You want me to write something now?! Yeah. Like that's happening.
But I did want let you know that after much deliberation, I have decided that a criminal would not be purely Chessed as I previously stated/thought, rather there are other emotional factors mixed in. Mind you, Chessed is still a major player.
Please stay tuned. This thought is not yet finished...
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Emotions, Third installment
Gettin’ the drift? Feelin’ the breeze? Ridin’ the wave? Whatever man.
Netzach is expansion in relation to others. In other words: once he recognizes that there actually is another, as opposed to Chessed, to whom everyone is but an extension of himself. Being that Netzach recognizes another, yet still tries to expand, that expansion is inevitably at the expense of the other. The basic example for this would be competition. The player recognizes the opponent, and tries to win, but at his expense (the loser doesn’t win. doh). A good Netzach will succeed phenomenally. He will be highly respected, but not necessarily loved.
Quite the opposite is the Hod. He reduces (contracts) himself in a social environment. That means he has more room in his heart for you than for himself. He is kind, soft-spoken quiet, and listens well. Everyone loves him. But here’s something to chew over: without a good dose of Chessed, Hod will have a hard time loving back.
So that pretty much covers the rights and lefts of emotions. On with the program.
Netzach is expansion in relation to others. In other words: once he recognizes that there actually is another, as opposed to Chessed, to whom everyone is but an extension of himself. Being that Netzach recognizes another, yet still tries to expand, that expansion is inevitably at the expense of the other. The basic example for this would be competition. The player recognizes the opponent, and tries to win, but at his expense (the loser doesn’t win. doh). A good Netzach will succeed phenomenally. He will be highly respected, but not necessarily loved.
Quite the opposite is the Hod. He reduces (contracts) himself in a social environment. That means he has more room in his heart for you than for himself. He is kind, soft-spoken quiet, and listens well. Everyone loves him. But here’s something to chew over: without a good dose of Chessed, Hod will have a hard time loving back.
So that pretty much covers the rights and lefts of emotions. On with the program.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Society
Did you know that Judaism doesn’t place any restrictions on children? Don’t you think that’s phenomenal?
In our society, you must be 18 or older to do certain things. Is it morally correct for an 18 year old to do them, but not morally correct for a 12 year old? How can something be right just because you’re older? The reason there’s this age thing, then, is because a younger person, due to his age, “cannot make proper choices”. But an adult, due to his age, can make improper choices?!
Why can’t a child smoke? Why can’t a child drink? Is it unhealthy only if you’re under the age of 18 or 21? Or is it because adults are allowed to make improper choices, but children are unable make proper choices? Explain that one to me.
In Judaism it’s perfectly opposite. Whereas an adult is not allowed to make improper choices, such as violate the written law, a child is. And even when there are restrictions placed upon children, it's solely for educational purposes. In other words, a child is prohibited to do only the things prohibited to an adult too. Phenomenal, eh?
Know it, love it.
In our society, you must be 18 or older to do certain things. Is it morally correct for an 18 year old to do them, but not morally correct for a 12 year old? How can something be right just because you’re older? The reason there’s this age thing, then, is because a younger person, due to his age, “cannot make proper choices”. But an adult, due to his age, can make improper choices?!
Why can’t a child smoke? Why can’t a child drink? Is it unhealthy only if you’re under the age of 18 or 21? Or is it because adults are allowed to make improper choices, but children are unable make proper choices? Explain that one to me.
In Judaism it’s perfectly opposite. Whereas an adult is not allowed to make improper choices, such as violate the written law, a child is. And even when there are restrictions placed upon children, it's solely for educational purposes. In other words, a child is prohibited to do only the things prohibited to an adult too. Phenomenal, eh?
Know it, love it.
Pickle
Did you realize that I didn’t include “good and bad” in my list of opposites a while back? Do you have any idea why? I didn’t know exactly why either. Until now*.
You see, good and bad cannot be characterized in terms of right and left. It just doesn’t work. You see, bad really has nothing to do with anything besides itself. Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, deemed it proper to command that certain actions should not be done, and that when a person does such an action, that will be called “bad”.
