Quotes

The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.

Aldous Huxley

Before I wade more deeply into my subject matter, I wish to thank my son, Aaron, for his blog. In addition to his insightful offerings, he quite often, with literary precision I might add, begins with a quote. His quotes provoke thought before the material is read, as it is read, and especially, upon completion of reading. They punctuate his posts so effectively! So, with his method as my guide, I have adopted this idea. My hat is off to you, Aaron. I am humbly appreciative. Whether or not I am as successful is, and will be, fodder for discussion among those who discuss things of this nature, but I definitely like the approach.

Finding a quote that can effectively contribute to the depth of an offering is either a science, or a gamble, or both. I'm a terrible gambler. I'm one of those guys who can't keep a poker face. I give myself away, and it's usually because I've got stinky cards.

But a good quote is one that when first read, gets one to thinking, and then further spurs cognitive process, from hopefully a different perspective, after the piece is completed. In my searches for appropriate quotes, the search itself has often altered my subject matter, because I'll like a certain quote so much that I feel I need to start with it, which forces me to change everything about that which I was going to write.

There are many really great quotes I've unearthed that will probably never make it to my blog. At least not until I'm really ready to face up to the stuff that I need to face up to, in that they make me a bit uncomfortable. Smack dab in the middle of a search I'll get blindsided by a quote that surgically removes my life and sets it out on the table in front of me. Interesting, too, in that when I find these, that usually throws a major wet blanket on whatever it was that I'd originally set out to write about. So be forewarned; the offering you are reading may or may not be what was planned. Maybe the one that was supposed to be here was ixnayed because I ran headfirst into another eye-opener. But how would you know that unless you were told. And, as it now turns out, you just were!

Anyway, thanks, Aaron. And keep 'em coming. You are the master... and look! I never even got close to broaching the subject I'd planned to concern myself, and maybe you, with. How did that happen! Oh well, stay tuned, if you so choose. I promise I'll stay on task... hyuk.

Attic

The past is an old armchair in the attic, the present an ominous ticking sound, and the future is anybody's guess.

James Thurber

Clutter. That's what comes to mind, right along with the dust and disarray. Stuff no longer thought useful in the daily scheme; not yet ready to be disowned or discarded, but dangerously close to being forgotten unless somehow rediscovered. And as more stuff is piled on top, it is quite plausible that the odds of that happening would seem greatly reduced, unless there has been sown a viable, lasting connection to this object with an event, incident, or, more often, personality, that will spring to mind if and when the right buttons are pushed.

Good stuff. And bad stuff. It all gets saved. And forgotten, too. There is no discrimination. There is just time, and it passes. Sometimes it passes into obscurity. Then, good or bad, it's gone forever.

Portage

When we go to play, you flip around and flash around and everything, and then they're not gonna see nothin' but what their eyes see. Forget about their ears.

Jimi Hendrix

"...standin' here, freezin', inside your golden garden..."

Jimi Hendrix

Maybe it's not so bad, so terribly wrong, to take the long way. It's not always the shortest, or easiest, which flies in the aged, supposedly wise face of the more common sensical approach, but it does have, for me, a certain time-acquired attraction.

Something some one wrote recently set me to thinking. Taken in context it had nothing to do with anything specific save for the subject matter with which it dealt. But this statement separated itself from the rest of the piece, and it found purchase. As can sometimes be the case, especially if the timing is right, well-chosen words connected into phrases will stick with me. They come back, often incessantly, at interesting moments, now so much more than a simple point of reference. I find them applicable to more than for what they were originally intended.

But this is not about that particular series of words assembled into that phrase, nor is it about where it came from or who wrote it. It's as much about where they found me as it is where I intend to go with them. I am amazed again, by how such seemingly pedestrian moments can be so illuminating. Maybe even life-changing.

How really different we all are. How our sets of experience are totally unique. How we see and what we see are all pre-determined by

our unique perspectives long before we think we know ourselves and can somehow begin to alter our 'way' of thinking. And, while this sets us apart from each and everyone else from the time of birth until we die, it's at the same time the only thing we will all ever have in common. Yes, I know, maybe that's all been said over and over again ad nauseum, but it finally rings loud and clear to me.

And the best part of having this common ground, now that I understand,is that it's comfortably small. We live, and then die, each on our own, to our own. In between, we do what it is that we do, sometimes not as well as others would have us do, but, it's really not for 'them' to say.

Let 'them' say what 'they' will. From now on, I will strive to live my life as I perceive it to be lived. I spent too much time seeing through eyes other than my own, and now time is short...

Slide

You say I miss the signs

or do you,

by design?

Go pierce the air

with (well-rehearsed)

indignant scream

gaining steam

on your way

to contrition.

It's a condition

you seek

a position unique

to gain a peek

dependent, of course

on which

way you turn.

Aaron

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Douglas MacArthur

... and I sat for a moment, before beginning my usual non-fishing day routine of coffee and the joke of a morning paper 'they' call the Spokesman-Review...

I thought of Aaron again. It'd been awhile since I'd heard from him. Always so damned busy. Always. Busy to the point that, because of my respect for his space and time, I'd been hesitant to get in touch. If ever there has been anyone I have known in my life who's more crunched for time all the time... well, I have never known anyone quite like that. I don't know how he does all the things he does, and does so well. I really don't. He's amazing; I say that, now, as I have ever since he was just a kid. He's always been amazing. He's my son and I have the right to say that anyway, but, damnit, he really is.

Anyway, right then, I heard my phone buzz. It buzzed with the tone I had assigned to Aaron's text messages, but for a second, I wondered what that sound was, and my reaction reminded me of my dad... looking around in every direction as if totally befuddled by what I was hearing until it came back to me (like the hot kiss at the end of a wet fist) that indeed it was my phone, and by god it was Aaron.

"Mother nature's been good to me..." he wrote. My eyes teared up.

I've always thought it's a blessing that my son enjoys the same type of music I have listened to for eons, and I texted back the following line from the song he'd chosen to send. We sent texts back and forth (he's so much faster at it than I'll ever be) and he told me that he'd been in Irvine and 'they' really wanted him to come work for/with them, and as per usual, he soon had to go...

"I love you", were his last words. "I love you too, Aaron", I returned, fighting back a fresh round of tears. Leaning back in my chair, I one more time counted my blessings.

Aaron, you are always there, always. I cannot possibly put into words how important that is to me. I know your life is upside down most of the time. I know how badly you wish to be done with school and all the crap you have endured for these past few years. Hell, I know how much crap you have had to wade through to even get to where you are. I mean I don't know it all, but I know enough. I know enough to be extremely proud. I know this too, and have known for years, how much I treasure your existence on this earth.

You are one hell of a fine man. And, most importantly, a fine son.

I love you Aaron.

Holidays rhymes with malaise, kind of.

I'm so depressed. Christmas is the worst of all. Holidays are terrible, worse than Sundays. I get melancholia.

David O. Selznick

And so here we go again. Falling helplessly, almost as if in a never-ending nightmare head first, into THE HOLIDAYS.

Even the Christmas Cactus blooms early, thinking, I am sure, that to do so will hasten the passing of the days until this is all blessedly over.

Jester

People like eccentrics. Therefore they will leave me alone, saying that I am a mad clown.

Vaslav Nijinsky

And they will love me through the times,

or forget me in kind...

could the visit be more or less

blind

one of convenience

timed

to coincide

with reference points

in all those lives

I intersect

but never really touch

Yes, I am loved

and pass as such

into moments

left in trust

archived simply

in the dust

a now-faint trail

into a place

where I sought

refuge from

their space.