Lightning Crashes

It began innocently enough. An exchange of opinions regarding spiritual beliefs. And in the course of that discourse, I dug up the link to this particular video of “Lightning Crashes.”

And so it began.

I’ve been listening to the song (watching the video, occasionally) all day long. Over and over and over and over again. Floodgates open. Torrents of tears.

The lyrics are sufficiently ambiguous that any listener can react in accordance with whatever moves the individual soul. And I did...
mindful that the band, Live, dedicated this song to a woman who died too young.

I’ve been crying all day.

Not because a woman has died.

No.

Because a woman I love with all my heart fights to live.

I stand alone in the far distance. Powerless.

All I’ve got is prayer, and I’ve done little to warrant God’s affection or mercy.

But I’m not too proud to beg. So I beg. With every fiber of my being.

Not too proud to bargain. Take my breath and let another breathe.

Please

* * *

Curiosity

Isn’t it true, for most, that what pleases most is when another truly desires to know?

To know what intrigues, scares, humors, hurts, enchants, disgusts, inspires, disappoints, excites and defines the heart and soul?

Do we not all thirst for intimacy?

* * *

Undiscovered

Although I understand this song was recorded a few years ago, I just discovered it the other day:



I like the sensibility, the optimism, the Truth of it.

* * *

Did I Wound?

Believe me when I say I’m confused. There was nothing furthest from my mind. Believe me when I say that my intentions were good. Believe me when I say I believe that love conquers all...even if it doesn’t (always/ever) seem that way.

Believe me, too, when I say that if I HAD intended to wound, there would be no mistaking. No, there’d be no mistaking that. I’m no angel. I know how to go for the jugular. I see your vulnerabilities (after all, they’re not all that different from mine). If I wanted to inflict pain,
I could. Easily.

I haven’t wanted to hurt another for decades. Not since the time in High School when I tried to throw a body into the path of a passing car in a desperate attempt to save my own life. Not since then. No (trust me on this) not since then. No, not ever since or ever again.

If I hurt you, I apologize.

When I hurt, I don’t wanna hurt another. Pain and guilt don’t lead to healing.

When I hurt, I look to love. How else is healing possible?

When I hurt, I seek to become better.

Not worse.

* * *



* * *

I Loved Her

I did

Sacrificed all for her

I did

Loved her

Truly did

But...

Love may not please another

Sacrifice means little

“Love” is only

What the “Loved One” wants

Gave my all

Gave my life

Drove myself

To near death

But,

Sacrifice means little

“Love” is only

What the “Loved One” wants

* * *

Voices

Voices fascinate.

Heck, even the word “voice” is a bit of a curiosity, if you think about it long enough whilst in an altered mental state.

Voices fascinate and that fascination is reflected in my musical preferences. There are the crystalline, the husky, the gravelly, whiskey-soaked, plaintive, tender, seductive, soothing and mesmerizing.

Screeching, shrill, bland or hurried voices tend to drive me into hiding.

I’ve been attracted to certain women simply on the basis of the tone and timbre of their voices alone, all other physical features notwithstanding. Well,that...and the quality of their laughter.

* * *

Poison

It wasn’t love
That poisoned me so
No
That wasn’t love

The venom that
Infused the veins
And killed the spirit
Emanated from:
Abandonment
Resentment
Indifference
Betrayal
False promises
Bad faith
And lies

It wasn’t love
That did such damage

No

Love
Could have been
Would have been

Should have been
The antidote

* * *

Cup of Water

Shall I pour you a cup of water, dear friend?

Wish I could.

What I’ve got came from a stream poisoned decades ago by the acids released from a gold mine. Can’t say as I know if it’s toxic or not, but all the trout died.

Wait. I kinda get mixed up. It may have come from that river poisoned by the strip mine upstream. The carp died.

Forgive me. I sometimes get my poisons confused.

I’d offer you sweet water, dear friend, if only I could.

All I’ve got is this water drawn from a deep well poisoned by nitrates, pesticides and salt. It’s the best I have. It’s all I can get.

I love you so and can’t in good conscience fill your cup.

But I got me some vodka...fermented liquor derived from grain and potatoes...

With a few impurities as flavorings.

Shall we grow numb, uncaring and oblivious together?

* * *

Resentment

Carrie Fisher:

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

(Yeah, this is a "stream of consciousness" blog...
Confusing, I know).

* * *

On Thumbs and Lips

If I recall correctly, the first time the lighting struck was when my Dad and I were driving to Wisconsin and I studied intently his right hand on the steering wheel. I was young, became dumbstruck, actually marveled, that our thumbs were nearly identical. Well, not exactly IDENTICAL...not then...no. Not quite then. Back then, decades ago before he died, my Father’s thumbnails were far more striated. Just like my thumbnails appear today...decades later.

