words, I love you that mattered. Oh times may have changed, but not the words or the memories left unforgotten by you and me.
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 With a warm breeze blowing out of the southeast, I can almost hear the ocean calling me. It looks like a rainbow colored parade dancing in front of me on the clothesline. As I sit under the new foliage forming on the fig bush and the sycamore trees. It’s exceptionally quiet for an early Thursday afternoon. Not much disturbing the sound of the wind but the occasional passing log truck or car.
I’m feeling much better today than I did yesterday. At my visit with my cardiac surgeon, she pulled me off two medications she felt were dragging my energy levels and blood pressure way down. Also she placed a 24-hour heart monitor on my chest as part of a heart study which I’m a part. Sitting here I just pulled it off my chest as I was told, and will be sending it back to her office shortly. It’s a bit of a struggle to survive in these times. Social Security and private business may have given some of us raises. But it don’t feel like much of a raise when you go to the grocery store or pay the electric bill. Everybody’s so busy and anger at each other. Never having enough time for themselves, they take it out on everyone else. But fortunately I seem to have been rewarded with a little time off today. Oh, there’s still chores to do and the care of loved ones for which I’m responsible. But in it’s quite southerly way, the wind is teaching me the patience that I need to be taught.  It’s the first day of spring and the temperature is 29 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. But seeing that this is South Georgia and Easter still a few weeks away, I’m not surprised. That’s just how it works around here. So while I was wearing shorts and t-shirts through most of February. This month I’m back in what we southerners call our winter wear (a hoodie and sweatpants). Along with the usual idiosyncrasies that surround my life, I’m also being bombarded by fear. Fear that in many ways has been tamed, yet fear still haunts me at most unexpected times.
There are moments in each of our lives where we question ourselves. In my life self-doubt and low self-esteem ruled my way of life with an iron fist. Effecting every decision and every dream I ever had. In my personal life, relationships that seemed destined were sunk in an ocean of self-doubt and fear. But life has to be lived and while other relationships were eventually created. Others are not so easily cast aside. So I ask the question, should I just put away the old things and continue on my current path? Or should I take a chance and rediscover old passions by reigniting once shattered dreams? I guess these are questions that stretch far beyond the mere 300 words given here. But that’s how it is when you’ve spent most of your life second guessing yourself. The inherent depression and anxiety that I deal with every day, has burnt everlasting scars into my psyche. So in these unexpected times it’s okay to doubt and it’s okay to fear. In order to overcome the fear, I must first acknowledge the fear and anxiety. Through mindfulness and forgiveness I’m learning that even the most damaged parts of me are worthy of my time and my love. So while I still don’t have an answer for some questions in my life. At least I know I have the tools to sort through the noise and eventually find my joy.  Under the protection of a heavy blanket, I hide from the world once again. The only progress I seem to have made with my clinical depression, is that I now manage to come up with better excuses for it. Other than that, it’s the same weight and overwhelming guilt that I always felt when paralyzed by it. So I lay here in troubled sleep. Finding the only comfort I can, in my total inability to get up and take over the day.
I was told recently that my words were so defeated. That I needed to brighten up my message and stop being such a “downer”. At the moment I laughed at the ignorance that wrote those words. For they obviously missed the point I was trying to make. I believe when writing about myself, I should tell an honest story about my short comings. And that hopefully my story will led someone to an eventual victory. But today isn’t going to be one of those days. So maybe my short sighted commenter was right. Maybe I should use my words to only uplift. Even if those words are nothing more than a belly fill of cotton candy. That at any given moment while you’re enjoying your little carnival ride. It causes you to puke all over yourself and everyone around you. So what do you think? At least I haven’t lost my twisted sense of humor, as my family so delicately puts it. But there is something to be said for hiding under the covers. That for a few moments I can pretend I don’t have to be someone else’s savior. Not even my own. 
How comforting is it to see the clouds part in the nearly spring sky. Even as winter in a last gasp effort tries cast a final shadow. As the sun that reminds me it’s nearly time to awaken from our slumbers. Despite my stubbornness to change I sit here trying my best to learn a new program. After years of depending on the spontaneity of my smartphone, I’m relearning to use the keyboard on my new laptop. Ignoring the pings of hunger and the need to pee, I’m sitting here asking myself more and more about where I want to go and how I want my life to eventually be. Things seemed so clear in the land of darkness. Where my choices were limited by the restrictions placed upon me. But now that there’s blood flowing freely again through my veins, I have to wonder. Should I continue to limit myself even through the whims of spring? Awareness is a gift that quickly can turn into a burden. If not weighed in balance with the present moment. Foresight more so than hindsight creates a fear. A fear that in a previous life started the fire that consumed me so long ago. Questions. So many questions pour through my brain. I suppose I should first question the discomfort I find in my gut. Because I see so many of my peers are creating plans and living their best “lives”, while I “feel” like I’m living in a stagnate pool of mediocrity. I know what my peers would say. I even know what those that don’t really give a shit think. But despite my best efforts to just bide my time, I am still creating, still seeking, and still questioning. All of which are worthy endeavors as the clock slowly marches to whatever possibilities I find before me…eventually.  Got up this morning pretending it was summer. So I put on some shorts and a t-shirt and made myself an iced coffee. It’s a cool and rainy day outside, so I’m sitting up in bed with a throw blanket over my feet staring intently at this screen. The good Baptist next door are looking a little thin today, if judged by the number of cars in the parking lot. Looking out this got me to thinking about my own spiritual journey and about how I went from point A to point B in my life.
