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Some say "bad things only happen to good people." What is good and bad, right and wrong? Pure speculation might say that all is relative. And that may be. The analytical part of my brain says that these adjectives only have meaning in context. The problem here is that I have an extremely sensitive moral and social center, tied permanently to my emotional self.

Bail now if you don't like it...I'm going deeper.

I believe that I tend to take things harder than others, or at least am far less able to hide the abject poisonous venom devouring my insides each time some seemingly grand injustice happens in the (or should I say my) world. Because in truth I'm not that caring about the world as a whole. I can't be. I don't have the strength to weep that much. Nor do I have the fortitude to right enough wrongs (even in my small circle) to seemingly make squat of a difference.

I think...and hope that staying completely open to joy is what exposes those of us to a deeper sorrow and sharper pain when something or someone important is hurt or taken away from us. Often the simplest thing can have more value than all the rest of the world put together. It might just be something we cling to. Helping us shed the darkness for a bit longer. There are those that might say this is a weakness of character or an over sensitive, emotional makeup. Again I believe that to be relative. I can no more change my stance than a gay person can choose to be straight. So how do we deal with the intense difficulties that we face. Tears help a lot. I find that I know I'm real at these moments. I exist and matter at least to myself. I have often wished to be one of these seemingly oblivious people that nothing can effect. A rock. I envision (not sure why) an man who can no matter what has happened sit down and watch football settling into the happiest place he could ever want to be. I don't have one of these happy places. Why is that? Am I too aloof?

A recent loss has drug all this up for me. I firmly believe we can never truly find great joy and happiness if we are not open and vulnerable to hurt and sadness...yet even in the full knowledge of that I still often stand in abject awe and wonder at the pain and sorrow that seems to rain down upon me. Sometimes I ask, am I awake? Did that really happen? Firmly believing that I'm not such a bad person and how in the fuck could such a thing....

And so bad things happen to good people. Or sensitive people experience the lowest of low in order to soar to the highest of high.

nuff said

stupid shit i think about

stupid shit seems an apt title for many of my posts.

My mom's open heart surgery is scheduled for this Thursday. I need to call her today. She is really scared. I am too in a surreal way...kind of detached and selfish. I have a calm feeling that she will make it through fine but there is always that chance that she may not. She is quite weak.

I have had a dream of singing at my moms funeral ever since I sang Rutters' Requiem...I don't know, 15 years ago I guess. I dream that I am to sing the bass solo of the Requiem. It's very low and stretches my voice almost to it's limit. It's very uncomfortable...yet perhaps Requiem should be uncomfortable.

It's starts out so low and very quiet..."Libera me domine de morte aeterna" - "Lord I pray deliver me from deaths everlasting fire". If I don't think of the English I'm ok...but if I indulge myself I loose it in hopeless gasping sobs. Mom turned 75 in September and I sent her flowers for her birthday. She liked them quite a bit I think based upon her thank you note. Written in an unsteady hand on an enormous piece of paper. She also pointed out that now being 75 she is 3/4 of the way to heaven.

I don't think anyone enjoys hearing song in Latin anymore. And I don't think the 1st born son should have to sing at his mothers funeral. She is going to be fine. Yet the day will come for the song. Who will have the fortitude to sing?

far

how to keep the loneliness away

need to keep the sadness at bay

prevent this chipping, chiseling, carving away

of the self I halfway like...into a self I hardly know.

watching them two by two walking to their cars smiling
or whole families laughing with the rest of the day to look forward to.

and me, watching her walk away. always leaving...for a while I stay.

then to this over sized house I race. never dreamt it another lonely place.
yet I can still manage a smile as I envision her face.