Mudman

Most of our fears come not from outside sources, but from within ourselves. When we come to the realization that we've created the things that scare us most, we should be able to conquer those fears with ease. Sometimes, though, that realization comes to us too late to change the results from fearing our own creations. I have fears and I'm scared to death that it's already too late.

Love...no, fear AND love; you are as a hideous golem, made from the ruddy nothingness of my own desires, created with truth in your mouth for a purpose; to serve your creator. This service can exact a great and terrible price. And so, as the golem, when the truth is extracted, you return to dust; and even as you fall apart, you inflict great harm and even scar the one who made you; your creator and destroyer of life.

I've always hated fear. I've always loved love. But right now, in this dark and ocherous moment, you are equally despised. My back is turned. I haven't the desire to speak to either one of you.

Hush

I stood in the falling snow, hearing the hushed roar of innumerable flakes swishing past my ears in their random plummet; their collective crash as they slammed into earth. It's a quiet roar. It's a loud whisper. It's a cacophony of crystalline chaos, beautiful in its silent symphony. As the flakes hit the layer of unraked leaves of Fall, with a pit-pat, pit-pat, browns turned to white. They covered the dormant grasses, asleep until Spring, turning yellows to softening ivory. The song switched as the snow piled layer upon layer on this sleepy land, the tune turning from the tinny clatter of clear crystal to a muffled sound of falling cotton.

I stood in this snowfall beyond my threshold of tolerance. Snow is beautiful, but cold and wet, and yet I remained, through the wind chilling my bones. I remained, through the melting snow that found its way under the collar of my coat and over the rim of my shoes. I shivered as I stood and as I stood, I listened. I shushed my inner battles and listened for inner peace. I quieted myself and listened to the world outside. Aside from its song, I listened for clarity.

I listened for answers to questions unasked.
I listened for voices from faces unmasked.
I heard but a whimper, as the snow turned to slush.
I heard my soul speaking, whispering, "Hush."

"Quiet the world for just a moment in time. Quiet the worries that do nothing but cause grief. Look into silence and hear your reflection."

I stood there. I stood and listened and looked. Snow covered the trees and the road that was recently clear was now blanketed as well. No cars, just building layers of Nature's cold majesty making thoughts of getting to work in the morning just that; merely thoughts. And just like the grey of the sky, nothing was clear. Just lovely white noise...

And even now, in a bed of blankets, I know
Outside, there's still falling snow.
And as I saw before the darkness of my room,
The window showed a brightness in the night's gloom.
The whole of the land is luminous white,
Snow still falling,
Song still calling,
A song that still plays into the night.

And a hush as I turn out the light...

If

If

"…the object of the world of ideas as a whole is not the portrayal of reality - this would be an utterly impossible task - but rather to provide us with an instrument for finding our way about more easily in the world." -Hans Vaihinger

I think I overdid it on the sweet tea. When your teeth go into shock with each sip, you might have mixed too much sugar into it. Well, don't blame me. I mean, I did make it, but I'm used to making 5 gallons at a time. I know exactly how much to put into that much in order to satisfy these Southern palates. I  only made 2 gallons and that calls for mathematics and long division and pi...Mmm...pie. Anyway, somebody just said the tea was perfect. So go ahead and blame me.

I'm waiting for these ladies to finish up and go upstairs to their Bible study so I can put away their leftover food, clean up, and go home. I'm sitting here sipping on sickeningly sweet tea, and thinking. Sipping and thinking...

If.

If can be negatively presumptuous. If can be a bearer of hope. If encompasses daydreams and is a harbinger of nightmares. If can create whole new worlds for you to enjoy and explore or entrap you in the comfort of the only one you've ever known. If can keep you wondering, wandering, and pondering.

Ifs abound. If only I'd spent more time showing how much I cared and less on caring for shows. If I'd kept my head more in school books and less in the clouds. If I'd spent as much time on repairing scars as I did repairing cars. If only I'd saved more money and spent more time. If only I'd talked more and assumed less. If money wasn't an object, I wouldn't try to hold on to it so much. If only I'd paid more attention to the health status of the love I had, I wouldn't be stumbling around in this loser suit stitched together with mismatched patches of doomed relationships. If I were a better man...

