Esoteric Bowl

There are times when I am unable to write. Unable to function in my odd normalcy. Constricted in this physical muck, and revisited by familiar skies that twinge with lightning and fill with clouds of gray. I lie in the haze on cool tiled floor, trying desperately to understand the spilt blood and shattered porcelain eggs. While slowly unfolding this contorted body, the realization comes, and with it the pain of knowing that it has rained once more.

A melancholy crawl towards pastel sheets, a sanctuary where lone refuge is sleep. The sun rises in nowhere and sets to nothing. The passing of time is known only by the light of the night and the darkness of the day.

Last night
I caught a mosquito in my hand.
Gently with two fingers,
I held her by her wings,
and with a feather,
I tickled her tiny toes.
She laughed with an uncontrolled giggle,
with the volume of an elephant’s roar.

The time has come once again for the single person within to take notice of all the couples that surround me. Everywhere I go there they are holding hands, laughing together, and *gulp* sharing intimacy. This personal awareness of all these couples generally intensifies twice a year, somewhere in the Spring and then again during the Christmas Season.

I don’t mind being single. Really, I don’t. Being single provides a certain freedom, independence, ample time to concentrate on personal growth, and uhm, did I mention freedom? Oh sure, there are some downsides to being single. Couples never have to live through the room-silencing experience of hearing a waiter announce “Table for one?!” And couples don’t ever pretend to be talking to someone in the other room when the pizza delivery person arrives at the door with a large pizza. But there are some advantages to living the single life, and here are a few that I could come up with:

* Having access to more than half of a shelf in the medicine cabinet.

* The toilet-seat is never in the wrong position.

* Always being dressed correctly before going out.

* No inquiries about friends of the opposite sex.

* Football triple-header: not a problem.

* Use of more than three hangers in the closet.

* Pasta for breakfast, eggs and toast for dinner.

* Waking in the morning and having the blanket.

* More quality time to spend with imaginary friend.

I realize that the following entry is extremely long, so I don’t expect anyone to read it all. More than anything else, it is a record for myself to acknowledge some things in my life.

For as long as I can remember, there has been this inner desire to find answers. An unexplainable drive to explore the light and the dark. There was this silent calling for me to travel, and I followed that voice though unaware of which direction the journey would lead. With extended thumb and very little in my pocket, I traveled the states to explore, but never knowing exactly what it was that I was searching for. Although the scenery of the country was wonderful, and the people I encountered were intriguing, my yearning to explore was not propelled by either. There was something more out there in this world, I just knew it deep within the marrow of my bones. I wanted answers, yet I failed to know most of the questions. I wanted to discover my Self, to understand my own meanings and find my unique place in this world. All along I have known this was a spiritual quest, though my actions have often been far from what one would consider spiritual.

I have done far too many things for the sake of the experience. This big buffet of life has so very much to offer, and I have wanted to taste it all. The question has rarely been one of asking what I want to do, but rather what did I want to do next. But if there has been one consistency, it has been my own inconsistency. Nothing in this life of mine has remained the same for very long. I do not cry victim, for most of this has been at my own hands. Although consistency has always been admired from afar, apparently my searching nature will have none of it. I have tried my hand at numerous occupations, spent time in the military, been in love and visited whore-houses, experimented with drugs and alcohol, attended church services of every possible denomination and cruised with a religious cult, dined with the wealthy and hungered with the homeless, laughed with the devil and wept with God, spent time counseling others and voluntarily spent time in an institution, all for the sake of the experience of the journey.

I marvel at those people that openly claim they have no regrets in life. Though I congratulate them on this incredible feat, I often wonder how it is possible for one to lead a full life without some regret. There is truth in the statement that the accumulation of all my decisions have led me to where I am now, and in that sense, there is little regret. However, I do regret knowing that I have hurt others and that I have been the cause of tremendous pain. Although it is possible to forgive the hurt and pain, I know all to well how scars can remain.

I wish I had realized and acknowledged all the blessings in my life at an earlier stage. If I had, it would have allowed the journey to be far less bumpy at times and surely more enjoyable. Perhaps because my bounty was so full, I could not see all the blessings around and within me. Fortunately, I discovered these blessings, and ironically, the discovery itself has been one of my greatest blessings.

I am fortunate to have such loving parents. Through all the adventures, they have been there with me. Despite my inconsistencies and my desire to dabble and to experience new things, my parents have continued to be there. They have witnessed and shared my excitement for the new experience, and have given their encouragement in such times. They have also seen me tire to exhaustion and quit on myself, and at these times they have offered their support and understanding. Through illness and affliction, joy and sorrow, they have always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. They have gone far beyond what is expected of a parent, and have given a friendship of which there is no equal. Without their love and support, my journey would have been far less fulfilling.

Although the inner desire to find answers remain with me, it is not the same as it once was. The desire has taken other forms now, and the questions have changed. I continue to explore the light and the dark, and the concerns for the big picture are still present. I still hear the calling to travel the world, yet by thumb and a prayer is no longer an option; my health and inclination are not the same as they once were. Admittedly, I am older now, yet I remain young. I am at peace with the world and with my Self.

Through this journey I have come to find an understanding of my own meanings. Although this probably will not be understood by most, for me, this is something that a lifetime has been strived for. This is not to proclaim that I have all the answers, nor do I possess a fraction of them. But I did discover my own meanings, and they work for me. I have found my unique place in this world, but it is not a place at all. I am where I am supposed to be, and knowing this is a blessing. I also have found the Self that I had long been searching for. It was not found along the beaten path, nor in some mystical mountain place. Rather the Self that I coveted and yearned to find was created slowly with each step along the journey.

Three little girls, ages ten, four, and two. They are sisters, and very much little girls. They refer to me as ‘Uncle’, although we are not related. The oldest girl enjoys the things that most girls her age do, while the two little ones love Barney.

They stood around me while I sat down, each one talking, as they are always so very excited when someone comes to visit. While the oldest one speaks the loudest and continually taps my shoulder, the four-year old climbs into my lap and grabs my chin in her hand as if to say, look at me while I am talking to you. I am aware of the two-year old standing alongside of me because I can feel her little hand tapping my knee and I can hear her own brand of language, which is a cute blend of baby-gibberish with an occasional word of English thrown in.

Although I try my best to listen to what each of them has to say, it is not possible. So instead, I hear little bits and pieces from each. The oldest is talking about summer school, the four year-old is telling me about Barney, and from what I can interpret, the two-year old is also sharing a Barney adventure. I’m trying to understand what the two-year old is saying when she says something unfamiliar.

“What, who is Barney FooFoo?” I ask.

Suddenly, all three girls stop speaking and the ten-year old lets out a bellow of a laugh. The four-year old laughs, and then the two-year old joins in the laughter. “Not Barney FooFoo, Bunny FooFoo!” the oldest one says in a loud factual tone. The four-year old climbs down from my lap and the three of them giggle in unison. “Uncle said, Barney FooFoo!” the ten year-old cries out joyfully. “Uncle said, Barney FooFoo!” the four-year old repeats while struggling to hold her laughter for a moment. “Uncle, gerbleligoobagoo Barney!” the two-year old said so happily.