What do you love?

My friends, as this Christmas Eve draws near, I am left thinking about things my father and I discussed this week as he prepared for the meditation he normally shares before the big meal together. The conversations about this upcoming meditation dovetailed very nicely with a train of thought sparked by a conversation with a friend about a quote by Ayn Rand:

"If you know a man’s convictions, you can predict his actions. If you understand the dominant philosophy of a society, you can predict its course. But convictions and philosophy are matters open to man’s choice. There is no fatalistic, predetermined historical necessity. .."

This dovetailed in with the question "What do I love" that is being asked during tonight's meditation. I'll get into that in a second. After being sick for a few days and not getting a chance to post this before, I guess it is somewhat fitting to be posted today.

First of all, the Rand quote...some discussion ensued as to the "irrationality" of man and how that may or may not neuter the statement. I am of the opinion that it is a good generalized statement, and that for the most part that which we may call irrationality is actually the betrayal in actions of that which we held MORE dear to ourselves than our stated convictions...even if only temporarily.

If my highest conviction is that being hypocritical is wrong, but then I subsume all that is my core to keep the peace, then my true highest conviction (at least temporarily) is avoiding strife or rifts with this group of people, and not my hypocricy.

If my conviction is that my family matters most of all, but next week I blow our mortgage payment on a brand new 60" 3D HDTV because it is "TEH AWESOME L00TZ", I have not behaved irrationally, I have shown the world that, at least at the moment, my true conviction places my own material joy above the needs of my family.

It is our actions that give the strongest testimony to what we hold most treasured in our hearts at any given time. After all, our hearts and minds cannot be known by others save for our actions (words being a volitional act of communication for this definition).

So, that being the case, the question comes back around..."What do I love?" I think this may be an even better quesiton than "what are my convictions?"

This requires a little bit of defining as well. Love is a word we bandy about quite a bit, and rarely define. How can I LOVE something, if I do not know what that entails? Does it entail a feeling? A specific action? A specific relationship?

I've already explored this in a "story-by-proxy" in the Dear Potter series, but here is a recap of "Love" as I define it:

Excerpt from Dear Potter part IV:

----------------------------------------------------------------------

How would you define “love”?

...

The question has rarely been asked and met with aught but some bumbling, hastily constructed reply. Depending on the circumstances, people will emphasize feelings, emotive descriptions, romanticism, eroticism, bonds, connections, spirituality, or some grandiose mixture of all of these things. I myself was put on the spot once by my very own father while he was preparing to speak to a group of young married couples. I was merely 14 at the time, and it was quite a few more years before I had digested and appropriately applied his answer. It made sense, but I had not allowed the truth and power of it to sink in and make sense to me. So many other definitions, even that found in the Potter’s own Book, describe love by what it is and is not, show examples of love, and try to paint a picture of love. But very rarely does a simple, succinct definition appear anywhere as it did for me that day.

My father squared my shoulders to him, looked me in the eye, and said:

“Love is the conscious and willing commitment to (be, want, desire, do, seek, ab pluribus disce omnes) the BEST for the person or persons loved.”

My friend, I love this definition. I live and breathe this definition. It has been the fundamental principle behind my own relationships, whatever they may be.

Love is a commitment, few people would argue that, I suppose. However, it is a commitment made in the full knowledge (conscious and willing) of what that commitment may someday and does at the moment entail. It is not a blind feeling, a fleeting emotion, or some overwhelming sensation. It is not a convenient desire, it is not a passing fad. It is a wholehearted commitment. A father does not cease loving his child when he misbehaves or is being difficult. In fact, it is that commitment that keeps love alive even through the difficulties. It cannot be something as fleeting as a mere emotional state, or it is nothing but a whim and of no ultimate significance.

The multifaceted application of verbs in the definition reflects the myriad aspects of what that commitment may someday entail. It can be actions, thoughts, prayer, emotions, and any combination of these things. But it is all of these things for one unifying purpose…to the end of bringing about the BEST for the one(s) loved.

Unfortunately, my friend, this is where so many of us fall short of our Potter’s perfection. For, being merely men, what we can believe to be the best for one loved can later be found to have been sorely misguided. This weakness is in us, not the definition, however. Just because we can be too hubris-filled or inexperienced to know what truly constitutes ‘best’ for someone does not mean that we cannot fill our hearts with the true commitment to seek this best, whatever it may be.

I wholeheartedly believe, my young friend, and have often experienced, that this commitment, made honestly and totally, will lend to self-correction by an honest man unafraid to evaluate himself or take evaluation by others. Being wrong is ok…persisting in the mistake is where the true failing often occurs. If we are open to correction, and committed to the best FOR the person loved…not to the hubris of being right or knowing what’s best, then I believe we can minimize the egregious errors of overconfidence in what “right” constitutes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

So, now is a bit of time for introspection...

