February 19, 2012: Sea Change

On land, the tuggings of the moons can somewhat safely be ignored my men, and left to the more pliant senses of women and seeds and an occasional warlock.  But at sea even males are victims of the rise and fall, the twice daily surge of the waters they float on, and willy-nilly the planetary rythm stirs them and all the other voyagers.
MFK Fisher


In the days, long past, when crossing an ocean was a true ordeal, perilous, expensive, and seemingly endless, people underwent an existential change.  On those massive ocean liners, powered by steam and the brawn of faceless nameless men, people would eat their steak and potatoes, drink draught beer, smoke lean cigars, talk listlessly to a compartment mate, then drift out onto the deck to try to gauge their location, their speed, their place in the world.  Was it the sea?  The vast unfettered night sky?  The movement of the ship rocking them into a dreamlike trance?  What was it that caused people to drift into a different consciousness?  With all the water around them, and the moon given free reign, no mineral laden lands to block it's magnetic thrust, I like to think that the moon created a neap and ebb tide out of the water in the voyagers' bodies, realigning them with the natural flow of the vast Earth.  In those days, families left their homelands with naught but a few scant coins, a duffel of clothes, and the hunger of memory and hope in their hearts.  The young leaned on the old, the men gathered daily to trade second hand knowledge like a commodity, and the women sang to their babies and convinced themselves that they would make it to a new world, succeed, and see their mothers and fathers again.  At the other end of the deck, artists and tradesmen would read newspapers, drink cognac, and pace impatiently, eager to reach the other side of the sea.  It would take over a week.  A week of drifting, of slowing, a week of staring out at the glint of steel grey sea under charcoal white sky, or the deep purple-blue-green unearthly glow on a hot sun drenched sky.  How the sea must have played tricks on them!  At times they must have looked out over the railing and thought the sea was higher than the boat deck.  Other times sounds and smells must have come to them from across the vast breaks.  With nothing else to occupy them, the sea must have claimed their souls for a time, shifting priorities, slowing down their gait, lifting them and setting them down over and again.

It was a burning hot June day in Athens, Ohio when I experienced a shift in time that I've tried my whole life to realign.  It was the day of my graduation from Ohio University, and I sat impatiently with my friends as the keynote speaker droned on about the ways in which technology would be changing the world.  When it was time, we walked to the stage, received our diplomas, listened as our names were called out, walked to the side of the stage, had our picture taken, and walked out a set of double doors into the stifling heat.  It was as if I was in a dream, or a movie where the protagonist is shown in slow motion - indicating a sudden revelation or realization - when I walked through those heavy doors into the world.  I looked for a familiar face, I looked for my friend who had gone before me, and I waited for my other friends to walk through the same doors, I listened for the applause of family, I looked for anyone to acknowledge the moment... only to find myself completely alone, pacing like a lost soul awaiting perdition.  A few people were scattered around, but their voices came to me as if through water, as if I was suspended halfway between the sea floor and the surface.  I waited in angst for someone to appear, and after a few minutes my sister found me and, smiling, pulled me out of the morass.  It was those few lost minutes I have been chasing for the entirety of my adult life.  That summer, I went to Idaho to work for my Uncle at his State Park, which had for two previous summers been a source of joy and exhilaration for me.  Not so that summer.  I walked around without any pleasure for those three months.  I had no desire to explore the canyon like I used to.  I only sat on an old lawn chair and read endlessly, or lay on my cot listening to music, wondering what I could possibly do to save myself, and I mourned the loss of the life I had known, the ease of it all.

I believe we all suffer from the same angst.  We have all become targets.  Our priorities are dictated to us, our desires are subverted from the original to live well and peacefully into a desire to overcome our brothers and conquer the living world.  We can agree now that we all love the money more than we love God, and at heart we know this is wrong.  All day we say to ourselves that those in power have it wrong, that the world is failing, that they are feeding us lies, and that somebody should do something to change it all. At the same time we've forgotten how to change ourselves.  We've become truly docile, domesticated, and subdued.  We're fed images of suffering around the world and in our own backyards, and at heart we feel we should be doing something to help our fellow children, but we have no ability to change the minds of the despots and oppressors.  So we say it's too late, our paths are set toward the inevitable end.  We have been offered the chance with every waking sun to seize control of our lives and the course of humanity and we have simply let it slip through our fingers because we have been sated by comforts and the idea that we are freer than most, and that's good enough.

