A Musing Space

The water, hot and welcomed, pounds my shoulders and cascades around my neck, stripping away the dirt and sweat. Anchoring my hands on the shower wall, I let the water work its magic. I close my eyes, exhale strongly, and release my mind. The water envelops me, my senses, my mind...

Are there sounds that are only heard by the deaf? Are there things unseen to those with sight? Might the angst-ridden beauty of artistic accomplishment reveal itself more clearly to those burdened of twisted mind and unbridled emotion?

My life has been one of growing peace and routine more than artistic angst or spiritual distress. For awhile now, I had grown accustomed to percolating emotions, those feelings that lurk, coiled and ready to strike, manifesting malformed action and self-destructive choices. I have found solace regularly in the creative word. The twist of a poetic phrase or the presence of a story unfolding beneath the key stokes often releases much. Now, it seems that I am driven less and less to release my serpents of spiritual distress. This is different. Not good. Not bad. Just different.

I know the truth. I know that there lies deep within me an eternal presence, my creative magical essence that demands to be known - my familiar, my dragon, The lines of poetry, the tales woven in prose, the occasional burst of fire breathed from comments, are all glimpses of a piece of her being: scales of translucent blue, a sapphire eye blinking in the dusk, the sound of a gentle, rumbling breath, a brush of a powerful tail. She is my eternal muse. I miss her, these days. I sense she misses me.

Yet, here in this steam cloud, beneath the relentless waterfall, while all sound is blasted away, I hear her breath, steady and smooth. Through closed eyes, I see again, the cave where she dwells. It is in this moment I know that I could extend my arm and touch her. I can't help but smile, wondering what journeys await.

We live.

The Thinning of One

The Thinning of One

If I am not careful

With my thoughts

My ideas

Plans

Dreams

I will become thin

On artistic endeavors

Of creativity

Possibilities

Virility

Thin

Is transparent

Lifeless etching

On contemptuous bones

Not Even Strange

It should have been a strange experience, but it wasn’t.

The room was filled with chatting and laughter. An arrangement of peculiar instruments were placed at one end of the room – didgeridoos, drums, crystal bowls, bull-roars, various flutes from around the world, chimes and items I could not identify formed a semi circle around two men.

My wife had arranged the evening, as she is prone to do, with certainty of purpose. She knows me, and she knows the likelihood of me pursuing such an event on my own is slim. She also knows that the reality of my appreciating and benefiting from such an experience is almost certain. We had registered and made our way back to the main room amid gathering people, nervous laughter, meaningful hugs and an atmosphere of escalating curiosity.

The group of us, about 15 in all, found our places; lying on the floor supported by various mats, pillows and blankets. After a brief explanation, the sounds began. This was advertised as an evening of sound and healing. Amid sometimes gentle and sometimes piercing sounds, I rested motionless and felt my way through the evening. Images came and went. Ideas floating in, some staying a while, and then out. I was sometimes aware of the movement and noises of others. Moments found me very aware of where I was and what was going on. Moments found me adrift in the twilight of relief. Then, as simply as it began, it stopped.

I listened as others shared of their experiences, stories of traveling to other places, regressing to previous life moments, journeying inward to spiritual realms. I understood much of what was shared – conceptually, at least. I just listened.

For me, it wasn’t about going anywhere. It was more about what came to me, and even that, the coming to me, I can’t really describe. What I can tell you is that I have slept wonderfully ever since. Something rode in on the waves of crystal bowls, and in the swirls of twirling blades, and through the chanting of ancient flutes. Something came gently on the tunes of voices and the rhythm of drums. Something of great value came and drifted through the discontinuity of my thoughts, images and sensations. It should have been a strange experience, but it wasn’t. The healing was, well, normal.

Good night.

Seeing Blue Sky for Her

It is a difficult blending of life, seeing her go. In a few short hours my daughter will be off to LA. The next few days will find her driving across this country, visiting with family and friends and arriving in her new hometown – LA, California.

She stayed here for college, so this is really the first real separation. It is odd. I have seen her travel to Spain for a semester, Guatemala for a mission trip, LA and NYC for long internships and I have relished in her adventure, her spreading her wings, her growth. Watching her adventurous spirit blend with a growing knowledge of her ability to succeed has been a joy.

This time is different. This time she is not experimenting with a trip or internship. This time she is making a way for herself, launching into her life, her life – her journey.

I sat outside just now, sipping coffee at the neighborhood Starbucks, reflecting, and feeling this moment. I am so very proud of her. I am excited for her. This beginning is exploding with possibilities for her. I am, as a father must be, worried for her – life is sometimes hard and I don’t wish hardship for her, although I am sure she will find her fair share. I already miss her.

As I look skyward, now, I see that the sky is blazing blue, being traced by the slow movement of wispy, bright white clouds, a wonderful canopy for her travel. The sky is beautiful today, even now, as seen through my tears.