If you were to ask the various people in your life to write a eulogy for you today, answering the question: "What did I love?", what would people say? What has your life been communicating to people? What is the impression you are leaving behind on a daily basis?

What DO you love? What does your life show others on a daily basis?

Do you love your friends, your family, your work, your money, yourself, others, your causes, your activism, your knowledge, your accomplishments?

Would the answers be very different across your different relationships and people you know? Would they be only slightly different?

How would these lists match up against what you would wish them to be/your ideals?

I am interested, for those that may wish to send me a message rather than put as an answer to this post, what do YOU believe I love? At this point in my life, what impression have I managed to leave behind? I am truly interested in knowing whether my own personal perceptions are even close to those on my periphery. You may know me personally, or merely through my writing here...but I AM interested in knowing...according to you,

what do I love?

--The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Veteran's Day

PRESIDENT REAGAN:

"Secretary Weinberger, Harry Walters, Robert Medairos, reverend clergy, ladies and gentlemen, a few moments ago I placed a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and as I stepped back and stood during the moment of silence that followed, I said a small prayer. And it occurred to me that each of my predecessors has had a similar moment, and I wondered if our prayers weren't very much the same, if not identical.

We celebrate Veterans Day on the anniversary of the armistice that ended World War I, the armistice that began on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. And I wonder, in fact, if all Americans' prayers aren't the same as those I mentioned a moment ago. The timing of this holiday is quite deliberate in terms of historical fact but somehow it always seems quite fitting to me that this day comes deep in autumn when the colors are muted and the days seem to invite contemplation.

We are gathered at the National Cemetery, which provides a final resting place for the heroes who have defended our country since the Civil War. This amphitheater, this place for speeches, is more central to this cemetery than it first might seem apparent, for all we can ever do for our heroes is remember them and remember what they did -- and memories are transmitted through words.

Sometime back I received in the name of our country the bodies of four marines who had died while on active duty. I said then that there is a special sadness that accompanies the death of a serviceman, for we're never quite good enough to them-not really; we can't be, because what they gave us is beyond our powers to repay. And so, when a serviceman dies, it's a tear in the fabric, a break in the whole, and all we can do is remember.

It is, in a way, an odd thing to honor those who died in defense of our country, in defense of us, in wars far away. The imagination plays a trick. We see these soldiers in our mind as old and wise. We see them as something like the Founding Fathers, grave and gray haired. But most of them were boys when they died, and they gave up two lives -- the one they were living and the one they would have lived. When they died, they gave up their chance to be husbands and fathers and grandfathers. They gave up their chance to be revered old men. They gave up everything for our country, for us. And all we can do is remember.

There's always someone who is remembering for us. No matter what time of year it is or what time of day, there are always people who come to this cemetery, leave a flag or a flower or a little rock on a headstone. And they stop and bow their heads and communicate what they wished to communicate. They say, "Hello, Johnny," or "Hello, Bob. We still think of you. You're still with us. We never got over you, and we pray for you still, and we'll see you again. We'll all meet again." In a way, they represent us, these relatives and friends, and they speak for us as they walk among the headstones and remember. It's not so hard to summon memory, but it's hard to recapture meaning.

And the living have a responsibility to remember the conditions that led to the wars in which our heroes died. Perhaps we can start by remembering this: that all of those who died for us and our country were, in one way or another, victims of a peace process that failed; victims of a decision to forget certain things; to forget, for instance, that the surest way to keep a peace going is to stay strong. Weakness, after all, is a temptation -- it tempts the pugnacious to assert themselves -- but strength is a declaration that cannot be misunderstood. Strength is a condition that declares actions have consequences. Strength is a prudent warning to the belligerent that aggression need not go unanswered.

Peace fails when we forget what we stand for. It fails when we forget that our Republic is based on firm principles, principles that have real meaning, that with them, we are the last, best hope of man on Earth; without them, we're little more than the crust of a continent. Peace also fails when we forget to bring to the bargaining table God’s first intellectual gift to man: common sense. Common sense gives us a realistic knowledge of human beings and how they think, how they live in the world, what motivates them. Common sense tells us that man has magic in him, but also clay. Common sense can tell the difference between right and wrong. Common sense forgives error, but it always recognizes it to be error first.