Those ifs aren't necessarily current ifs. But I have no doubt that they have crossed my mind over these years. And there's no doubt that they will come into my head again, sooner or later. I'm human and humans are prone to imagination; they create scenarios to fulfill needs, wants, even fictitious views of reality, views that fit the way they want things to be.

If I were a swan, I'd be gone.
If I were a train, I'd be late.
And if I were a good man, I'd talk with you more often than I do.
If I were to sleep, I could dream.
If I were afraid, I could hide.
If I go insane, please don't put your wires in my brain.
If I were the moon, I'd be cool.
If I were a rule, I would bend.
If I were a good man, I'd understand the spaces between friends.
If I were alone, I would cry.
And if I were with you, I'd be home and dry.
And if I go insane, will you still let me join in with the game?
If I were a swan, I'd be gone.
If I were a train, I'd be late again.
If I were a good man, I'd talk to you more often than I do.
  -If, Pink Floyd

As if.

More often than not, I find "if" to be full of doubt. In fact, I'm impressed to believe that "if" weighs in more on the negative side of skepticism. Most of my ifs are looking at what might have been; looking backward first, before looking forward. Looking forward is almost always positive. Both visions are creating a fictional scene, but I think only in the forward can you live "as if."

In "Philosophie des Als Ob" (Philosophy of As If) , philosopher Hans Vaihinger argued that human beings can never really know the underlying reality of the world, and that as a result we construct systems of thought and then assume that these match reality: we behave "as if" the world matches our models. In other words, we have no idea what's going to happen, so we believe what will happen and live as if it is already so. There is no guarantee that the sun will rise in the morning, we just assume that it will. We can't be sure the world still be here at sunrise, we merely believe it will be. And it's gonna snow tomorrow because we cleared the stores of milkbread...wait, that isn't a good example.

I don't believe wholeheartedly in the as if. I do believe that positive thinking and positive living are grand things and most certainly would have an impact on how you live your life. It's no guarantee that life will go as you plan in the as if. If you live as if everything you love could be gone in time, especially if sooner than later, you'll live (insert euphemism here) like there's no tomorrow.

"As If" isn't a science. It isn't something that can be proven in a lab. It's just a theoretical look on life. It's a view that life can be better if you live as if it already is. So many times I'm tempted to consume time and energy, most often to the detriment of happiness and well being, of thinking of my ifs. Maybe there's something in living as if; as if I'm already living life to it's fullest; as if success is already attained; as if happiness has and always will be; as if life is love.

Because it is, ya know?

We've Got to Stop Meeting Like This

Quite the crazy last few days, huh?

I'm sitting here eating my microwaved leftovers from Tuesday's supper of Choplets, lima beans, mac-n-cheese, and garlic cheddar rolls. I came into work today even though we are officially closed. People say it's quieter when you're at work on an off day. Don't let 'em fool ya. That heating unit fan above my head in the kitchen is just as loud as it would be any other day. It may be quiet elsewhere in this building, but not right here. Nor in my head.

The stress level is never as high as it is when you're in a situation where you're not completely in control. Tuesday, here at work, we had barely started a staff meeting before we got the call that the schools were closing and to come get your kids. We quickly finished the meeting and I left as soon as I could, which wasn't soon enough. After waiting 45 minutes to get from McCallie Avenue to 3rd. Street to get onto Amnicola Highway, I finally decided to just go down 3rd. Street to Holtzclaw Avenue. There wasn't nearly as much traffic. And as if by miracle, when I turned onto Holtzclaw, I ended up being a few vehicles behind a truck spreading sand. I followed that truck up Wilcox to Chamberlain, onto Glass Street, and eventually all the way to Hwy. 153, where traffic was moving along at 45 mph. Aside from snail's pace traffic at the Lee Highway exit, I made it to my kids' school without any major problems. Time elapsed: 2 hours.

I parked to go in to get my kids. I wasn't about to brave another 2 or more hours in the car without first...umm...visiting the facilities. I did that, gathered my kids, and headed home. Once again, besides the snarl at Vance and Lee Highway intersection, the rest of the trip home was uneventful. That's not to say it wasn't stressful. I'm pretty confident in my driving skills. But when the roads are covered with ice and idiots, the stress levels tend to rise. My kids noticed this. At one point, when my son asked me about something that was said on the radio, I patted his leg and said, "I know the radio is saying stuff, but I'm not hearing it." The road and how to get home preoccupied my mind enough to make me deaf to that noise.

