New Year ...Old Problems

The world has begun to slide into 2014 -- without malice, with some joy, with continuing optimism balancing ongoing pessimism. 

I wish all my loved ones: family, friends, enemies, old lovers, wouldbe lovers -- the same sentiment.  Happy New Year and a Blessed 2014!

Playing the Villain

When a relationship ends -- there is always one partner left to "play the villain."  The "other" tries to re-establish the relationship, sometimes after some time has passed, or sometimes over time -- but the "villain" steadfastly retains the villain status.  It is not easy to play or "be" the villain.  But it is a necessary function.

Someone has to be there to say "you can't go home again," "you can't step twice into the same river," "you can't recreate the magic that once existed," etc. etc. etc.  All true -- but it still earns that person the trophy for villain of the year. For whatever seems to get in the way of a possible love -- must be villainy, right? It can't just be common sense -- stating the obvious -- or telling it like it is. It must be villainy to stand in the way on one partner's imagined or desired love. Even if that love is made impossible by the very nature of the complaining lover. I am, once again, the villain. 

On Being Last and Perhaps...Least

Sometimes I am the last person out of the building. Sometimes I "closed" that bar by being the last one to leave. Sometimes I have been the last love of someone's life -- like with my beloved Sheila.

Sometimes I am the last person that someone thinks of -- like my relationship with Tina, with Maureen, etc. etc. etc. I used to say that I loved all women -- and that is absolutely true. Yet I think that I am continually and consistently forgotten as a potential date, mate, or even friend -- by nearly every women I know. How sad!

These are the days I miss having someone -- someone close, someone dear, someone to hang on to when dark thoughts encroach.  Just someone... who likes me maybe... or tolerates me... or even loves me.  That would be nice. 

Why Do "Bad" Things Reoccur?

My sister is currently being treated for perhaps a return of her "staph" infection -- which a year ago at this time caused: a large non-healing oozing wound, a skin graft from another part of her body, a huge amount of discomfort, a year-long healing process (which still hasn't finished), and just general low-level depression.  The oozing sore(s) have begun again -- and now the future is in terrible doubt.  Talk about "bad karma, " or just plain "bad luck."

She certainly didn't deserve all that bad luck to happen to her -- and to have it happen twice -- no explanation can cover it.

People in relationships also have this kind of "bad karma." But perhaps it is because in both cases we tend to do the same things, to make the same decisions, to abide by the same rules and principles -- and proceed accordingly.  Are we our own worst nightmare?

Desire is ...Crazy!

To really desire someone means that the "butterflies in the stomach" go nuts. You are thrust into an illusion of hope, of having, of wanting -- no matter what the obstacles.

Many people think that they can "desire" something other than sex. I think they're wrong. You can "want" a new car, a new home, or lots of money. But you can only truly "desire" another person. When that hope springs up within your chest (or wherever) it takes over the whole body, the way of thinking, the way of being.

Passion overcomes complacency. Most people will do anything to get that "desirable" other person. In the inflamed mind the "desire" takes over, becomes paramount, and displaces any other "wants." It consumes time and energy. It "eats" the stuff we live on -- our energy, our "chi."

Exam Days

For every process, there is a time of crisis. For every struggle, there is a moment of standoff. For every course, there is an exam. For every relationship, there is a time of reckoning.  For every every love affair, there is time of parting. For every day, there is a time to think.

In the Midst...

I like words. I like ideas. I like the confusion and humor of "double entendres." I enjoy people who can laugh at words, and people, and themselves.

Laughing at myself is the most serious thing I do. And I do it often. Sometimes in the "midst" of trying to cover my butt in some matter; I realize it truly doesn't matter. It truly doesn't.

And why are we all so "stressed' by how we look to the world, how the world views us, what others think of us? Why?

In the "midst" of all this simple thinking -- I am struck with thoughts of someone I love. Perhaps someone who is now gone, or someone I have put aside. It doesn't matter: gone is gone! But when that someone is gone, I miss their touch, their smile, their closeness, their interest in me and in us, their life in all its fullness.  

On a Life Well-Lived

Being young a person just naturally has high hopes. Things will go well. Dreams will be accomplished. Wants will be satisfied. And then time begins to weave its continuous web -- and everything changes. 

Problems and obstacles spring up like thorns. Goals are sometimes met, and rewards are earned. But often only more obstacles arise. And that is life. A series of small goals met, and larger goals still out there to be met. And a maelstrom of flying obstacles in between.