Bad is in the realm of doing. Doing is in the realm of choice. You can ask if doing is right or left. You can ask if choice is right or left. But you can’t ask if bad is right or left. The definition of bad is: a certain action based on a conscious decision. Is that right or left? It depends what the action is! It depends what the decision was! And even then: it's the nature of the action or decision which can be categorized, not the "badness" of it.
Take the action of killing, for example. Killing is not bad unless it's done to another human being. Then it's bad. But it's the exact same action whether it's killing an animal for food, or killing a man out of revenge. The action is the same. And we could categorize the action if we were knowledgable enough. But just because you added the word "bad" to it due to a circumstantial change (person as opposed to animal), that doesn't alter the nature of the action. The action is what's being characterized, not the badness of it. Hey! I just said that at the end of the previous paragraph.
Don’t you see? Bad is not based in any type of color or flavor. It is dry as a wrung out pickle. It’s as hypothetical as your dog scratching it’s ear (if you don’t own a dog (or if the dog you own doesn’t have ears)). It is nothing until it happens. And even then it’s nothing. Just plain bad.
I can’t explain myself any more than I already haven’t. So long.
*edit: work in progress.
You see, good and bad cannot be characterized in terms of right and left. It just doesn’t work. You see, bad really has nothing to do with anything besides itself. Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, deemed it proper to command that certain actions should not be done, and that when a person does such an action, that will be called “bad”.
Bad is in the realm of doing. Doing is in the realm of choice. You can ask if doing is right or left. You can ask if choice is right or left. But you can’t ask if bad is right or left. The definition of bad is: a certain action based on a conscious decision. Is that right or left? It depends what the action is! It depends what the decision was! And even then: it's the nature of the action or decision which can be categorized, not the "badness" of it.
Take the action of killing, for example. Killing is not bad unless it's done to another human being. Then it's bad. But it's the exact same action whether it's killing an animal for food, or killing a man out of revenge. The action is the same. And we could categorize the action if we were knowledgable enough. But just because you added the word "bad" to it due to a circumstantial change (person as opposed to animal), that doesn't alter the nature of the action. The action is what's being characterized, not the badness of it. Hey! I just said that at the end of the previous paragraph.
Don’t you see? Bad is not based in any type of color or flavor. It is dry as a wrung out pickle. It’s as hypothetical as your dog scratching it’s ear (if you don’t own a dog (or if the dog you own doesn’t have ears)). It is nothing until it happens. And even then it’s nothing. Just plain bad.
I can’t explain myself any more than I already haven’t. So long.
*edit: work in progress.
Emotions, Part 2
So you can see that things aren’t always as they seem. A Chessed may be very gracious, but did you notice he’s not considerate? A Chessed would make for a great friend, but he’s not very friendly. Basically, what I’m trying to say is I wasn’t in an explaining-things-mode yesterday.
But back to the issue at hand: Chessed is on the right because it is expanding my world. I go over to you and shake your hand. You were just added to my contact list. My contact list is my world. The bigger it is, the bigger my world is. So I shook your hand. Now I pull out a ten dollar bill and hand it to you. Not only are you on my list, but your family is on my list. Your mortgage is my mortgage, and so on. Your world is my world. On to the next person. I shake your hand and smile. You have just been added to my ever-growing world. Chessed. The personal emotion of expansion.
Gevurah is precisely the opposite. It is on the left for it’s contraction. It puts up barriers between my world and yours. And the barriers form a territory as small as I can handle without going insane. I want only the things I need. And even then, they should be in order. I don’t want a big, messy, world. I’m organized, clean, and neat. I’m just trying to make my own little space feel perfect. After that’s done, maybe I’ll be available for your community projects. Gevurah is the personal emotion of contraction.
