Reach...

There is something about the open sky at night. I stand there and stare upwards, and suddenly yet quietly, a feeling comes over me, one that makes me feel like I could simply...move upwards and reach the stars. It is that intense desire to go see, to understand, to fly...

I suppose that this is what is at the heart of all scientists, and dreamers, and poets and artists. An intense desire to see and know, both the furthest reaches of time and space, and the deepest secrets of our hearts. So we explore, we look, we write and we tell our stories.

As I listen to their music, I realize that I want to be able to express what I see in the stars, and in the earth, in the same way that their music touches my soul. I am frustrated that I cannot find the words to describe the colors I see in the Orion Nebula, or the movement of water beneath our feet. There are mathematics, which in their own right are both beautiful and fierce, that can describe these things I see. But there must be some other format, some other means to share these images in my eyes...

It is said that scientists seek facts, while philosphers seek the truth. Perhaps in that I can find my voice..

Mustang

Absent friends...

Meterologists will tell you that those streaks that appear between clouds, (also thought to be sun beams) are really just shadows cast by clouds amongst the water vapor illuminated by the setting sun.

Perhaps...but when I stand on that particular rock, high in the mountains and look west into that sunset, to me they are reminders of absent friends. That glorious light disrupted by a space where something should be, and is not.

It is important, at least to me, to pause in the everyday rush to remember those friends that are gone. Kevin died too soon, even when he seemed to be better. David took his life because he couldn't see what we could. Hal left recently, as did Anita. There was the little boy I rescued from the hit-and-run, who died from pneumonia in the hospital, his heart just not strong enough for the effort. My friend Keith who died of cancer, and yet had more life in him than any one person I have ever known.

I can see their faces, hear their voices, smile when I remember their laughs, and almost stop breathing when I remember them standing right there...

I am only afraid on one thing on this whole earth, and that is losing my best friend. I cannot even write about that...

I shall make a trip soon to that rock, and stand their to watch the sun rise, to think about all there is to come. And I shall stay by that rock, and stand on it as the sun sets, and remember all those who have gone before me, and call their names in my mind, and wish them well.

Mustang

Christmas...

It doesn't take much to tell that this time of year is hard on me. I find Christmas far to emotional, too trying, and utterly saddening to eek any joy out of this season.

As a kid, a lot of bad things happened to me, my brothers and my mom, and it seemed especially worse at Christmas time.

As I grew older, the joy that was supposed to accompany this time of year was often lost on me, as I struggled with the hypocrisy. I could not reconcile what was supposed to be a time of religous reverance with shopping sprees. With time I abandoned both.

Lately, the tendencey towards pre-mature Christmas decorations, gift cards and cash instead of a single well thought out gift, and the forced nature of our annual relatives-around-the-camp fire meetings depresses and saddens me. Too much angst over deadlines for shipping out Christmas cards to people who won't care to read them, battling stores for gifts I don't care to give, and pretending to be happy about something I am not happy about in the first place.

I am at a loss for the words to describe the saddness I feel.

I will say that there are still some wonderful redeeming moments to Christmas yet. Small childrens' Christmas morning glee, music that makes me want to cry (and that is tough to do), hopes that someone will be able to make it one more day on that free Christmas meal...

Hope. Perhaps that is the one last shred of humanity that can carry me through this time of year. I am not much of a hope person, preferring action and effort over hope. Yet, I cannot do it all, and so a little hope may be called for. Not for me, or my black heart. No, hope for the rest, for those who deserve a better place in life, a warmer blanket in which to live just one more day, and hope for the children, especially for the children...

I am sorry to all for airing my lousy attitude. Please forgive me..

Chris