There was no mistaking the fact that our thumbs were nearly identical in form and appearance. Granted, my Dad’s fingers were hewed somewhat rougher. He was a manual laborer after all. I, a coddled student. Still. There was symmetry. There was the length, girth, shape and color of the nail, the creases, the pigmentation, the essence of a thumb shared by Father and Son.

I drew (and continue to draw) great pleasure in that.

Years later, we sat together in a garret with my long-lost grandfather. Someone said something funny and all three - Grandfather, Father and Son, convulsed in laughter. It struck me then, like a thunderclap, that we three laughed identically.

Fast forward a decade plus. I sift through albums of photographs of my Father...now gone. I contemplate his visage as a younger man. A man kinda my age, and I realize: we have identical lips!

And so it came to be that I’ve come to know that my Father passed on his lips and thumbs to me.

When nights are darkest...when all is hopelessly lost...I contemplate my thumbs, stare into a tarnished mirror. I reflect upon the fact that I sprang from someone beautiful.

And I greet the dawn.

* * *

Felix n' Me

Felix n' me go back a long, long way. Back to 1970 if memory serves.

He kinda clambered off the parallel bars (gymnast that he was) to shake my hand. He kinda wandered over to my room to bare his soul at odd hours.

Kinda revealed a bit.

Kinda not.

Kinda became a friend through sheer persistence.

But friend, indeed, he did become. He was the one who wrapped a blanket around my head and shoulders when I simply could bear no more. Played his flute when sweet music was what I needed most.

He asked me to be his best man. No one else ever did.

He moved half a continent away. Never felt he was all that far

from my heart...

Despite the fact we seldom saw each other.

Despite the fact we rarely called or wrote.

‘Cuz we just KNEW we’d be there for each other.

Yeah.

Felix n' me, we got history.

We got stories.

We got friendship.

(And I got me a few more close friends I’d love to write about...someday. People who’ve shaped me, made me, graced me. People who’ve made all the difference. Yeah. I got me friends. Without them, I’d have turned to dust decades ago)

* * *

The Weary Kind

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them seven's with nothing to lose
This ain't no place for the weary kind

You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don't feel like home anymore

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
This ain't no place to lose your mind
This ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your body aches
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and the nights all feel the same

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
It doesn't forget
The highway that calls for your heart inside

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
This ain't no place to lose your mind
This ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your lover's warm kiss
Is too damn far from your fingertips
"Cuz you are the man who ruined her world

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them seven's with nothing to lose
This ain't no place for the weary kind

* * *

I watched the film Crazy Heart for the first time this evening. I’m glad that Jeff Bridges won an Oscar for his performance.

I’m saddened by the fact that I saw too much of me in “Bad Blake.” Wanna know what my body looks like? Looks just like his...just a wee bit taller...and older. Hair longer, beard whiter. Ain’t proud to admit that.

I’m haunted by the lyrics of one of the songs:

“funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’ for a little while”

Damn.

Some films hit too close to home.

* * *


* * *

Broken Ribs

Thugs ‘n muggers broke a few

Steel-toed boots handy adjuncts to the enterprise.

Cracked me a few careening into an immovable object (at 40 mph)

Gotta say, it hurt to breathe

Laughter cost plenty

God bless compression tape.

Even so...

Nothing hurt quite so bad

As the damage inflicted

Without a flick of a finger

Or the momentum of a toe.

* * *

Rain Dancing

Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. Windows quaked in fear.
Histrionics surrendered to steady rain, tears and memories...

Eric’s Song

Strange how you know inside me
I measure the time and I stand amazed
Strange how I know inside you
My hand is outstretched toward the damp of the haze

And of course I forgive
I've seen how you live
Like a phoenix you rise from the ashes
You pick up the pieces
And the ghosts in the attic
They never quite leave
And of course I forgive
You've seen how I live
I've got darkness and fears to appease
My voices and analogies
Ambitions like ribbons
Worn bright on my sleeve

Strange how we know each other

Strange how I fit into you
There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease
Strange how you fit into me
A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

And with each passing day
The stories we say
Draw us tighter into our addiction
Confirm our conviction
That some kind of miracle
Passed on our hands
And how I am sure
Like never before
Of my reasons for defying reason
Embracing the seasons
We dance through the colors
Both followed and led

Strange how we fit each other

Strange how certain the journey
Time unfolds the petals
For our eyes to see
Strange how this journey's hurting
In ways we accept as part of fate's decree

So we just hold on fast
Acknowledge the past
As lessons exquisitely crafted
Painstakingly drafted
To carve us as instruments
That play the music of life
For we don't realize
Our faith in the prize
Unless it's been somehow elusive
How swiftly we choose it
The sacred simplicity
Of you at my side.

Vienna Teng

* * *

There was a time, I swear (I think) when I danced through colors. Rain tempts me to venture back through the tears/years when that was or may have been...(I’m no longer sure).

I listen to the murmurs. Marrow aches.

Must be true, though.

Must be that I once danced through colors.

Though I really can’t remember

I do know this:

The prize is somehow elusive.

* * *