And in all that, if one chooses to live simply -- to live without causing pain, or spending too much time getting out of the way of it -- one feels the inadequacy of our position. We are free-willed enough to live as we choose; be we perhaps shall never achieve what we truly want. Is that the life I signed up for?

Friday the 13th

Triskaidekaphobia --or the fear of the number 13 -- afflicts many black-cat fanciers. It is often extended to the fear of the date -- Friday the 13th -- an application from at least medieval times. Well, I have a sibling who was born on that date so the family has had fun giving her many birthdays, every time that Friday the 13th shows up on the calendar as a matter of fact. 

Fears like this one abound in American society: old wives' tales, cultural traditions, colonial traditions, family quirks, all dating back well before anyone can actually remember when they began. I realized the other day that I like to "attack" and "confront" such traditions. The "black cat crossing one's path" being bad luck -- is a good example. I often look for that black cat, or wait until it crosses my path, to actually experience it visually -- and note any changes in luck, karma, future thinking, nervousness, etc. As a kid I was always like that -- "challenge the convention and find a new meaning" was always a kind of hidden perspective I had on all such situations and moments. 

Often times, right in the middle of an experience -- whether ecstatic or abysmal -- I find myself watching the moment and gauging the immediate impact on my life: living the moment and preserving it while I am living it. Don't know where this came from but I do know I always have had this capacity (or is it just a strange weakness?).

Viable Endings

When a semester ends in college -- it ends. When a relationship sputters, flares up, and then out -- is it truly over? That is the question. What remains of a relationship -- after death, let us say (I hope a lot)? What remains after a long time away? What remains if the people get busy and "go" elsewhere?

When a person dies -- what is left for them? Where do they go? How are they? Are they? All big questions that are answer-resistant until we achieve our own end.

On Saving the World...and Love

Nelson Mandela -- one of the great heroes of the human race, was memorialized today by world leaders in South Africa. Leaders from every kind of country attended -- and many types of people were allowed to speak at the Memorial. Symbolic of the strands of humanity that Mandela touched -- from every walk of life, from every economic stripe, from every family in the family of nations. 

Mandela was among the best of men.

He joins the ranks of Gandhi, King, and Tutu -- men who worked tirelessly for other men, for the good of all men. 

The Cockroach that Loves the Cold

Just in time for winter in the Northeast -- a species of cockroach, hitherto unknown in America, that can thrive in cold weather. Well, isn't that just wonderful. One more thing to worry about in the icy streets of NYC -- rats, traffic, muggers, and now cockroaches. Kafka would be soooo pleased!

Well, news never ceases to amaze. Nature never ceases to amaze. Life never ceases to amaze.

Metamorphosis was always one of my favorite stories: Gregor Samsa I think was the name of the character, transformed into a cockroach -- story about life, prospects, fears, and realities. And of course the way people react to the changing realities of others, even their closest relatives and friends. Who is my "Gregor" -- is it some woman who has become only cruel and unthinking towards me? Is it Tina?    

The Tragedy in Some Lives

I teach in a diverse human biosphere. There are people of all ilks, types, and genres -- with an endlessly diverse set of obstacles, problems and deficits in their lives.

Why is it that some people get loads of obstacles set in front of them -- while others get only a very few.  I have known well a woman who was the victim of incest, then drug abuse, alcoholism, and now the gritty remains of all the previous problems.  These problems have caused social difficulties, self-esteem issues, and a complete failure to form healthy relationships on an intimate level. The problems themselves must have fed upon each other until finally the chance for a normal life was gone.

This same woman had "relationships" that quickly became bizarre (or at least uncomfortable by normal standards) and did not ever result in the fulfillment of the happy expectations of a fuller life. This woman even became "lost" in her own partial fulfillment and angry about inadequacies at the same time. For the reformed alcoholic there is no rest; no expectation of ease about the problem. The fear of breakdown is always present. For one who has turned to religion -- any doubt is "of the devil," shows evil, or at the best is a noxious challenge to one's known truth.

As for me I was never ever trying to challenge someone else's truth -- I only know what I am, and what I hope for; and I understand and accept the weaknesses of my own knowledge. How could I do other?

Truth

What is the "truth" of a person's life? There is so much clutter, so much hyperbole, so much confusion -- in every story, every incident, every memory recreated -- that truth becomes near-impossible to find. Because of our fallibility -- our sloppiness -- our lack of mechanical rigor in our memories and recreations; we must always assume that we are probably wrong about them -- either in a minor way, a major way, or both.