But back to the issue at hand: Chessed is on the right because it is expanding my world. I go over to you and shake your hand. You were just added to my contact list. My contact list is my world. The bigger it is, the bigger my world is. So I shook your hand. Now I pull out a ten dollar bill and hand it to you. Not only are you on my list, but your family is on my list. Your mortgage is my mortgage, and so on. Your world is my world. On to the next person. I shake your hand and smile. You have just been added to my ever-growing world. Chessed. The personal emotion of expansion.
Gevurah is precisely the opposite. It is on the left for it’s contraction. It puts up barriers between my world and yours. And the barriers form a territory as small as I can handle without going insane. I want only the things I need. And even then, they should be in order. I don’t want a big, messy, world. I’m organized, clean, and neat. I’m just trying to make my own little space feel perfect. After that’s done, maybe I’ll be available for your community projects. Gevurah is the personal emotion of contraction.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Emotions, Part 1
Don’t read this post.
Now let’s tackle the emotional qualities:
There are two types of emotional qualities:
1) Personal/Emotional -how one feels regardless of social interactivity
2) Reactive/Functional -how one feels in reaction to or in relation with social interactivity
On the Personal/Emotional level, there are:
Chessed- commonly translated as ‘kindness’ or ‘attraction’ on the right, and
Gevurah- commonly translated as ‘severity’ or ‘rejection’ on the left.
And on the Reactive/Functional level, we have:
Netzach- commonly translated as ‘victory’ or ‘competitive’ on the right, with
Hod- commonly translated as ‘submissive’ or ‘devoted’ on the left.
Example: A person who gives tzedakah out of the kindness of his heart is acting upon a personal emotion, Chessed. One who lays a kind hand on the shoulder of his friend and comforts him is acting upon a reactive (socially interactive) emotion, Hod.
Or: Someone who secludes himself for a period of time and meditates is acting upon a personal emotion, Gevurah. One who creates division/seclusion by maintaining an elite-ness about himself as opposed to others, is acting upon an interactive or functional emotion, Netzach.
Break for coffee.
Now let’s tackle the emotional qualities:
There are two types of emotional qualities:
1) Personal/Emotional -how one feels regardless of social interactivity
2) Reactive/Functional -how one feels in reaction to or in relation with social interactivity
On the Personal/Emotional level, there are:
Chessed- commonly translated as ‘kindness’ or ‘attraction’ on the right, and
Gevurah- commonly translated as ‘severity’ or ‘rejection’ on the left.
And on the Reactive/Functional level, we have:
Netzach- commonly translated as ‘victory’ or ‘competitive’ on the right, with
Hod- commonly translated as ‘submissive’ or ‘devoted’ on the left.
Example: A person who gives tzedakah out of the kindness of his heart is acting upon a personal emotion, Chessed. One who lays a kind hand on the shoulder of his friend and comforts him is acting upon a reactive (socially interactive) emotion, Hod.
Or: Someone who secludes himself for a period of time and meditates is acting upon a personal emotion, Gevurah. One who creates division/seclusion by maintaining an elite-ness about himself as opposed to others, is acting upon an interactive or functional emotion, Netzach.
Break for coffee.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Hors d'oeuvres
The universe was created a combination of two things: right and left. Everything you can think of, falls relative to these opposites; either it’s on the right side, or the left side (or the middle, I guess).
For example, let’s look at Creation: Day One is right. Day Two is left.
Or we can regress a step to before Creation and examine the elements: G-d would be right, and absence of G-d (our perception of existence) would be left.
And what is the nature of right and left? When it comes down to it, the two elements the universe is made of are Expansion (right) and Contraction (left).
On the first day G-d created light. Light expands one’s vision, expands one’s perception of the world around him; right. On the second day, there was division. As a rule, division always contracts the divided. It sets boundaries for each; left.
G-d represents expansion. In fact, if anyone were to exist singularly, it would be expansion; right. Absence of G-d, and consequently existence, contracts that singularity; left.
Everthing around us either expands or contracts.
Categorize: Day and Night. Male and Female. Inside and Outside. Fire and Water. Square and Circle.
Answer this question: Why do people refer to boats or ships in the feminine?