We endanger the peace and confuse all issues when we obscure the truth; when we refuse to name an act for what it is; when we refuse to see the obvious and seek safety in Almighty. Peace is only maintained and won by those who have clear eyes and brave minds. Peace is imperiled when we forget to try for agreements and settlements and treaties; when we forget to hold out our hands and strive; when we forget that God gave us talents to use in securing the ends He desires. Peace fails when we forget that agreements, once made, cannot be broken without a price.

Each new day carries within it the potential for breakthroughs, for progress. Each new day bursts with possibilities. And so, hope is realistic and despair a pointless little sin. And peace fails when we forget to pray to the source of all peace and life and happiness. I think sometimes of General Matthew Ridgeway, who, the night before D-day, tossed sleepless on his cot and talked to the Lord and listened for the promise that God made to Joshua: “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”

We're surrounded today by the dead of our wars. We owe them a debt we can never repay. All we can do is remember them and what they did and why they had to be brave for us. All we can do is try to see that other young men never have to join them. Today, as never before, we must pledge to remember the things that will continue the peace. Today, as never before, we must pray for God's help in broadening and deepening the peace we enjoy. Let us pray for freedom and justice and a more stable world. And let us make a compact today with the dead, a promise in the words for which General Ridgeway listened, “I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”

In memory of those who gave the last full measure of devotion, may our efforts to achieve lasting peace gain strength. And through whatever coincidence or accident of timing, I tell you that a week from now when I am some thousands of miles away, believe me, the memory and the importance of this day will be in the forefront of my mind and in my heart.

Thank you. God bless you all, and God bless America."

--The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Packing up a life

Packing up a life,

Preparing for the next step.

Sifting through the debris

Of days and years now gone,

Every discovery a memory.

Gifts ungiven, given, forgotten,

Words exchanged, and times shared.

Relics of days, moments, memories,

Entombed in the dust of years.

The callous cold of time

Has tried taking its toll.

But each discovery merely

Awakens anew, afresh, again

Those thoughts, remembrances.

Each triumph, and its attendant failure

Each moment of elation and subsequent fall,

Each promise broken, each connection lost,

Each step not taken, each word recalled.

And slowly these finds begin to peter out

The memories fall back towards the gray abyss

And a life, years, experiences, successes, and failures

Gets broken down into a few boxes, a few containers.

The physical evidence of the time passed, compacted.

So much smaller than the sum of the whole, so little to show.

A life's possessions traded for experiences.

The Old Fool gazes upon the final pieces of evidence,

The last physical shards of connection to those memories.

Will he make it worthwhile? Will that trade work out?

Will the beans Jack got for his cow lead to the wondrous world beyond?

Or will he be forced to ask anew "How Do You?"

The Potter and Time have not yet deigned to tell.

---------------------------------------------------

The accompanyment spanning the years...

The Unforgiven: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYUMPKFYd6g&ob=av2n

The Unforgiven II: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-Bn_kD6QN4

The Unforgiven III: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTc6kmLjspc

Animal I have become: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqds0B_meys

...Everything about you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8ekz_CSBVg

Pain: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud4HuAzHEUc

Fake it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sep27sMmG-0

No Leaf Clover: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fd9ohpDDCRU

Vermillion: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ppoo1EJ-Vrc

Dead Memories: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kP5PqJpk5lQ

The Memory Remains: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDN4awrpPQQ

Bother: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDA1Co916Zk

Through Glass: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIzDsGyxsQM

Hero of the day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBJey2dkiAI

The Pretender: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBjQ9tuuTJQ

Just Like You: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04fQTmvFfGo

Bitter Taste: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnFQIHmuUkM

Headstrong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTvu1Yr3Ohk

Stupid Girl: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGT1QRyVYvY

Until it sleeps: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHVv7Mz2_Bo

Broken, Beaten, and Scarred: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nig49jCC14

-- The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Dissertation defended

Defended. Done. Paperwork signed. Format corrections and final comments to final draft of dissertation are what is left to slog through. Tired. But a happy kind of tired. :)

Thank you all for your support throughout these years. I look forward to a short furlough home before heading on to whatever comes next.

-- The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Dissertation completed

For the first time, this evening, the entire dissertation is complete. One week for my professor to review, one week for the committee to review, and then I should be defending. There will still be editing, but the document as a whole is finally together.

221 pages, ~41,000 words (I swear I didn’t PLAN on it being 41k words, my 41 bretheren… :) ).

Thank you guys for all your support over the years of attempting this…I am sure I couldn’t have done it without the support of my friends.

-- The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Dear Friend, part III (Dear Potter, Part VI)

The cleric looks up, the unexpected company interrupting…well, not exactly interrupting anything specific. Nothing more specific than silent, aimless thoughts. 

