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


--
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 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 Potter, part III

Dear Potter, part III

The young man walks slowly down the familiar street, past the habitual haunts, towards the erstwhile frequent destination. The steps are all familiar, the ambient cacophony resonating with the echoes of a thousand similar days, the mingled scents a facsimile of olfactory delights oft encountered. But today, the familiar trip is different. Today, the trip has the somber shadow of difference...of shattered sameness.

As he approaches the steps leading up to the usual front door, the new adornment sharpens into a glaring relief the difference of this day. A simple length of cloth, unassuming and unimportant in any other configuration; even in this arrangement, festive in the colors of autumn and winter. This unassuming cloth, this assemblage of thread, weaving, and dye, stark in the color of mourning wrapped around the wreath on the door, welcomes the young man to a changed world.

The foyer, a site of a million warm welcomes and heartfelt greetings, the memory of each a precious treasure now, welcomes the latest visitor to this day's gathering with a silent dignity, a silence no doubt given in tribute to the warmth that still resonates through this point of admittance. Pausing for a moment in the stillness, the young man's recollection a collage his own prior stops in this very space, before moving on to the main gathering.

A cornucopia of friends, loved ones, and ones who loved and treasured in reciprocity has gathered for this last labor of love, but the young man moves past them all, and into the Sanctus Sanctorum through the door that has both imprisoned and provided refuge.

The soft lamp is already spreading its warm glow through the messy room...the young man is not the first today to have sought a small reconnection with the room's departed tenant, prisoner, refugee, and master. A slow perusal of the room reveals the comfort of things just as they are remembered, though unlike the other visitors, this one is not merely reflecting, but looking.

Finally spotting the object of his search nestled between two favorite and commensurately well-worn books, the young man pulls a crisp, clean envelope from the shelf, and sits with no small degree of reverence in the lone and now lonely chair.

The light of the lamp casts its warmth with enough strength to allow the wavering pen strokes of his departed friend's infirm hand. Three words grace the front of the envelope, one crossed out. The letter had originally been addressed, Dear Potter, but now read Dear Friend.

The young friend carefully opens the letter, and withdraws the short manuscript, sure to have been one of the final produced by that vaunted hand and beloved and respected mind.


Dear Friend,

As with many of my last missives, this letter had originally been intended for my Potter. But, with the time I have left, I am left to realize that whatever I may have to say to my Potter, I will soon be able to do so without the current indirect route. Instead, I believe it is an opportunity to leave a word or two behind for you that I must take full advantage of at the moment.

You know my life somewhat, though you know me well, my friend. You know my triumphs, and you have been acquainted with some of my failings. A history lesson or a long self-eulogy is not for these pages...

Rather, my friend, I have the opportunity to share with you some of my life stories, some of my fondest memories, and through these some of my most difficult lessons...


The strong, if sometimes slow and measured voice of his friend ringing strongly in his ears...the words on the page before him merely the final vehicle for those words to reach him, the young man reads on through the stories, recollections, and thoughts of his beloved friend. Laughter, sorrow, and a strange mix of the two pepper his experience of the next few pages, on through to the final anecdote, the final piece of advice,


...and so, my friend, I am left with little to tell you but to share some of the wisdom that my beloved Potter has allowed me to find after so many failures on my own.

Many times, I asked my Potter for the wisdom, the words, the strength to help those I loved, to help those who suffered so much, whose misery was overwhelming and crushing. Foolish is man to believe in his ability to be so wise and so strong. Remember this, my young friend, remember it and allow it to fill you with its simple truth: sometimes the true strength our Potter gives us is the ability to share in that pain, to drink from their cup of sorrow, to spill tears together, and have the eloquence to have nothing to say or add.

Silent tears whose comfort can outstrip any beautifully wise constructs generated from alphabets and spoken phonemes. There are many times, my dear friend, where we can do nothing more than offer ourselves to share in the sorrow.

Beg and implore the Potter to show you the wisdom to spot the difference between the need for eloquent words, and the need for eloquent silence.