Truth is an absolute in some people's minds.  It is unvarying and unforgiving to those who don't honor it. But I don't believe that. Truth for me is the varying, the changes, the differences -- but also the "kernel' of the experience. The essence and its existence at the same time. 

There is always a flap in philosophy about the "essence" and its practical "existence" being two differing versions of a thing. But for me they are the same. The existence is the essence; the essence is and must be its existence. Neither completes the other; but each totally confines the other. 

What Does The Blog Title Really Mean?

A long, long, long, time ago--so what does that really mean? Yesterday? Another lifetime ago? A not-to-be-thought-of recent past? A decisive moment of "getting past it" whatever it was? A memory made larger by time? A lie? A fabrication? A "could have been but wasn't"?

Does it suggest to anyone else that the past is not a place to dwell, but only visit? To use but not to relive? To understand but not necessarily to repeat? The past is and can continue to be powerful in our lives -- but it can never be the present? (You cannot step into the same river twice.) The past is the story -- the present is the ending -- the future is a new story! 

On Regrets both Real and Imagined

There are regrets and there are regrets.  There are people I wanted to stay with, and people I wanted to leave.  There are jobs that I should have stuck with, and those I should have left earlier. There are places that I might still want to visit, and those that I wouldn't be caught dead in. 

There are incidents in my past that I wish I had had a chance to think about while they were happening -- I would have reacted differently perhaps. I would have taken advantage of the situation; I might have left myself more open and more vulnerable.

Some of the people I have known wanted to know me better, and I reneged. Some people I have worked with, wanted to work with me on a deeper level; and I reneged again. Some of the people I have known loved me deeper than I did them, and I am sorry about all of that. I loved them and all the opportunities I have had, even the missed ones. Odd irony of existence!!

Memorial Days

These days in early December have taken on a new and terrible meaning in my life. It was these first few days, the last of many at Hospice Savannah (Rms 22 and 4), that were the end of someone dear to me.

Sheila Nassif Mrochinski died on December 6th, 2006. She died a loving and caring person, a beautiful and hard-wrung soul, a talented and complete human being. She was kinder, gentler, and more loving than anyone I have ever known. She was the best of her family, and the best of mine. She was kind to everyone -- without flinching or reservation. She lived the kind of life that most of us envy -- but, it was too short, too tragically short.\

She was unlucky to have died so young, and from such a hideous disease. Her breast cancer came upon her nearly unawares: a rash, a sore back, a lack of energy -- you wouldn't think these would add up to breast cancer.  But they did. The sore back was the result of a metastatic tumor at the base of her spine. Her lack of energy came from her body fighting so hard to maintain normalcy under the relentless onslaught of cancer. Her rash -- on the upper back and extending under one arm to her left breast -- was the quick rush of IBC, Inflammatory Breast Cancer.

There is no tumor large enough to be discovered by self-examination of the breasts. There is only the virulent growth of cancer cells already metastasized throughout the body.

Sheila was unlucky. Whether it came from environmental causes in the cotton fields (clouds of DDT to play in when she was a little girl at Wagram School in North Carolina) -- or genetic or environmental causes down the line (or too much work, as she would gently tease me with after the diagnosis) -- it came. And IBC was no soft
enemy. It was an unfair, unlucky, and unwelcome killer. 

On the Near Time of Death

This is a week that is burned into my memory.  In 2006 I was witnessing and experiencing the final days of Sheila's life under hospice care at Hospice Savannah.  She knew she was terminal and she finally took herself off the pills that were shrinking her brain (and allowing her to live) and signalled to me to have her Mom -- Millie return to Savannah. 

Millie returned -- had a few good days with Sheila (and me, and the cousin) and then just as suddenly as the first incident of aphasia on the Cancer Ward of Candler Hospital occurred -- Sheila was in the final hours of her life. I will never forget that last night/morning: being awakened by what I thought was Sheila's "call to me" to "wake up"; our last few hours together, and the day of her passing.  It was a "passing" into what I hope was a much happier life for She, though not for me (or Millie, or so many others).  I wish I could have been a better, more understanding person to respond to Millie's odd grief behaviors -- but I was not.  I was selfish -- so selfish that I thought that this was my death too.  It was not; nor was it Millie's death.  It was Sheila's passing --pure and simple, pure and beautiful, pure and final. I love her still.