An observer of this pilgrim through the wasteland of lost thoughts would have readily presumed ennui – and been sorely mistaken. The baseless blank of such a state would be a welcome oasis from these thoughts. These thoughts that encompass nothing and everything. These thoughts that are aimless and yet share in Atlas’ burden.

Focusing on the source of this..could one call it unwelcome?...interruption, the parson’s eyes land upon the familiar visage. The kind eyes of his assistant retain their basic tenor, but are hued with sadness not normally present.

Oh Potter, please not today…not right now…not more. The unspoken prayer rises. Please, just one more moment without someone else’s problems…

But, the unsaid prayer fades away even in the ephemeral corners of the mind, as the standard courteous, if a bit tired, smile assures the intruder of their welcome. After all, this is the job, is it not?

Without a word, the aide eyes hands the clergyman a letter. Glancing down at the envelope, the prelate’s own eyes widen, and then join his friends – becoming shadowed over with a sadness…and then pain.

That damn handwriting…I’d recognize it anywhere. In just a few heartbeats, the loss is relived…the pain revived deep in the furthest recesses of his heart. Outwardly, the saddened eyes are the only evidence of this letter’s impact. A perfunctory exchange of grateful platitudes social custom demands was stiffly exchanged, freeing the intruder to scurry away from this moment.

A plain envelope, delivered by courier- or at least not the regular mail -  “From the desk of…” the late Old Fool. The envelope was addressed simply, Dear Friend,

Slightly trembling fingers open the envelope, careful to preserve it. Inside, a handwritten letter from his beloved friend. The handwriting unmistakable, though marred slightly by the viscous drag of old age. Taking a moment to will the rest of the painful recollections away, he unfolds the letter carefully and begins to read,

Dear Friend,

Before I go on, I would beg your forgiveness at the delay. It was not meant as a deception, but merely as a way of making this a timely communiqué. I left instructions with your assistant to wait until he judged this to be a necessary delivery. Were I not on my way to my beloved Potter, I would be receiving you right about now in my own home, if that young man has judged this timing correctly.

A small smile cracks through the somber reader’s expression…You’re right you old coot…I’d be in your house drinking some of that blessed coffee right now if that were at all possible. He stopped abruptly. This admission was doing nothing but rekindling the pain he had just managed to wrestle back under control.

I say this, my friend, because you belong to that very special, very small, and very isolated class of people that I myself know only too well. We go by many names, my friend. We are both secular and mystics. We are lay and clergy. We are sponges, dumpsters, accumulators, relief stations, safe havens, asylum, shelter, stronghold. By virtue of our personalities, professions, or both, we have been given this assignment, this duty, this devoir.

In your own life, my beloved friend, the cause is double – both your profession and your personality have given you this errand in life. You provide the ear to listen, the comforting hand, the safe room for people to unburden. A place where people on the edge of bursting can come release the safety valve. You are the shoring strength of many, the solid foundation of a few.

And yet, through all of this human interaction, through all this sharing and all these emotions, there is but one feeling we do our best to not admit to ourselves. One betrayal of weakness that we’d like to ignore, but must confront. One word that we fear could be the breach that leads to the end. Isolation.

Yes, my friend…isolation amongst so much experience of all of humanity’s most intense emotional states. As the ancient mariner once said, ‘water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink’. For, if you are to remain the sponge, pillar, strength, and repository of so many people’s suffering, fears, insecurity, anger, disappointment, trepidation, and confusion, it becomes primarily a one-way street of human interaction, does it not?

Oh, my dear friend…you don’t know how much I miss your voice right now…

It is your gift, my friend…your ability that few could muster with as much grace and strength. And yet, no one person can be up to that task, can they?

If only you knew old man…today, more than any day, I know I am not equal to the challenge.

But then again…you did know, didn’t you…

My beloved, I am sorry that I was unable to know you for longer. The few months we did have were enough to impress upon me both your value, and your struggle. My Potter had other designs for me, however, and I am left with aught but this final letter to you – tendered in lieu of the conversation I wish you and I could be having on this day of your reading.

Words of wisdom on how best to do your job, how best to counsel, advise, and withstand, I have no more to offer to you than those you know well by now. Instead, I am writing to urge you to remember to care for that one final member of your flock that will need it the most – its shepherd.

If you are not careful, this lifestyle will swallow you whole and never, ever release you. The isolation will envelop you, sink you, and suffocate you. The burdens of others will become your own. And the burdens of a single life are enough for anyone…even you, my dear friend.