Or answer this question: How many T's are in this entry?
Or don't.
For example, let’s look at Creation: Day One is right. Day Two is left.
Or we can regress a step to before Creation and examine the elements: G-d would be right, and absence of G-d (our perception of existence) would be left.
And what is the nature of right and left? When it comes down to it, the two elements the universe is made of are Expansion (right) and Contraction (left).
On the first day G-d created light. Light expands one’s vision, expands one’s perception of the world around him; right. On the second day, there was division. As a rule, division always contracts the divided. It sets boundaries for each; left.
G-d represents expansion. In fact, if anyone were to exist singularly, it would be expansion; right. Absence of G-d, and consequently existence, contracts that singularity; left.
Everthing around us either expands or contracts.
Categorize: Day and Night. Male and Female. Inside and Outside. Fire and Water. Square and Circle.
Answer this question: Why do people refer to boats or ships in the feminine?
Or answer this question: How many T's are in this entry?
Or don't.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Food for Thought
If personalities could be divided into categories according to the 7 Kabbalistic emotional qualities, criminals would probably be Chessed.
Eat that.
Eat that.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Four Types
There are four types of people.
The ignorant says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
The pious says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is yours.”
The wicked says “what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.”
Then there are those who know how to count.
The wicked is wicked because he is a robber.
But the ignorant should also be a robber. One may not take another’s possession even with intention to replace it.
And the pious should be poor. Or foolish. We are not supposed to give away more than one fifth of our assets to others (barring certain situations probably not applicable to the pious).
Allow me to conclude therefore, that we are not discussing physical belongings. We are discussing the moral status of a favor.
The ground zero of favors is “what’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours.” If I did you a favor, it’s yours. Keep it. It is my gift to you. Don’t bother repaying it, because there is no such thing as “repaying a favor”. And if you do me a favor, don’t think you’re all hot, and you have one on me. I owe you nothing. It was a favor. From your heart.
In short: don’t expect favors. This is the foundation of the moral status of favors. He who knows this, is normal. But he who practices it shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t make many friends. And you know, in Sodom there were no friends.
If someone thinks favors are exchanges (“I gave you money when you needed it, give me money when I need it! Where’s your hakoras hatov?!”), you know he is plain dumb. Hakoras hatov means I thanked you when you did me a favor. Now go away. You can’t make be beholden to you by being nice to me. It doesn’t work like that. Misnaged.
The wicked dude expects people to clean up after him. He thinks favors are obligatory, but only one way. His way. Believe it or not, many people are like this. Maybe even you. The guy who’s driving down the highway and misses his exit? Mind you, he’s not in a very good mood to begin with: he woke up late and is late to his appointment. Now he missed his exit. For the second time. But that’s half his problems when he realizes the next exit to U is in 25 miles. So now he’s super angry and having a tantrum all over the place.
But he’s expecting things to be good for him. “Give it to me, make it good, and give it now!” Nobody is obligated to give you a good time, buddy. Push though it.
Then there’s the chasid. He’s just doing favors for everybody, and not expecting to have a good life. Good guy. He’ll probably have a good life.
The bottom line is this.
The ignorant says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
The pious says “what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is yours.”
The wicked says “what’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.”
Then there are those who know how to count.
The wicked is wicked because he is a robber.
But the ignorant should also be a robber. One may not take another’s possession even with intention to replace it.
And the pious should be poor. Or foolish. We are not supposed to give away more than one fifth of our assets to others (barring certain situations probably not applicable to the pious).
Allow me to conclude therefore, that we are not discussing physical belongings. We are discussing the moral status of a favor.
The ground zero of favors is “what’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is yours.” If I did you a favor, it’s yours. Keep it. It is my gift to you. Don’t bother repaying it, because there is no such thing as “repaying a favor”. And if you do me a favor, don’t think you’re all hot, and you have one on me. I owe you nothing. It was a favor. From your heart.