After an illness that nearly took my baby brother’s life, my mom went on a kind of spiritual journey. First she started going to a little Baptist church we occasionally attended in the neighborhood. Then she started watching this strange little show on TV called The PTL Club, which later I discovered stood for “The Praise The Lord Club”. Mine you this was at the very beginning of the show before the greed and excess really became apparent. This program eventually took my mom (and us kids) knee deep into the “Pentecostal Movement” of the early to mid-1970’s. Being an awkward impressionable young teen I so wanted to fit in t whatever click I could find. Attending church during my mom’s spiritual journey was mandatory for us kids. But I must admit I enjoyed the lively music and tingling feelings I felt during the worship services. So I hit it off with my fellow tag-a-long kids at the various churches we attended. But as I dove into deeper into the doctrine of the evangelical moment, I was divided by the absolutes it presented. As I have learned most teens in the moment had the same conflicting feelings about “living righteously “ and “living in the world “. So there I was standing in the middle, pretending to be this “warrior of God” around my Christian family. While “living for the devil “ around frankly the same group of kids outside the church. As I grew older the pressures of adulthood grew heavier and heavier leaving me nothing but disillusioned. I ended up divorcing my first wife and running back to the church for comfort. Later on I got married again this time to the preacher’s daughter. But on a dare from God (this is a whole other story) I moved my family away from everyone and most everything we had known. It was here that I grew up becoming the person I am today. I struggled, but I was building a new life for my family. But it wasn’t long before the realities of life; raising four young children and dealing with my wife disabilities. Took a toll on me emotionally and spiritually. Most of my family including my late mom would simply say, come back home to church, but it’s not that simple. When you’ve lived through twenty plus years trying to live up to some ideal planted into your head. You quickly discover you’ll never make it to those ideals. My upbringing would tell me to put it at the feet of Jesus. But son all I can say is, that’s a beautiful sentiment, but what does it really change? Please, please, please let’s not turn this into an argument in theology. I’m long past the tingling I felt so long ago. Silence, awareness, breathing are my sacred prayers now. Listening to that crying child that was bullied. That was told to man up all the while being told he was worthless. It’s the listening and embracing of that soul that brings peace. So I no longer pretend. I no longer try to live up to someone else’s expectations. Now I take my weaknesses, rather mental or physical and use them as strengths. I’ve taught myself to find balance, not absolutes. To stop pretending to be something I’m not and to be who I am.  Well I never really know who my audience is when I’m writing. I doubt any Gen Alpha’s read it, because they’re way too busy with the latest tend. Millennials are either far too busy paying off student debt or raising kids. While Gen XYZ’s are far too busy being cynical a-holes swimming in the delusion that they are somehow superior. I’m part of the in-betweens, with my feet firmly planted between the Bloomers and the Gen Z’ers. Because I remember all too well the euphoria we lived in the early ‘60’s. And the harsh realities of life we faced in the late ‘70’s and early 80’s. But who am I really kidding. When I started putting my work “out there” I had dreams of making an impact. Of writing about the journey I was going through and making a difference. But those dreams were quickly sunk by the fickleness of social media. I’m not a tend or a hashtag, I’m just a man with a gift for gab; that’s simply learned to survive by trial and error. I’m basically nobody to most, yet to a few, I am somebody. So I try and keep that in mind as I publicly bare my soul across the internet. Some worry about my privacy, but honestly there’s nothing about me that an abuser would consider profitable. So sit out here under the growing shade of the sycamore trees and fig bush; not doing much of anything but apparently wasting time. But that’s okay. I keep a check my delusions of grandeur. Realizing that only a few with enough ego and drive make it to the top. I suppose the question should be, does what they have to say really deserve our attention? Consider all your options. Do your damnest to be in the moment. Try not to live outside yourself. Embrace the flaws that are you and fix what needs fixing. Use your talents for good. And for God’s sake, don’t live for the option of others. Only live on the grace given to yourself.  Rather you know it or not, I stay about two stories ahead of myself. Meaning while I’m here writing this, I got at least two other stories in development. I suppose it helps if I ever run out of inspiration or have other pressing things to do. But while I do this, I’m still bothered by what I call an apparent lack of focus. Years before I thought my dissatisfaction with myself, could be cured by “laser focusing” on achieving my goals. Needless to say, it was that very thing that nearly killed me. Now it wasn’t goal setting that was wrong. It was my dependence on those goals to bring me happiness.