But I'm through with that negative thought process.  I've undergone a grand Sea Change.  Like an old soldier coming home across the sea, I'm shaking off the heartbreaks of my youth and looking towards the horizon with a sense of optimism.  One can look at human history and see it as a downward spiral from the garden to the ash pile.  We can trace the arc of history like an arrow shot from the castle towers, and we can see ourselves at the apex, beginning the trend towards a terrific crash.  But I ask, how many times have we gone to the edge, compelled to jump into the abyss, only to pull back and change the forces that push us?  How many Kings, swept into the destructive vacuum of power struggle, have capitulated to the servants in order to preserve the race of men?  How many tyrants have battled against their own people only to realize there would be no future with the path they have chosen?  We have always overcome our destructive tendencies, and when the times are most dire, we have collectively awoken to shake off the dust of apathy, and followed the lighted path of righteousness.  For myself, I have already lived with boredom, with capitulation, and negativity.  I've played the role of the cynic and pessimist.  I can't wake up anymore, look at Anna, and justify being the child I once was.  It would be foolish to think that she would put up with a man whose heart was filled with venom, whose soul was all coal and ash.  I can see how foolish I was not to at least attempt to live.  Happiness is not hard to find, indeed it isn't a place or an object to be found.  It's simply a choice, like everything else in life, it's a decision one has to make to become happy.  For me, to keep learning is a joy.  To try something new is a joy.  To improve myself is a joy.  If we stop learning, if we've decided we have it all figured out, we might as well not lift ourselves out of bed in the morning.  Better to admit to ourselves that we know nothing at all, that the not knowing is the important thing, the best way to live.  Only then can we see the world from a fresh perspective, a hopeful one.  I owe her that much...
Until we meet again...

February 12, 2012: Blessings of the Father

Fathers and sons, histories of men, old knowledge compiled from experience and distilled through time, the thread of memory, I needed more time to learn.  I can feel my father pacing forth in a strange home, see him patting down his arms and his chest in front of a mirror, as if he's trying to remember if he's placed his keys in the breast pocket of his suit coat, when really he is trying to reconcile himself with the image of a man in front of him.  He sees the man in the mirror, knows the man resembles him, wonders how the man is able to mimic his actions so acutely, tries to fool the image by moving his raised arms slowly, unusually, in front of himself, then tries to make the man laugh.  Father, be at peace.  Forget what you have always known now and try to find wonder in the floating dust in the gold sunstreams.  Try to lose the memory of us completely, so that when we arrive you retain measures of comfort from us, unexplainable, unreasoned, but real.  Forget how this time was stolen from yourself and your wife, this time which was to be enjoyed more than every other time, this reward for a life of toil.  You were going to travel.  You would have been able to take longer trips than any you have thus taken, spending eternities on the road, seeing the great Glories of creation, wondering at the monuments time has created out of old soil and clay.  Try not to know how soon you will have grandchildren bringing back those old enthusiasms of childhood wonderment.  Forget how finding a flower in a field is a bit like a miracle to young eyes. 

I could talk to you.  I could sit you down in front of me and tell you of my gratitude, of my heartache, of my dreams... I could pour oaths and pledges and prayers from a litany of knowledge that would not have been realized without thy tenderness, but I know that you are living in a dreamworld where the past is a river stone, smoothed of it's edges and glistening under the slow light of a sleepy stream.  I know that to speak of my plans for the near and far future is to offer up a hopeful sacrifice of sweet smoke to a distant Lord.  In this dream present you must travel alone my old friend and teacher.  You must lead the way into that next land.  But you must try to be kind to us intruders along the way.  You must not be swallowed entirely by the dream.  For us, you must be a little bit stronger than you have been, to give us a bit of comfort along the way.  

If I was to be there in a moment of clarity, I would not speak.  I would only listen for as long as you can hold on.  If there is a moment of respite from this torment, use it to remind me of those times you let me eat the food from your plate, let me leap onto your back, of the times when you gave up your comfort to please a needy boy.  Speak comforts to me, let me know that you will recognize me before you go, tell me to tell your wife that you loved her above all others, even yourself.  This is the Bargain I offer to you.  I will listen if you choose to speak.  

Until we meet again...