More hearts have been brought closer to mending in my own life through this latter necessity, but do not be fooled by the apparent costs. Sharing in this pain, partaking in the tears, and yet standing strong with and for those you love can be, and usually will be, the most difficult task you set about to perform.

And now, my friend, the time has come for our mutual indulgence to end. I have enjoyed talking with you, for even as I slowly pen this, I can see your eyes scanning the pages before me and I share in the joy of having a young friend such as yourself to leave some of my final thoughts to. But my time to teach is now done, my time for stories is past, and your time to practice this most difficult art begins. You know those for whom I worry, those whose sorrows will accompany them today, and whose grief will be difficult to bear. I know it will be difficult, but I know you will have what it takes to persevere.

Go, and go with all my best love, gratitude, and hopes, my friend. Go, and help those left behind...

Once and always proud of you, my young friend,

The Old Fool


Reluctantly, the young man folds this last sheet of precious communication. Standing slowly, drinking in the strength left in this room by his friend, the young man braces himself, and in a faint echo of a thousand actions before this one, he opens the door, and crosses the threshold of this refuge to seek those in desperate need to share from their overflowing cups.

My friend, may I never forget how I am merely His clay either...and Dear Potter, I do beg and implore...give me the eloquence I need, and be my strength and my foundation, my anchor and my support. For alone, he could never, and him I'll never be.


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

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9d9BIvthwJM


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KtF7ql3FJc


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdQDYrOAht4


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZlhmigaacJc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erPnyi90cIc


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5srpggS-2-g



--
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.

-

Steps in an Empty Ballroom III

(Part 1)
(Part 2)


Gently cradling the tired and dusty one,
The visitor joins in the tears,
Two souls join in the mourning awakening demands
Words insufficient, unfound, yet superfluous,
In silence they mourn to an unsung dirge.

The weathered face struggles to look up,
With great effort, with last breaths,
Fear, unfathomable sadness from the dimmed eyes,
Accent the question rasped out,
"Must I? Oh, friend, must I?"

Fresh tears join the rivulets already forded
As the visitor holds the Fool closer,
Gently, tenderly, kindly, whispers,
"Yes, my friend, but together let's advance.
Let's stand, brothers, and face this final task."

His last breath expended, the Old Fool assents
One final nod, the realization complete.
And as they rise, the last of the spark drains,
On his feet again, the visitor alone remains,
A dry, dusty shell now all he's cradling.

Cold settles into the decrepit remains,
The Fool now released from his prison,
His victim gone, the visitor mourns now alone.
This righteous deed...the merciful murder...
The reasons feel hollow, plaintive, and numb.

The killer gently lays his victim on the dusty tiles,
A final resting place, an epilogue to a tale long done.
The executioner reaches out, and gently, tenderly, sorrowfully,
Closes those eyes of sorrow for the last time,
"Forgive me, my friend. May you find your peace now."

Before this plea is fully complete,
The murderer shrieks and jumps back aghast,
As the body before him crumbles like so much loose dust.
The dust is carried away, though no breeze is felt.
The wonder replaces the horror, as the room awakes.

Like a waking giant, the room seems to rumble.
The dust that had grayed this temple of sorrow
Washes away, slowly vanishes as the room brightens
Rapidly, years roll back, the heaviness of time lifts,
The room recalls its glory the world had long forgotten.

Stupefied and amazed, a murderer stands alone,
A living centerpiece in a dazzling miracle of rebirth.
As the brightness and light finish their invasion,
The furthest, darkest corner now bathed in life and glow,
The head table is revealed, and with it the truth...

...

With that, we leave our visitor, our murderer, our executioner,
To meet with his forgiveness, absolution, and validation.
And while what he met, what he saw, what he learned was for him alone,
We can leave you with this:

In the past lies both joy and sorrow,
Both ecstasy and pain,
Both need and satisfaction,
Both loss and all that is whole.
It is both the best and the worst.

But it is merely the past.

It cannot be the present,
And it can never be tomorrow.

It can be a lesson for life,
But it cannot be life.