In short: don’t expect favors. This is the foundation of the moral status of favors. He who knows this, is normal. But he who practices it shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t make many friends. And you know, in Sodom there were no friends.
If someone thinks favors are exchanges (“I gave you money when you needed it, give me money when I need it! Where’s your hakoras hatov?!”), you know he is plain dumb. Hakoras hatov means I thanked you when you did me a favor. Now go away. You can’t make be beholden to you by being nice to me. It doesn’t work like that. Misnaged.
The wicked dude expects people to clean up after him. He thinks favors are obligatory, but only one way. His way. Believe it or not, many people are like this. Maybe even you. The guy who’s driving down the highway and misses his exit? Mind you, he’s not in a very good mood to begin with: he woke up late and is late to his appointment. Now he missed his exit. For the second time. But that’s half his problems when he realizes the next exit to U is in 25 miles. So now he’s super angry and having a tantrum all over the place.
But he’s expecting things to be good for him. “Give it to me, make it good, and give it now!” Nobody is obligated to give you a good time, buddy. Push though it.
Then there’s the chasid. He’s just doing favors for everybody, and not expecting to have a good life. Good guy. He’ll probably have a good life.
The bottom line is this.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Words
After all the words have been spent, all the stories told. There's nothing to say.
I will continue writing, but no more words.
I will continue writing, but no more words.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Inspiration
We stumble through the circumstances of our day, groping, feeling for a ladder of life upon which we might ascend to the light beyond the grayness of this abyss. Yet, we constantly remain in our endless void, still groping and searching, hoping and dreaming, for the day we might revel in the glory of truth.
Through all our groping and dreaming however, we are occasionally granted to observe, a slight radiance in our darkness. And when that happens, we seize that beauty for all we’re worth, because it’s the only chance we’re going to get.
Most of the inmates I visit in jail are reluctant to talk about their crimes, and if they do, it’s to deny. But Jim told me to simply type his name onto Google’s search engine, and I’ll know more about him than I want. A hit man for the mafia, Jim was sitting for charges of racketeering, theft, drug possession, tax evasion and, oh yeah, a couple of murders. Born to a Hispanic father and a Jewish mother, Jim had strayed far from the ways of his maternal ancestry.
As a hit man, he would forcefully evict occupants of apartments due to large debts accumulated over months of unpaid rent. Usually those evictions were brutal; they didn’t use the mafia hit man for nothing.
On one such eviction assignment, Jim and a buddy stormed the apartment, loaded and engaged fire weapons drawn. They were prepared for anything.
Beyond the doorway however, stood a frightened young woman, tightly clutching a small child against her body. And on the wall behind her, Jim noticed, hung a Star of David.
The action came as swiftly as the decision. Jim aimed his pistol at his partner’s neck as he breathed, “Touch the woman, and you’ll never see the light of day again.”
So saying, he withdrew a couple thousand dollars in cash, and laid it out on the table. “Take this,” he said to the woman, “and do me a favor. Go the hell away, and don’t come back.”
With that, he left…
(Written by IF and Zalman. True story as told by Jewish Head Chaplain, State of Kansas.)
Through all our groping and dreaming however, we are occasionally granted to observe, a slight radiance in our darkness. And when that happens, we seize that beauty for all we’re worth, because it’s the only chance we’re going to get.
Most of the inmates I visit in jail are reluctant to talk about their crimes, and if they do, it’s to deny. But Jim told me to simply type his name onto Google’s search engine, and I’ll know more about him than I want. A hit man for the mafia, Jim was sitting for charges of racketeering, theft, drug possession, tax evasion and, oh yeah, a couple of murders. Born to a Hispanic father and a Jewish mother, Jim had strayed far from the ways of his maternal ancestry.
As a hit man, he would forcefully evict occupants of apartments due to large debts accumulated over months of unpaid rent. Usually those evictions were brutal; they didn’t use the mafia hit man for nothing.
On one such eviction assignment, Jim and a buddy stormed the apartment, loaded and engaged fire weapons drawn. They were prepared for anything.