I can almost see that wicked old smile as he penned that…

Few and far between as those in our particular guild may be, we do exist in greater numbers than your wretched liar of an isolation would have you believe. I know I am gone, my friend, and for that no apology or begging forgiveness will change your situation. But, I urge you, with all the strength left in this old heart, to not stop seeking until you come across some more of our brethren.

Even if you must stand fast and alone before the daily onslaught, we all must have a place to let our guard down…to lower from our backs the burdens few could carry…to breathe and share. To be each other’s strength and support.

We, my friend, we don’t get to have a bad day. We don’t get to let the others in on our weakness, for if we fall…then they fall with us. But we do…we have bad days, we fall, we falter, we stumble, we cry out, we weep, we doubt. And without your guildmates, we are left with isolation in which to do this.

I beg, beseech, implore you to not go down this dark path, my friend. The road is steep, slippery, and exponentially more difficult to take each step back. I know in these days of isolation, the thought of the Pottter can seem like cold comfort…compared to a flesh-and-blood guildmate. But remember that your Potter never promised perfect days, never guaranteed a rosy existence, and is no magic genie to remove all pain, doubt, and frustration. Rather, the Potter is the grand master of our very special group. The one ultimate repository, sponge, safe place, haven, refuge, and strength. The one guildmate that will never flag, wane, or be overwhelmed with his own day’s troubles. Take heart in this, even as all else fails you.

Find that partnership…that give-and-take friendship. There won’t be many in your entire life…so cherish those few moments, those days that are so sparsely distributed.  I enjoyed our short time together, and hope that in that time I helped ease some of that isolation as well.

But, as I leave you, I leave with a heavy heart…I wonder how you will handle the next step. I have faith in you…but I also understand the burdens and the dearth of relief points in our kind of life.

With this letter, this final opportunity for exhortation, I offer my ear to you one more time my friend…today is a bad day, but tomorrow you will be back out there. So, my friend…tell me about it…what has made today a bad day?

Your brother, your friend, your guildmate,

The Old Fool

The letter remains in the quietly weeping man’s hands a few more moments before dropping to the desk below…

My friend…I’ve missed you so much. You’re right…it is a bad day. There are days where I don’t know if I am going to have the strength to go out there and put on the strong face to that endless wave of need, pain, sorrow, anger, despair, and confusion. It’s a tsunami…slowly building, but infinite and strength and just as relentless. Today, Mrs………

Somewhere, the Old Fool smiles upon his friend across the chasm spanned by words, shared experiences, and personal bond. I am here, and we are listening…

----------------
Cry
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sX_xz5RYkXo


The Unforgiven
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vcd95yxQxs


Wherever I may roam
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jU9XrnF7mnc


Nothing Else Matters
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erPnyi90cIc


The House Jack Built
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGUu_gm9i_g


Until it Sleeps
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjZoIxCx-HY


Hero of the Day
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yaIcyjZ3Bp0


Bleeding Me
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9kxNeoRpv0


The Unforgiven II
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmqDtriTUEI


Tears and Rain
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9svxE49Ngs



-- The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Can't believe it's so close to the end...

Things have been progressing well in the lab. I may very well be looking at being in my last month of "student" mode, and into writing, planning a defense, and getting out of here. Man. honestly, I am going to miss this part of my life. I have thoroughly enjoyed this time. Had I not been...myself and my health junk...I would have easily seen why some people spend 7-10 years of their lives doing this and don't regret it. I have loved the time here, the people, and the experience. Saying goodbye to that is going to be like saying goodbye to a loved one, a companion, a partner. And many loved ones there are to say goodbye to, in fact.

And, as I pen this, I am thinking of the new beginnings out there. The two baby kiddos here and coming in my family - the new life, the next generation. And I am hoping I have something useful to say to them sometime soon. Got to think some more about that writing...

------------------------------------------------
From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ppoo1EJ-Vrc


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JnDQ2eQesc


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OLUNB993Dw


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QKUHjDLaKtU


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOoaXyW27eY



-- The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.

Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.
-

Restless Days (Sleepless Nights pt. II)

Sleepless Nights

--------------------------------

Here we are again,

Our daystar awakening,

Dispelling the dusky gloom.

You and I are again face to face.

Funny, I had wished for your arrival

In the midst of my Sleepless Night's reign.

And yet, now, as we face each other, I shrink away.

The dreaded darkness and engulfing gloom now banished,

Their loss is felt, their cocooning shroud missing,

Your arrival leaves me naked, exposed, weakened.

The daystar's glare unrelenting, unyielding,

Announces the beginning of this new day.

In my nights I face all that is mine,

My heart, my fears, my successes,

My failures, my joys, my loss.

But you thrust upon me

All that is not mine.

