For the Broken-Hearted

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"My sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others..."

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Surrender

I've given up.

I. Give. Up.

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At Some Point(s)...

At some point(s) in our lives we will meet someone, some extraordinary someone who is possessed of a loving heart, a kind soul and (at least) a few graces. Well, most of us will...

The question then...the ONLY question then...is what will we make of that discovery?

Too often, we continue shopping for “someone better.”

Too often, we’ll opt for glitz and glitter, infatuation and pizzazz, testosterone or some other chemical-high, comfort or security, rather than the salt and tears that come hand-in-hand with commitment and sacrifice.

Too often, we fail to appreciate.

Too often, we throw away the very hearts that cherished us the most.

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Morning Yearning

I was sorting through my YouTube music video favorites when I paused upon this most excellent music video by Ben Harper.
The song is called Morning Yearning. It's a gorgeous video, best viewed in "Full Screen Mode."

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Just thought I'd share

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A Reminder

This is the season of change. The Sun shies from this colder clime and drifts towards warmer latitudes (my protestations notwithstanding). The rays slant low these days and hide away too early but the light,
THE LIGHT, is fecund with beauty.

And I am that proverbial powerless moth drawn hypnotically to the light. It steals my breath at the window then propels me out the door. Into the forest. There, in the woodlands, the sun plies its magic with neither shame nor adulteration. It is all so beautiful.

Too beautiful for words.

The world is transforming itself. The hopes and new births of spring gave way to the passions of summer. But Life is ever-changing. Yesterday’s verities fall with the leaves. Now is the season of remembrance and acceptance...while all is limned and bathed in an indescribable glow.

Breezes caress me. They tease the blushing leaves until their tethers give way to temptation. They kiss the zephyrs and frolic before they come to their final rest. I wander besotted in a cloudburst of color and it is all so beautiful.

Too beautiful for words.

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Shelter Dog

My dad was a champion Labrador, my mom a driven Border Collie...
and I'm the resultant mongrel.

I suppose I may have had a better time of it if I were pedigreed. Most people SAY they hold mongrels in deep appreciation (“hybrid vigor” and all that) but, truth be told, we’re all drawn to good breeding, paperwork in order, and “status.” So be it. I’ve romped a bit, sniffed out a lot of interesting places and humped a few legs in my day. It wasn’t a life of privilege...then, again, I wasn't exactly cut out to be a "show dog."

Yeah. I'm a mutt. Deal.

As it happens, houses are sold, people move on, and there’s no place for a mongrel.

Off to the shelter I go.

I’m wise to the merry-go-round. I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ve had a few owners. Yes I have. I loved ‘em all, but I was beaten mercilessly by one, ran away from another, suffered mightily under the third, and the fourth just...well...abandoned me. So it goes. We mongrels understand. It’s our lot...our fate...our destiny.

We're disposable.

So now I’m a shelter dog, and what you see is what you get. I’m well aware my muzzle is grizzled (more than just grizzled...). I’m well aware that my hips aren’t what they used to be and I won’t be leapin’ onto the back of the ol’ pick-up (as if I ever could). But, hey! I’m house-broken (most times), and I’ve got a lotta affection and loyalty to offer to anyone who will accept me for who I am.

It won’t be easy, though. My last two Masters changed me. One was feckless, leavin’ me easy when the leavin’ was good. The other cruel. Too cruel for words. I’ll nip (OK, OK...I bite) when reminded of THEM. I’m wary. I’ll admit it. I’m a “fear-biter” and I’ve got good reasons. Trust me on this. Look, I know that a grizzled muzzle isn’t all that appealing. And I know that I’m timid and shy and overly fearful. Heck, I’m a shelter dog...and we’re just like that, ya know?

Still...still...there’s a home for me somewheres, no? There just HAS to be someone who will love me enough, and trust in me enough, and delight in me enough to take a chance, work with me, accept me, love me and cherish me enough to allow me to open my heart and TRUST enough...so that I can be the companion they seek and need.

But, sadly, I’m just a shelter dog. Things haven’t exactly worked out the way I had dreamed...

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DOH! I gotta check if this is a “No-Kill” shelter. I’ll get back to you...

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"Don't Know Much..."

It's true...too true. When all is said and done...I don't know much.

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"Grief can destroy you--or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing the floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deepest beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life." -- Dean Koontz

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I'm gonna be on my knees for a long, long time...

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(Thank you, Sunny)

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Gratuitous non-sequitor:

Isn't it confounding to contemplate two people sitting side-by-side in an automobile hurtling down an endless Interstate and, all the while, their hearts are hurtling in opposite directions?

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Things We Lost In The Fire

I was scrolling through the cable-channel guide a few nights ago and came across this film title: Things We Lost in the Fire. There came a teardrop and...in the blink of an eye...I was lost in metaphor.

I feel that’s what I’ve become: a rummager through ashes. Seems as if there have been a great many fires of late. Some were accidents, others arson, several were acts of self-immolation. Each destroyed whatever was still standing.

What is there to say as one toes aside debris in search of anything of consequence? I search for evidence of past happiness. I search for mementoes of joy. I inhale black soot and dream of what was and of what might have been. I search for clues, answers, something...
anything I can clutch in my soiled hands for solace.

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But I take what I can get and piece
together a life. Being human
means dragging the heavy weight
of what you almost were behind you.

--Marvin Glasser

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