Surrendered Dreams

Sometimes surrender is just finally accepting the inevitable and making plans of how to manage it. Failure to do so may make things worse. It will then be too late to implement the plans. I believe in faith, hope, and the power of positive thinking to a point. Practical pragmatism may also need to come into play. Continued ignoring creates ignorance. Ignorance is only bliss for a moment.  When the bare burning truth is stamped on your heart it tastes like betrayal and shame.

Surrendered Dreams 

When I was young

I thought I'd be a stuntmen

Rolling with the punches

Safely crashing old cars 

Striding from exploding backdrops 

Hollywood never called 

I never went

Now a slip on the ice

Aches for days 

I thought I'd be a rockstar

Prancing center stage 

Trying to keep the girls away

Getting prime time radio play 

Nashville never called 

I never went 

Now I'm happy with a handful 

Of coins in my guitar case 

I thought I'd be an actor 

Name up on the marquee 

Smiling down red carpets 

Lightning up the stage 

Broadway never called 

I never went 

Now I'm happy with a few lines

In my local church play

I thought I'd be a comedian 

Have them rolling in the aisles 

Headlining a national tour 

Getting my own sit-com

Comedy store never called 

I never went 

Now I'm happy with a laugh from

Well planned well placed jokes

I thought I'd find a girl

Who would be my whole world 

Who would be worth the wait

I did not hesitate 

When you called 

And I went

Now I'm happy I'm satisfied 

No surrender no compromise 

Set on the Quiet

Quiet

Silence

Stillness

Tranquillity

Practically impossible 

Everything animated and automated

Multitasking life style

 Chorus of voices

Calling me

Pulling

QUIET

I'll try it

Voices off

Electronics off

Sitting on the couch

I hear children playing outside

In the bedroom lying still

Clock ticks ring

Other room

Alone

Quiet

Breath rasps

A plane goes by

Stretched toes crack

Fingers in my ears make ocean waves

Pressure echoes back my pulse

Life is sound

Motion

Quiet?

Maybe not

Even in the grave

The adventure beyond that

In the seeking and appreciation

Of quiet of less noise

I've found stillness

In my spirit

Peace

God

A Flaw in my Craw.

“I don't play accurately--any one can play accurately--but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

Perfect is boring.

Precision stifling.

No good story starts,

"That day, all went well."

(My attempt at a 'Naani', a poetic form, not the bread that goes with butter chicken)

Fence defense.

I am not pro-choice. I am pro balance.

I look at pictures of dirty workmen's hands.

They do not remind me of my father.

Not that he did not work hard or was unwilling to get dirty.

He is a pastor.

When I think of his hands, I see him preaching.

He would say, "On one hand...but on the other hand".

The most important thing I learned was the concept of balance and reason.

God is quoted saying, "Come let us reason together."

It is often demanded that I 'take a side, make a stand!'

Why do I have to choose now? 

If I don't give in and agree with your brilliant opinion I must be as ignorant as them evil fools.

Does that makes me weak, wishy-washy, and lack courage?

Until I am emotionally invested and must take action, I want to weigh both sides, all sides.

If there are two sides, I want to be the third side or the arch that touches both.

Like the dusty old theological argument, "Are you Calvinist or Armenian?"

Stick a tulip in your gospel gun and call me a Calmenian!

In politics, I look at the ballot. I would choose none of them.

If I choose not to choose I choose anarchy and  that's not my choice.

Yes, I am a fence sitter, but not the tightrope kind.

Nor is it an narrow splintery American white picket fence.

My fence is more like the great wall of China.

I could go for miles either way and comfortably live for years on my fence.

Hallmark Shakespeare

(I once tried to read a page of Othello to a friend with bad vocabulary, and my two young nieces. "I will never get it" ,one said. I began translating/paraphrasing it in words they understood. Today I am trying probably his most famous speech from Hamlet--to be or not to be)

To live or die, mmmmm?

Is it braver to take the bad stuff life throws at you, to choose life,

or fight the bad stuff by choosing to end it all?

 To die and look like you're peacefully sleeping.

To stop the pain and problems of living sounds like a good idea for a moment.