I gladly admit that I am a broken man with enough insecurities to fill a room. But through mindfulness and meditation, I’ve placed myself on the journey towards healing. But unfortunately I chose the wrong path to get there. You see I started concentrating on a “5-year-plan”, which pulled my focus away from the true healing I needed. For a while I was making some progress, but as time matched on the stress and fear I always felt continued to build, leaving me in far worse shape than when I started. Since then, I have had to focus almost exclusively on my physical and mental healing. My journey has been well documented in the stories I have written. As the years have worn on, I’d like to feel my story has gotten better. I guess what’s bothering the most now is seeing my peers grow and move on, both spiritually and worldly. Meaning they’ve taken the lessons they have learned and moved on. Yet all the while, I feel like am just sitting here, still listening to the wind and focusing inward. I don’t know, maybe I’m just talking out of my ass. But that drive I once craved in the past, is starting to raise its head again. Making me a little fearful of a future yet unwritten.  University of Missouri Me and the boys just finished putting up a clothes line for their sister’s house. My roll was mostly supervisory, but we got the job done. Right now I’m sitting under the blooming leaves of the fig bush and the old sycamore tree. The rain last night knocked a good chuck of the pollen down. Giving me a chance to come outside and listen to the springtime birds and catch a whiff of some honeysuckles nearby. I just spoke too and texted some of my out of town family. Just catching up and telling them how much I’ll missed them this Easter holiday.
Fights and hard feelings with family and friends often melts away with distance and time. I know that some 30 years ago I made the right decision to leave my only home. On a whim, I moved my family to a place I never heard of on a dare. Through decades of struggle I peeled away at the bullshit that entangled me. It left me weakener, but freer than I have ever been. Now when I look at the people and places from my past, it saddens me. To see others still standing there. Made even more brittle by the effects of time and the inability to change. “But why must things change?”, they ask. Do I have to change for changes sake? The world is constantly evolving. A tree grows, a tree dies, and from that a tiny seed takes it’s place. As the sun and wind both warm and cools my skin. The balance between kindness and indifference dominates me. No longer can I afford the bitterness I once carried. Nor can I bare to carry the weight of another ones sins. We all need peace and sense of being. So why not breathe deeply and listen to what the sight, sound, smells are telling you.  Me and the boys just finished putting up a clothes line for their sister. My roll was mostly supervisory, but we got the job done. Right now I’m sitting outside under the blooming leaves of the fig bush and an old sycamore tree. The rain last night knocked a good chuck of the pollen down. Giving me a chance to come outside and hear the springtime birds and catch a whiff of some sweet honeysuckles nearby. I just spoke or texted some of my out of town family. Just to catch up and tell them how much I missed them as the Easter holiday draws near.
Fights and hard feelings often melt away with distance and time. I know that some 30 years ago I made the right decision to leave the only home I knew. And on a whim, move to a place I never heard of on a dare. Decades of struggle peeled away the bullshit that entangled me. Leaving me weakened, but freer than I have ever been. I look at so many things from my past and it saddens me, to just see it still standing there. Made brittle by the effects of time and the inability to change. But why must things change? Could it simply be the finality of it all? The world evolves. A tree grows, a tree dies and a tiny seed takes it’s place. As my skin is warmed and cooled by the sun and wind. Balance between the kind and the hardened dominate me. No longer can I afford the bitterness I once carried. Nor can I bare to carry the weight of another’s sins. We all need peace and sense of being. So breathe deeply and listen to what the sight, sound, smells are telling you.  The temperature is already in the 70’s on this late February morning. The wind is blowing in from the north which means the scent from the drying laundry is hitting my nose. This warm weather is getting the birds a little frisky. Couples are already prepping their nest while some woodpeckers are doing a little construction of their own. Even though nothing’s really blooming yet, the bumble bees are out exploring and searching for nectar.
As for me, my lazy ass is just killing time. I hate these moments when I just feel paralyzed by the waiting I often have to do. Even the routines of life don’t often fill my creative need to be heard and seen. On IG alone I have well over 4000 posts. Now if that doesn’t scream needy and desperate for attention, nothing does. Still I pen my little words, hoping somewhere my voice is needed. But hey, I’m a realist and I know in this world of instant gratification, I’m but a small drop of regurgitated information. Still I write and I write, and I take my photographs with my cheap little phone. But to what end? Some monetary satisfaction? Hardly. To broaden my likes and followers? Yes, but that’s reduced to just a diehard few. I guess it all boils down to creativity. My friend artist Rod Jones, spends a great deal of time exploring and reflecting on the need for creativity. And while some of his thoughts are way above my pay grade. I understand and I’m often frustrated by the need to create. So as I look around at the desire of the natural world to begin flourishing again. So to I create yet another piece art. For me, if for no one else. |
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May 2023
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