Beyond the doorway however, stood a frightened young woman, tightly clutching a small child against her body. And on the wall behind her, Jim noticed, hung a Star of David.
The action came as swiftly as the decision. Jim aimed his pistol at his partner’s neck as he breathed, “Touch the woman, and you’ll never see the light of day again.”
So saying, he withdrew a couple thousand dollars in cash, and laid it out on the table. “Take this,” he said to the woman, “and do me a favor. Go the hell away, and don’t come back.”
With that, he left…
(Written by IF and Zalman. True story as told by Jewish Head Chaplain, State of Kansas.)
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Wish
I wish I could compose a tune to match my inner storm.
I wish I could combine shapes and colors to create a breathtaking fantasy.
I wish I could write to make you cry.
I wish I could combine shapes and colors to create a breathtaking fantasy.
I wish I could write to make you cry.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Hero
Let me tell you the story of the hero.
Some heros are fighters. Others are visionaries, with the will-power to pursue their dreams. Yet other heros are set on making great strides in perfecting an imperfect world.
A hero must make significant sacrifices in his life. For many, it’s a sacrifice of their most precious something. This could be their good looks, their family, or their time. To the hero, these matters are immaterial in comparison with the mission he must fulfill.
And this mission varies from hero to hero. Sometimes the hero finds the mission, at other times the mission finds the hero. Heros will battle ferocious beasts, they will reduce crime, and cure universal illnesses. And even when the going gets rough, they will stay strong.
I laud these heros, for without them, our world would be without them.
Now let me tell you the story of my hero.
My hero pursues nothing. He is content with life just the way it is. He sits back and enjoys the scenery of a setting sun. With his children.
My hero lives a significant life. He keeps his most precious something safe and warm. He cares for it and watches it grow. He stands back and admires its wonder.
And when it becomes ugly, he makes it beautiful. My hero is intent on destroying all the obstacles which hinder the progress of that which he loves. And sometimes, just sometimes, he will have to sacrifice his dream.
This is my hero. Even though he might die if attacked by a starved mountain lion, even though he will not apprehend murderers, he is my hero. Because these matters are insignificant in comparison with the vibrant colors of life around him.
Some heros will sacrifice a life on the altar of a dream.
Some heros are fighters. Others are visionaries, with the will-power to pursue their dreams. Yet other heros are set on making great strides in perfecting an imperfect world.
A hero must make significant sacrifices in his life. For many, it’s a sacrifice of their most precious something. This could be their good looks, their family, or their time. To the hero, these matters are immaterial in comparison with the mission he must fulfill.
And this mission varies from hero to hero. Sometimes the hero finds the mission, at other times the mission finds the hero. Heros will battle ferocious beasts, they will reduce crime, and cure universal illnesses. And even when the going gets rough, they will stay strong.
I laud these heros, for without them, our world would be without them.
Now let me tell you the story of my hero.
My hero pursues nothing. He is content with life just the way it is. He sits back and enjoys the scenery of a setting sun. With his children.
My hero lives a significant life. He keeps his most precious something safe and warm. He cares for it and watches it grow. He stands back and admires its wonder.
And when it becomes ugly, he makes it beautiful. My hero is intent on destroying all the obstacles which hinder the progress of that which he loves. And sometimes, just sometimes, he will have to sacrifice his dream.
This is my hero. Even though he might die if attacked by a starved mountain lion, even though he will not apprehend murderers, he is my hero. Because these matters are insignificant in comparison with the vibrant colors of life around him.
Some heros will sacrifice a life on the altar of a dream.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Friend
I was walking with this friend I had, and we arrived at a crosswalk. He stepped right out into the street as he said, "I have right of way!"
A truck hit him.
The moral of the story is: You may be right, but you're dead.
A truck hit him.
The moral of the story is: You may be right, but you're dead.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Freedom
I’m looking through the selection when I spot something that might look good. I turn to ask her opinion.
“Do you think these would look nice on me?”
That probably wasn’t a good idea.
“You’re asking for my honest opinion?”