Here we are again,

Facing other's worlds,

Other's fears, joys, sorrows.

Other's hells and heavens, burdens,

Other's accomplishments, loss and anguishes,

And before these unrelenting tides of "not mine"

I find myself incapable, weak, and incredibly small.

And though I may instinctively seek refuge from it all,

Neither you nor my Potter will this cowardice allow.

You both send me forth, quaking, unstable, afraid,

To take my place alongside those more capable

More dedicated, alive, brave, and able,

And face the tides of one more day,

Once more through a restless day.

And leaning into the onslaught,

I beg of my Potter strength,

'Till I can greet my Night

With the same old adage:

"Here we are again."

--------------------------------------
Musical Accompaniment:


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vWhdz5svvQ


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJffUJFOmwA


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNrQOUtXYOo


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qlCC1GOwFw


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJ-2J0b1uS0


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SuUnv3krjU


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The Old Fool

“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.



Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.

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Dear Friend, part II (Dear Potter Part V)

The old Fool's letters continued to be delivered, the latest one arriving at the doorstep of one of his most faithful companions throughout the last months of the struggle that was not to be successful.

The usual greeting we have become accustomed to by now, but which still manages to strike emotion in the hearts of those recipients reading the one final love note and missive from their departed friend, opens this new communique:

Dear Friend,


No tears accompany this greeting, though the eyes of our current reader do mist over. They have spent too long wet these past few weeks, and now have a constant shadow of sadness left.

My beloved, my cherished, my loved...my friend. I am writing this with a heavy heart, for we were not able to have this conversation in person. I had been preparing these words to speak with you, when you were called away to duty elsewhere. I am sorry that it took me so long to come to the words which I needed to share with you, and now that I can share them, must be done from so far away.

Contrary to what he had believed, the friend's countenance becomes lachrymose recalling that sad day. He had longed to stay, but duty had intervened, and he had been recalled to active service for another six month stint away from home. He had considered fighting the order, but the Fool had urged him to follow through with his commitments. With a heavy heart, he had left, but had not been able to return until the cold stone marker was all he could grasp of his long time mentor and confidant...the memory still a bitter pill.

My friend, my brother, I do rejoice in the friends I have. I derive strength from your support. Though I'm broken, bloodied, and too tired to get out of bed for more than these few minutes to share my thoughts with you, I know that tomorrow is another day, and that I'll be able to face it and what it brings. It won't be easy, but it will be doable.


Not every day is a walk in the park. I sincerely thought I was having a heart attack when I went to bed a few hours ago. My chest ached, I could move my fingers, but I could feel nothing in them. A stab of pain went from my shoulder down to my elbow. As I lay there, I almost felt relieved. It meant that my sweet Potter agreed with me: I wasn't up to the task, and He was going to make sure the choice to face down my many personal demons was no longer mine.


I fell asleep, comforted in the fact that I'd written to most of the people I cared about in recent moments, and that I'd spoken to all who I loved and left them with good words the last time I did.


But then I woke up several hours later, and dragged myself to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror for a long, long time, and realized that this was not yet the time. I'm still here, I'm still driven, and I'm still hungry for this life and work. With the Potter's grace, and the love and trust and support of those of you who I turn to in my most difficult hours, I will face down this challenge and overcome. I need to rest now, but tomorrow the nose goes back to the grindstone. The steel must be constantly be worked, sharpened, toughened. I'll make it through, and I'll be a better person because of it all.


These words were the cruelest so far...the optimism that had not played out...the positive thinking that had been worth..nothing. The hot tears kept coming, as the friend paused, sinking just a little deeper into the bitterness that had become a constant companion these past few weeks. Of all the people to lose...could not the Potter have decided to take someone a little less...valuable?

I love all of you, I cherish all of you, and I thank all of you for all your trust and support. In these days when I can feel so alone and so detached from the world, it is good to know that these thoughts I pour into my machine make it through the blackness and out into your hearts and minds where I can feel your prayers and your steadfastness.


The friend's jaw set even tighter...the determination to allow the bitterness to wash over him was almost completely set in stone.

And yet, my friend, I can sense that you are not as joyful as you can be...and if you are reading this missive, I am certain that you will be even less joyful than you may have once been. For this, I am sorry...but I hope that you will give me just a few more minutes of your life, pay attention to this old man even in an echo of my presence, and hear my words..hear them very well.


The friend tried...he certainly tried , but at the moment every fiber of his soul screamed anger and rebellion, and listening to the words of his departed friend with the open heart and sincerity they demanded was not the easiest of tasks.