Is death like being asleep? Do you dream?

Yep, these two opposing ideas will chafe your mind raw.

If death is like sleep and you dream, you don't know what kind of dreams you have.

Really makes you stop and think.

It's not being sure that makes a long life kind of sad.

If you knew all the bad stuff in your life, like:

The scars time leaves on your body and soul,

Or how mean bosses and bullies can be,

Or how many arrogant jerks you'll meet,

Or how painful rejection and lost love is,

Or how little justice is in a legal system that doesn't help in time if at all,

Or how corrupt, lazy, or unfeeling those in authority can become, 

Or what a kick in the behind it is when you work hard and do good,

Yet some undeserving snake insults you and takes the credit or profit themselves.

Maybe if you tore open your shirt and plunged an actual knife in your heart,

They would all shut up and leave you alone--make your own peace.

Why do we choose to sweat and grunt under the heavy burden of this weary life?

It is the dreadful fear of something after death.

Death is a foreign place we have never personally experienced.

It is a one-punch permanent ticket with a no return policy.

That is what confuses the mind and makes the will run around in circles.

We end up putting up with the bad stuff in life,

rather than blindly jumping into an open grave with no safety net.

Our conscience makes cowards of us all.

The original bold plan to end it all is watered down by fearful thoughts.

So to keep from following through with it or even thinking about it,

We find a hobby or project that seems important and takes a lot of energy.

I better quit talking to myself, I hear my girl coming. She's so pretty.

When she prays, it's probably all about things I've done wrong. 

                                                              

An eccentric haiku and a rant.

*Everyone you know,

deep down, is an eccentric.

So what does it mean?*  

What does it mean to be eccentric? Or even just eclectic? Does it feel electric?

No person, not even  a twin, is exactly the same as any other person.

Why do most people nervously smother those tendencies and act like sheep?

I do understand that there is a wool-over-the-eyes warmth in the anonymity of the herd mentality.

Do they bleat out nicely that you're quirky, or better yet kooky? or not so nicely a crank or a quack?

**

     The truly bizarre thing is that few have the desire, the courage, the confidence to express eccentricity.

All your life you are told: "Be normal, the same, uniform, one of the team, fit in, be well adjusted, ordinary, common, true to your school, one of the gang, a team player, another brick in the wall."

This makes everyone afraid of everyone else.

**

     Throughout history, it was the privilege of the rich to be eccentric. The poor were not allowed.

They could ill afford to be extravagant in mind, or dress, or conduct, or speech. 

Consider, however, the greatest achievers of humanity in the arts, science, medicine, or statesmanship:

Almost all could have been described as: eccentric, erratic, unpredictable, unconventional, unusual, strange, unique, sensational, whimsical, unafraid, non-conformist, idealistic, curious, stubborn, outspoken, and not influenced by the opinions of others.

These are the hallmark of genius, a sign of intelligence, the impulse of creativity--a mind so original that it can not fit into societies norms.

**

     The problem comes in form of the degree of balance. Life is a juggling act on a unicycle on a high wire.

You are crazy to be up there. You are crazy to stay, but it is dizzyingly invigorating.

Lean too far one way or the other and it may all come crashing down. 

While I support the effort to throw off the shackles of the tyranny of the majority, beware!

Curious focus becomes obsession. Odd habits become compulsion. Deviate to far from the center you become a deviant. Push people away too harshly, they may stay away or put you away. Living on the edge may unbalance you. Following the vagaries of genius may turn you into a vagrant wandered to the point of no return, and here be dragons.

**

     So let the people you love but may not understand you be the safety line that tethers your balloon to the ground. Don't worry about being lost in the haystack as the old proverb assumes. When the harsh light of need, necessity, or invention sweeps into the dim barn, it is the needle that gleams and shines. The straw people will continue to sit in the manure of mediocrity. When a like soul casts the magnet of ideas, vision, and dreams, the needle will come forth. Those around will not understand the pull, the attraction. It is those needles we need on the fringes to keep the common fabric of society from coming apart at the seams.

*Everyone you know,

deep down, is an eccentric.

Is that what it means?*