February 5, 2012: Seven Months

This weekend Anna looked at me and said, "You know what today is? We're officially seven months away from our wedding day!"  The planning is starting to heat up.  Since I proposed in May, We have found a location, hired a retired Lutheran minister, found a photographer, taken engagement photos, and sent out save the dates.  She found a dress after two trips with her mother last fall.  In the summer, we took two trips to strangers' houses to pick up blue tinted mason jars and burlap runners that she will place lovingly on tables as decoration at the wedding.  The location of our wedding supplies the food, and works pretty much exclusively with one DJ so those things were taken care of rather easily.  We hired a distinguished and paternal looking retired Lutheran minister to do the ceremony.  She has set up a web site complete with photos of us, our wedding party, recommendations for entertainment in Traverse City, and links to hotels.  We have booked a large retreat where we will stay for the weekend along with some members of our family, and she has finally decided on her bridesmaids' dresses.  Recently we've registered for gifts at two different stores, booked room at a brewery/restaurant for a rehearsal dinner (no easy task in Traverse City during Labor Day weekend), and decided on the style for our invitations. She has logged hundreds of hours on the internet, finding wedding idea sites, looking at possible cake combinations, unique planning ideas, possible decoration and dress ideas, and menu options.  She found a honeymoon spot for us in Costa Rica, and we've picked our menus and four exciting activities we will participate in during that week.  Right now she is upstairs, and I assume she is talking on the phone with her mother about the things she registered for this morning.  Her mother and my mother have been active participants in this process, planning wedding showers, and posting ideas on pinterest.  I've had calls from several of my friends just this weekend trying to figure out if we can get together the Friday of that weekend for a boy's night out.  Soon we will be sending out invitations, and we still have to figure out the florist situation, shuttle service, find wedding picture locales, pick a menu, and find a cake.  We have to plan a social gathering for after the rehearsal dinner, and pick out something for me and my groomsmen to wear.  Along with all this is an effort to lose weight.  She has been waking up at 5:30 in the morning to go do an intense workout and we've both been trying to avoid fatty food.  I'm going to have to start testing skin care products to get rid of some splotchy patches on my face.  She has been growing her hair out so that when she styles it she can have more options.  We haven't even thought about what we're going to need to pack.

All this time she's putting in, all those long conversations we've had, the difficult choices we've made, all are leading to a day soaked in emotion. Along with all this planning, we have to consider the smallest details, like  bringing a handkerchief for tears, what kind of paper will we write our vows on, how the preacher's voice will sound as he pronounces us man and wife, how the light will shine as she walks down the aisle with her father.  It's not like planning a vacation where we pick a flight, find a hotel, and pack the proper clothing, we have to also consider the overall picture.  Anna has been working hard on the details so that on the day, we can enjoy each and every little moment without worry.  No matter how many details we work out, though, even if we plan it so minutely that nothing is left to chance, I still think I will be surprised at every turn.  I wish we could slow everything down so I could see every emotion on her face, and relish every smile surrounding us.  I wish that first kiss as man and wife could last forever.  I am worried that we will be barraged by friends and family, trying to talk to us all at once.  I fear that someone will not have a good time and that something will intrude on the magic of it all.  This only happens once in a lifetime and each minute that goes by will be singed with a bit of regret and bitterness, along with the happiness, because I know I don't want it to end.  It seems strange to me how much work goes into just a few hours of dining, dancing, and drinking.  We strive our whole lives to find the person that we will spend the rest of our lives with, we expend so much psychic energy on this one event, and it is over before we even know it.  A wedding should be a series of celebrations, I think.  We should have a week of family dinners, small parties, a grand celebration lasting from sunrise to sunrise, gift giving, games and contests like the old Romans and Greeks, and dancing until we collapse from utter exhaustion.  A wedding should not end until everyone has wandered home in delirium after a week of festivities.  Strangers should wander in and out, offering food, drink, or gifts.  Poems should be read by firelight and songs sung to toast the newly minted couple.  When it is over, everyone should feel like nothing was left out.  No one should walk away wishing they had gotten more time with the couple.  Wisdom should be handed down from everyone who has been through all stages of marriage.  People should wander into a corner of the room and sleep while the hardy ones carry on.  I say let's bring back the Festival of Bacchus, return to the old ways of paying homage to life changes.  We should endeavor to spend more time on these events than we do at work.  That way I could truly appreciate the magnitude of what Anna and I are undertaking.

Of course, Anna would have to do some more planning...

Until we meet again....