The reality of it all, my beloved, my friend, is that I have not been well for a long, long time. The reality is that it is a miracle that I live to see a single additional day. The reality is that I should have been gone a long time ago, but I have been given many, many, many more opportunities than I could have ever expected out of this old, malfunctioning husk. But the real kicker of a reality is that no matter how dire the situation...we're all in the same boat. Not any single one of us is guaranteed a single additional second of life...not me, not you, not anyone, my friend.


This was a little bit of a disturbing turn of topics...the friend had recoiled even more from considering his own mortality after life had given him too many opportunities to face the mortality of others. Being asked to face this was not something that was very much to his liking...especially not now...


I merely seek to make sure that all my friends are as comfortable with the reality as I am. My beloved friend, I’ve grown quite accustomed to this reality, and have embraced it, accepted it, and am HAPPY for the time I’m given each and every day rather than be bitter about time that was never mine to demand I be granted in the first place. I believe it is the state in which we all SHOULD live, but I know many of us don’t. Sadly, many of us prefer to remain perfectly blind and oblivious to the miraculous gift that each and every single day of life is.


My close friends and I have all loved each other dearly…dearly. I would lay down my life in a heartbeat for any of you, and most of you would do the same for me. Our pain is each other’s pain, our triumph’s, each other’s joy, and our failures, each other’s sorrow and lessons. And yet, we all are subject to this same reality.


There it was again...that unpleasant feeling, that mortality being rubbed in his face...he was starting to wish he had left this letter sealed and stored...


But here is the true miracle, my friend. This reality, it is a scorpion with no stinger. It is a shadow with no caster. It is a barking dog with no bite. It’s not something to fear, dread, or loathe. At least not in my life, dear one. I will have had a full life, no matter what, and I have an undying faith that I will be pleased with what I see when it is over.


I see peace, not dread. I feel an urgency only to benefit as many young lives as I can, not to worry about how to extend my own. I do, however, feel a responsibility to take care of myself when and how I can so that I can do whatever is reasonable to achieve this goal. But we must, we MUST be able to live richly and fully within the confines of that reality, my friend. Because if the sad day should ever come when I no longer get to enjoy the blessed joy of being with the friends I love, I would want them to be happy for the times we did have rather than angry at the time we were never promised to be given.


And there it was...happy for the times we had, not the times we were never promised. A simple phrase...but a life-changing implication. Can one really choose to live with such a focus?

My friend...I miss you dearly, and I am certain that you miss me. But, we have so many memories...so many blessings...so many joys. So many points in our lives that were not there for either of us to claim as our rightful possessions, but which we were granted anyway.


So, I ask you, my friend, my beloved...what choice are you willing to make today? Will you be a prisoner, a victim, an unwilling conscript in the death march that is life? Or will you apply yourself to the days that you have been given? Will you strive to fill each with the warmth, love, dedication, passion, and LIFE that you can? Will you put off the things that you must do, will you put off happiness and joy? Or will you make each day a worthy final one? Which is better, I ask...a lifetime of hope in some future happiness, or a lifetime of wonderful last days? Be it one final day or thousands...I know where my choice lies, my friend.


Now, as I bid you one final goodbye, I beg that you consider my words carefully my friend. Do not let the root of bitterness take hold...do not allow yourself to waste a single one of your precious days on pointless pursuits. Be strong, be able, and be willing to live the life you have been granted...and make it count. Make each and every single one of those gifts we call days count, and enjoy a life of few regrets.


Goodbye, my friend, and I wish for you a lifetime of joy unparalleled,


The Old Fool


I wonder...do I have what it takes to change my perspective this much? I don't know, my friend...but I will try...Goodbye sweet friend...goodbye, and I hope that the next time we meet I will have given you more reasons to be proud than ashamed....

--
The Old Fool

“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.



Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.

-

Dear Friend, part I (Dear Potter, part IV)

Sensing his time was drawing nigh, the Old Fool had labored to generate a few final epistles to his cadre of young mentees and friends. Each note was left with instructions regarding its delivery time and method. Some were to be delivered at certain ages or stages of life such as graduations and weddings, while others were to be delivered immediately upon the Old Fool’s death.

One of these latter missives having just been delivered, a young protégé reverently opens this tender attempt by his old friend to leave one final word of exhortation…unsurprisingly, the letter opens,

Dear Friend,

These first two words bring a wet-eyed smile to the young man’s face, as the tender voice elicited by these words rolls past the grasp of death itself and through his mind with the strength and clarity of the original flesh-and-blood version.

The Old Fool and the young man had been discussing the young man’s frustrating and apparently never ending failures at love’s various gambits when that great life was cut short by the indifferent cold of the grave. The young man’s distress had only increased with the passing of his friend. Yet, as he gazed across the opening lines, the love and affection for his erstwhile mentor and friend proved yet again well-founded.