It can inform the present,
But it cannot inhabit the present.

Most grasp this as self-evident,
But not all can so easily.
A past, forced to live in the present,
Is merely an empty, hollow shell.
It is death masquerading as life.

Will you choose life?
Will you live?
Or will you become merely the echoes of steps in an empty ballroom?

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

From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I10Cxv7qHJ8

--
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.

-

Some days it's harder to not be frustrated than others

Today marks 17 days since the current bout of immobility kicked in. Not all days have I been thoroughly immobile, some of them I was able to get around with one or two canes. Others, I didn't get up off the couch - yes, the couch, because the bed was too uncomfortable.

It's times like these that I go back and read my own "pep talks" to myself, because it's not easy to remain frustration-free. For the first time in at least a couple of years, I had found myself being able to engage in some healthy activities that carried the hope of combining with my current medication regimen to possibly show some real improvements. After one week of feeling great - this new round kicks in. And sure, I'll get over it, and I'll get back on my feet...but the timing just sucked. I guess it's never a good time to have mind-numbing pain keep you up for all but one or two hours a night, but this seemed to be worse timing than normal.

One of the downers is that my long and checkered history with medications means that I have very, very limited options for dealing with these flare-ups. Ok, pharmaceutically, I really have only ONE option. And it's a toxic poison. yeah, they call it a medicine, but it's a medicine like chemo is a medicine - it just gets rid of the bad stuff faster than it would actually kill you. Here's a paraphrase what wikipedia has to say about this wonderful pharmaceutical option:

The drug's toxicity has been compared to arsenic poisoning: symptoms start 2 to 5 hours after the toxic dose has been ingested and include burning in the mouth and throat, fever,vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain and kidney failure. These symptoms may set in as many as 24 hours after the exposure. Onset of multiple-system organ failure may occur within 24 to 72 hours. This includes hypovolemic shock due to extreme vascular damage and fluid loss through the GI tract, which may result in death. Additionally, sufferers may experience kidney damage resulting in low urine output and bloody urine; low white blood cell counts (persisting for several days); anemia; muscular weakness; and respiratory failure. Recovery may begin within 6 to 8 days. There is no specific antidote, although various treatments do exist.:

What, pray tell might be the toxic dose? Well, actually, any dose. The stuff is so nasty, the instructions literally say: "take one every x hours until vomiting, nausea, and/or the other nasty symptoms kick in, and discontinue immediately". Most patients I know of, that means they get to take ONE. Last week there was a day where I had to take 3 in a 30 hour period.

Why do I clarify this? Well, because of how much grief it causes my parents when they know I'm here poisoning myself just to make some pain go away. Of all the things to happen, to add to their burden of worry is one of those things that just gets to me like few things ever do.

Anyway, there have been some pretty bright spots through the month so far, though. Wonderful times spent with friends...a serendipitous series of reversals of the immobility just in time to handle two events that lifted the spirit and made me grateful all over again for those in my life.

Still, some days, you just have to say it like it is. It sucks. It sucks, and I'm still going to get up tomorrow and see what else has to be done to move me on down the path towards graduation. But, I doubt it will suck any less. :)

Thanks for putting up with the rant. G'night all...

From: http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/hallucinations.png

--
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.

-

Steps in an Empty Ballroom II

(part 1)

The visitor steels himself.
Decided upon his unpleasant task,
He braces and widens the breach.
A peephole becomes a gash.

The piercing light dispels the gray,
Dancing off the dry, dusty air.
Illumination invading areas long dark,
Exposing the gray drabness, dispelling dusk.

The Old Fool pauses mid-greeting,
Interrupting the welcome of a guest long gone
Something is not right, something's awry.
Intruders, party crashers, personae non-gratae!

The visitor lowers himself into the room,
Standing in the bright center of light
Cast by the gash across the gray cocoon's walls.
Backlight by the breach, his presence an outline.

The Old Fool stares aghast at this mirage,
This ghostly intruder into the Ballroom's troupe
Though milky eyes are no longer reliably sharp,
The invader's presence looms unequivocally.