It wasn’t. I should just end it before it begins. But I can’t. I am my own prisoner, chained to the destiny of the small flame I just ignited. I nod.
“I’d rather if you didn’t wear this sort of style. Why don’t you just stick with wearing conservative colors?”
On the outside I roll my eyes. But on the inside, a silent scream rips through me as the small fire bursts into flames. I didn’t ask your advice on how to run my life! I am old enough to make my own decisions! I can do what I want; I can wear what I want! Stop telling me what to do!
---
I must talk this over. I must hear that I’m right. I turn to you. You always tell me I’m right.
“Tell me she’s being unfair,” I cry. “Tell me I can do what I want. Please, tell me I can do what I want!”
But for the first time, you are against me. “I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry. The only one who can free you is yourself.”
I am hurt. Disappointed. Can’t you help me? Can’t you take my side? But no, you’re telling me to do the impossible. Worse yet, you’re telling me to hurt. But you are the only person I trust.
I will have to trust you again.
---
Later that evening I approach her. It is impossible. I speak haltingly.
“I asked your opinion earlier… and you gave it willingly. But I rejected it completely… I want to tell you that I sincerely appreciate the advice you gave me… You told me what is best for me, and I should not have been angry. I am sorry for rejecting you outright. I am sorry for becoming angry at you.”
There is no sweat on my brow. Strangely, I feel no emotion. But through the deafening silence that is me, I hear the sound of her sobs. I look up, and the tears are streaming down her face.
I am free at last.
“Do you think these would look nice on me?”
That probably wasn’t a good idea.
“You’re asking for my honest opinion?”
It wasn’t. I should just end it before it begins. But I can’t. I am my own prisoner, chained to the destiny of the small flame I just ignited. I nod.
“I’d rather if you didn’t wear this sort of style. Why don’t you just stick with wearing conservative colors?”
On the outside I roll my eyes. But on the inside, a silent scream rips through me as the small fire bursts into flames. I didn’t ask your advice on how to run my life! I am old enough to make my own decisions! I can do what I want; I can wear what I want! Stop telling me what to do!
---
I must talk this over. I must hear that I’m right. I turn to you. You always tell me I’m right.
“Tell me she’s being unfair,” I cry. “Tell me I can do what I want. Please, tell me I can do what I want!”
But for the first time, you are against me. “I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry. The only one who can free you is yourself.”
I am hurt. Disappointed. Can’t you help me? Can’t you take my side? But no, you’re telling me to do the impossible. Worse yet, you’re telling me to hurt. But you are the only person I trust.
I will have to trust you again.
---
Later that evening I approach her. It is impossible. I speak haltingly.
“I asked your opinion earlier… and you gave it willingly. But I rejected it completely… I want to tell you that I sincerely appreciate the advice you gave me… You told me what is best for me, and I should not have been angry. I am sorry for rejecting you outright. I am sorry for becoming angry at you.”
There is no sweat on my brow. Strangely, I feel no emotion. But through the deafening silence that is me, I hear the sound of her sobs. I look up, and the tears are streaming down her face.
I am free at last.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Can You Listen?
I must tell my story
There is something on my mind
A clot in my heart I must clear
It happened yesterday
Its impact on me was intense
I'm afraid recovery will take a while
I am telling you my story.
Can you listen to me?
But you answer my question
You advise and analyze,
“Life's not that bad. If there's a will there's a way.”
But I don’t hear you
I’m a heart, not a brain
Don’t give me advice
Don’t tell me it’s false
I can’t understand
I am trying to tell you my story.
Please listen to me.
Change of pace
You encourage and console me instead,
“Oh, you’ll be fine, I’m sure you’ll pull through.”
But I don’t hear you
It is now, not later
Console me then
When I have conquered my grief
I did not tell you my story.
Why can’t you listen to me?
---
I must tell my story
There is something on my mind
And the clot in my heart is still there
What can you do to soften my pain?
Listen. Please, just listen to me.