Dear Friend,

As you read this note, I will have joined my forefathers in rejoicing with my Potter. To this boundless joy, however, comes the dampening memory of leaving you behind with little of our conversations having come to much end. I am sorry I will not be there to share in the declaration and riposte that this discussion should warrant, but please lend me your eyes, but more importantly your heart, as I try to share some final words with you, my dear friend. I had spent a great deal of my time listening to you in order to better understand your grief…and was remiss in having contributed so little to you in person.
Before I can go much further, a very important definition must be established, my friend. Without definitions, our words are empty, and our thoughts misdirected. So, I ask you, my friend, take a moment and reflect on this question quite carefully:

How would you define “love”?

The young man stopped reading for a moment, struck by the question. After all, was this not one of those great indefinable words and concepts that philosophers had spent millennia arguing? Did this not rank up there with “why am I here”, and “what does this all mean”? How could he be expected to define something so vast, so deep, so fundamental?

Ah, my friend, I can just about see you now puzzling over the unfair question. Even now I can see a bit of that petulant pout at having been placed on the spot quite like so.

I don’t blame you. The question has rarely been asked and met with aught but some bumbling, hastily constructed reply. Depending on the circumstances, people will emphasize feelings, emotive descriptions, romanticism, eroticism, bonds, connections, spirituality, or some grandiose mixture of all of these things. I myself was put on the spot once by my very own father while he was preparing to speak to a group of young married couples. I was merely 14 at the time, and it was quite a few more years before I had digested and appropriately applied his answer. It made sense, but I had not allowed the truth and power of it to sink in and make sense to me. So many other definitions, even that found in the Potter’s own Book, describe love by what it is and is not, show examples of love, and try to paint a picture of love. But very rarely does a simple, succinct definition appear anywhere as it did for me that day.

My father squared my shoulders to him, looked me in the eye, and said:

“Love is the conscious and willing commitment to (be, want, desire, do, seek, ab pluribus disce omnes) the BEST for the person or persons loved.”

My friend, I love this definition. I live and breathe this definition. It has been the fundamental principle behind my own relationships, whatever they may be.

Love is a commitment, few people would argue that, I suppose. However, it is a commitment made in the full knowledge (conscious and willing) of what that commitment may someday and does at the moment entail. It is not a blind feeling, a fleeting emotion, or some overwhelming sensation. It is not a convenient desire, it is not a passing fad. It is a wholehearted commitment. A father does not cease loving his child when he misbehaves or is being difficult. In fact, it is that commitment that keeps love alive even through the difficulties. It cannot be something as fleeting as a mere emotional state, or it is nothing but a whim and of no ultimate significance.

The multifaceted application of verbs in the definition reflects the myriad aspects of what that commitment may someday entail. It can be actions, thoughts, prayer, emotions, and any combination of these things. But it is all of these things for one unifying purpose…to the end of bringing about the BEST for the one(s) loved.

Unfortunately, my friend, this is where so many of us fall short of our Potter’s perfection. For, being merely men, what we can believe to be the best for one loved can later be found to have been sorely misguided. This weakness is in us, not the definition, however. Just because we can be too hubris-filled or inexperienced to know what truly constitutes ‘best’ for someone does not mean that we cannot fill our hearts with the true commitment to seek this best, whatever it may be.

I wholeheartedly believe, my young friend, and have often experienced, that this commitment, made honestly and totally, will lend to self-correction by an honest man unafraid to evaluate himself or take evaluation by others. Being wrong is ok…persisting in the mistake is where the true failing often occurs. If we are open to correction, and committed to the best FOR the person loved…not to the hubris of being right or knowing what’s best, then I believe we can minimize the egregious errors of overconfidence in what “right” constitutes.

Now, my friend, this letter grows long, and I grow weary for the night, but I will leave you with these two thoughts, and I would ask you to set aside the other letters delivered today until their appropriate times. Before you get to the next letter, ask yourself these three questions:

Does this definition make sense to me? If not, what IS love, as succinctly and logically as I can define it?

Have I ever truly loved?

Can I say I have been loved?

Good night, my friend…I look forward to discoursing some more with you tomorrow,
Your friend,

The Old Fool

The young man slowly folds this first letter, as he begins to contemplate these three questions…a task which will surely stay with him over the course of the next few days.

And you, dear reader…what do these three questions spark in you?



--
The Old Fool

“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.



Blog - Musings of an Old Fool by Juan Lopez is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at lopezj4141.blogspot.com.

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