This unwelcome guest, his own Red Masque of Poe,
Can bring no welcome news, no additional joy.
Frozen in place by Prospero's fears revived,
The Old Fool trembles as the apparition draws near.

The visitor approaches slowly, gingerly, gently,
Not wishing more harm than will already be done.
At last, face-to-face with the tired old man,
The Visitor gently, kindly, sorrowfully reaches out.

Touching the withered, dusty shoulder, the Visitor says,
"Friend, you don't know me, and I know you not.
But I looked in your Ballroom, and was compelled by this sight.
I am ashamed to admit, I fought the urge to take flight."

The Old Fool flinches, this touch though gentle and light
Feels repellent, repugnant, dangerous, and unwelcome.
He hears the words, but cannot understand how this intruder
Could consider the splendor surrounding them a plea for succor.

But even as the Old Fool opens his dry, dusty mouth to retort
The shimmer and glow seems to take on a pallor,
The epicenter of this grayscale shift centered on the visitor
The Old Fool closes his mouth, and reels at the unfolding sight.

"No!" the Fool finally gasps. "Whoever you are, whatever you want,
Please, leave me tonight. Let me welcome the rest of my guests.
Let me dance to the music, let me enjoy the kitchen's delights.
Whatever you thought to say, I beg...stay your tongue - at least one more night."

The gentle grip becomes firmer, a grasping motion by the visitor.
He centers himself before the Old Fool, looking straight in the dusky eyes.
The voice of the visitor, thought firm, sounds gentle and filled with sadness,
"No, my friend. I cannot leave you here, not like this, not tonight."

"Condemned only by your own heart, but condemned nonetheless,
I cannot leave you here to toil through another fruitless excursion through limbo.
It is time to awake, to accept, and yes - even to suffer, my friend.
Together we will walk out of this farce, this lie, this facade and welcome life again."

As the visitor continued to speak, the milky eyes darted about in growing horror,
As the glittering room seemed to shimmer at an increasing rate,
Yet growing grayer and dimmer with each pass of the eye, like approaching a desert mirage,
The shimmering waters always receding, at each step being replaced by dry, dusty sand.

"NO!" The gasp becomes a plaintive wail. "Mercy, mercy I beg! Leave me be,
Leave me be, you menacing beast, you Masque, you Gray Death!
Stop changing the room, stop casting your spell, just leave me to my guests.
Go! Go! Go, and let your dusky mirage follow you on out and back down to hell"

With tears in his eyes, the visitor draws the sobbing man close,
Though the Fool pushes away, the strength has long gone from these old, dusty bones
Leaning in towards the ear, the visitor whispers as he cradles the frail body,
"They have gone, long ago, my friend. And now it is time for you to let them all go."

The sobbing Old Fool's last strength sweeps away, stopping his futile struggle.
The sobs slow down, and the Fool speaks again, though hushed and low - nearly a whisper.
"I tried, long ago...I tried, and I failed. Now, please let me return to my failure.
Let and old man spend his days with those cherished and dear, those loved and admired."

"Look up, my friend, look up and see me. See me, and see the real, do this, I beg."
The Old Fool hesitates, pauses, delays - unwilling to take the next step,
And yet, consumed by a morbid desire to know the face of his tormentor, the Fool slowly complies.
As his eyes rest upon the shape of his torment, the proximity sharpens the features once gone.

The Fools eyes widen, his surprise naked and evident, as the countenance comes into focus.
"No! You cannot be..." the Fool blurts out, but the visitor interrupts quickly,
"I am not the person you think of. At least not quite. I am his son, his only progeny.
And when I was a child, he would tell me stories, but the saddest of all he kept from me."

"But when he passed, I discovered his letters, and came across your own correspondence,
And then his subsequent notes about what he believed had once transpired.
Worst of all, I discovered a clue as to your fate, but could never surmise a location.
I searched far and wide, and have found you at last, and I'm here to free you from your nightly repast."