There is something on my mind
A clot in my heart I must clear
It happened yesterday
Its impact on me was intense
I'm afraid recovery will take a while
I am telling you my story.
Can you listen to me?
But you answer my question
You advise and analyze,
“Life's not that bad. If there's a will there's a way.”
But I don’t hear you
I’m a heart, not a brain
Don’t give me advice
Don’t tell me it’s false
I can’t understand
I am trying to tell you my story.
Please listen to me.
Change of pace
You encourage and console me instead,
“Oh, you’ll be fine, I’m sure you’ll pull through.”
But I don’t hear you
It is now, not later
Console me then
When I have conquered my grief
I did not tell you my story.
Why can’t you listen to me?
---
I must tell my story
There is something on my mind
And the clot in my heart is still there
What can you do to soften my pain?
Listen. Please, just listen to me.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Words
Walking words, talking words, coming words, going words. Moving words, grooving words, singing words, ringing words. Words.
My mind was a lounge for them. They were always around, running to and fro, making themselves available when they were needed, and when they weren’t. Here is where they felt at home, bustling about, doing chores, or just sitting around and chatting.
The more of them I had, the more sophisticated I was. So I built more rooms for the new generation, and lounge chairs to welcome those who were moving in. I made beds and rocking chairs for my old timers; those that had been here for a while.
If ever I’d need the slightest help from even one of them, there’d be half a dozen clamoring, vying for my attention, each begging, ‘Use me!’ They would push and struggle against a current of their friends and colleagues, each one dying to be first in line. But I’m not one to discipline; I allowed them their competition. And so, they would all come tumbling out in what could only have been an impressive display of intellect.
Mind you, this didn’t happen once in a while. This was a regular occurrence, minute by minute, perceptive moment by perceptive moment. And as such, I must have been considered one of the most intellectual young men around. One who could discuss a single subject for hours on end, one who could delve into the inner recesses of profundity itself. One whose wellspring of words would never go dry.
Then the journey of my life began. And as I travel along the great highway of change, I find habits and behaviors fall to the wayside, abandoned in the dust of the past. So it is, with every step I take, another word is lost.
By now, I no longer host the multitudes waiting to be deployed. Now my mind is clean. My thoughts are clear. My tongue is calm. My words are few. And life is quiet.
I no longer listen to my own noise. I listen to a grieving heart instead.
I no longer live within me. I now enjoy the simple sounds of tranquility, blossoming everywhere I look.
Try it. The beauty of small may surprise you.
My mind was a lounge for them. They were always around, running to and fro, making themselves available when they were needed, and when they weren’t. Here is where they felt at home, bustling about, doing chores, or just sitting around and chatting.
The more of them I had, the more sophisticated I was. So I built more rooms for the new generation, and lounge chairs to welcome those who were moving in. I made beds and rocking chairs for my old timers; those that had been here for a while.
If ever I’d need the slightest help from even one of them, there’d be half a dozen clamoring, vying for my attention, each begging, ‘Use me!’ They would push and struggle against a current of their friends and colleagues, each one dying to be first in line. But I’m not one to discipline; I allowed them their competition. And so, they would all come tumbling out in what could only have been an impressive display of intellect.
Mind you, this didn’t happen once in a while. This was a regular occurrence, minute by minute, perceptive moment by perceptive moment. And as such, I must have been considered one of the most intellectual young men around. One who could discuss a single subject for hours on end, one who could delve into the inner recesses of profundity itself. One whose wellspring of words would never go dry.
Then the journey of my life began. And as I travel along the great highway of change, I find habits and behaviors fall to the wayside, abandoned in the dust of the past. So it is, with every step I take, another word is lost.
By now, I no longer host the multitudes waiting to be deployed. Now my mind is clean. My thoughts are clear. My tongue is calm. My words are few. And life is quiet.
I no longer listen to my own noise. I listen to a grieving heart instead.
I no longer live within me. I now enjoy the simple sounds of tranquility, blossoming everywhere I look.
Try it. The beauty of small may surprise you.
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