By now, the Fool's gaze is focused solely upon his unwelcome guest with the face so familiar,
And as he does, the sounds of the music fade, the scents of the kitchen vanish,
And finally the true pallor of gray settles over the rest of the area.
As the Old Fool looks into the familiar, yet new, face...the room comes back into focus.

With a cold shiver, the Fool slowly looks around the unmasked room, it's truth now denuded.
And the horrible reality of that truth takes grip in his heart.
With a low moan, so horrible and painful that the visitor starts and then trembles,
The Old Fool confronts the true scope of the loss - the one loss most unbearable.

"No! No! No! I cannot...I cannot. Please, please, please...do not make me remember..."
"But you must, my friend. Remember, and be free."
"I cannot, I must not. Don't do this to me, I beg you, grant mercy and kindness, in the name of your father!"
"This is the mercy, this is the kindness, and this is done in the name you invoked."

"They are gone, my friend. Gone one by one, they have moved on to rest and peace.
All but one. One who has chosen suffering, despair, and delusion as a prison.
And yet, a prison built by his own two hands, condemned by his heart to an infinite term.
The time has come for you to let them go...free them, and free yourself."

The Old Fool returns his gaze to those kind, blue green eyes...

(to be continued)


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mlahvvymkxc


from; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fb-UxzgkTds


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIN2jUL0eS8&feature=related


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6hGQ71NXrE


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kcErNWtw1o


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qPH8G8sI-w


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


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTBgogJA03A


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCEfn204BYM


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XyR2CeI_3KY


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a50clhTpzj8


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


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhjG47gtMCo


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noIdhI4iBnU


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZ2LwW0f6rI&feature=related


From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9IixYR_p-4

--
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.


*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.

-

Chicken soup for my soul...

I am back on the LU campus for the week-end, helping to usher in a whole new class of fresh-faced brothers into 41.

After having been too ill to attend last year (my only miss in 12 consecutive initiation/EO years), I am VERY glad to have the opportunity to be back, and taking my place as one of the keepers/tellers of the oral histories and traditions in the floor. It was one of the aspects of the whole weeks that I always enjoyed as a young underclassman myself, and now to be able to have the great privilege to take part in the week in that way is a real shot in the arm of my good humor and morale. I love telling these old stories, enjoy the laughs, and more than anything, enjoy participating in this grand old tradition kept alive simply because of the joy others find in it and their desire to continue uplifting these traditions year after year.

Thank you, my brothers for all the years we have done this together in the past, for keeping the traditions alive...and you new brothers - I look forward to years of getting chances to know each other some more. Welcome! And remember that once a 41er.... (that's right, you finish the phrase for me now...)

Always in style:

From LU Years

Memories of years gone by:

From LU Years

From LU Years

From LU Years

From LU Years

Last good shot of the pristine original 41 tiles...

From LU Years

--
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.


*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.

-

Seven Seconds

One…

Seven seconds, a mere seven heartbeats, a few measures of a song.

Two…

Time so fleeting, so fragile, so light – and yet so significant that their presence can illuminate a life and their absence can cast a long shadow.

Three…

Moments whose significance is sometimes masked by their quotidian presence, and whose value often can only be gauged in the harsh suffering of their absence.

Four…

Those seven seconds, those significant moments, those lifelines of joy and continuing pleasure in the banality of life’s relentless repetition and routine – do you know what they are?

Five…

Can you identify those few moments…those ephemeral ticks of the clock that give you hope, renew your joy, and restore your strength?

Six…

Or are you like so many others, who will only discover these precious gems, these jewels of existence, these prized morsels of life when they are no longer there for the taking – when all that is left is to 

mourn?

Seven.

--
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.


*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.

-

Music can be a halcyon place

The day that never comes


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMW0_XxKdzs

The Nobodies


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fi97Y6Op9Ag&feature=fvw

Voodoo

From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nw2iipzHl3w

Long hard road


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTBgogJA03A

Serenity

From: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEraza1stto

Sn**f


from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq2FLZFzBJU


--
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.


*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.

-

The old man is back in the ballroom tonight

Ah, the memories....





























--
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.


*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.

-