I decided to get on I-75 North at Bonny Oaks and go up to the first Cleveland exit to get home. Honestly, it wasn't that bad. The interstate had snow on it, but there were clear tracks, not unlike a slot track, that I followed all the way to that exit. They even continued all the way down APD40 to Dalton Pike to where I turn off at Johnson Road. Johnson Road was white with snow. I took it easy and drove the final 2 miles to home. The road, in places, looked like someone had been scraping it with a plow. Sure enough, I came upon a tractor with a scrape blade that was making sure the road was clear from the chicken houses that are about 1/2 mile before my house, to the main road. Beyond that, the road looked like it had not even been touched. It was actually beautiful. That last 1/2 mile was the best part of that trip. No slipping, no sliding...just the crunch of snow under my tires and the sight of my house coming into view. I felt the weight of stress leave my body through my now unclenched fists as I put the car into "Park." We were home. Elapsed time since leaving work: 4 hours.

All that was left to do was to enjoy the snow. I like snow like I like green olives, swiss cheese, or moonshine; a little dab'll do me. The snow is pretty, it sounds musical under tires as you drive or your feet as you walk, but once I start getting wet I start getting cold and I start getting done with it. I reached that point in 10 minutes flat. My daughter lasted longer; my son even longer than that. But, man it sure was pretty seen from the kitchen window and over the rim of a hot cuppa joe.

It's taken 729 words to get to the point. I ramble, I know, and this is more than just a boring re-cap of "Blizzard '14, or How I Survived the Drive Home." It isn't even about me. I made it home. I got my kids home. There were so many others who wrecked or were otherwise stranded in places other than their own driveways. We were safe. We were home. We were alive. We were together.

It was a simple scroll down the numerous status updates that fill my Facebook news feed. It was a simple status update that made me stop the scrolling and allow what I was reading to soak in. It took only a few seconds, but those seconds were a slow transition from bewilderment to realization to acceptance. Another family member had passed away. You know, you really are never prepared when a loved one dies. I am sure nobody was expecting this. I surely wasn't. And I know his wife and kids certainly weren't.

I probably wasn't as close to Lewis Scoggins as I could have been. I don't have too many memories to speak of. I do remember that he was most likely the first person I knew that made his own venison jerky. I remember when he and his family lived near the intersection of Wesleyan and Weatherly Switch Roads. I thought, just by looking at the home and property that these were some of the most down to earth earthy people on the Earth. I was somewhat envious. I know even more recently, I was envious of his awesome beard. Weird.

You know what sucks? Funerals. The only good I see in them is perhaps seeing family members that you haven't seen in a while. Funerals are unplanned family reunions where things are supposed to be said from the heart. Whether they're heartfelt or surface sayings, we all make words a part of the pleasantries, inserting them into the grieving process; things are said to make things better. Many things were said at the last funeral I attended. Things that were meant at the time and are still meant. I said them; others said them too. Of course we all meant to follow through on our words with actions. Saying and doing are like red and violet; opposite ends of a spectrum wrought with intent and regret. A rainbow isn't a rainbow without the oranges, yellows, greens, blues, and indigos in the middle. What usually ends up missing are those colors in between the ends. What's missing are the steps between saying and doing.

I'm guilty of not completing the rainbow. I know that saying is not doing. What is it that gets in the way? Perhaps it's life itself that gets in the way. Work demands my attendance. Kids gotta get their homework done. The animals aren't going to feed themselves, ya know. All I wanna do is just get home. There's too much going on in my life to worry about someone else. But you know what? Here's what: none of this is good enough. Nothing is more important than being with loved ones. If life is what gets in the way, life is also the thing that removes these barriers; these excuses that we make. Life is important and we should make good on all the words we say. Fill in the gap between saying and doing with reasons to actually *do*.

We need to make ourselves the reasons. We need to do it before we gather together at another unplanned family reunion. It's said that family is not just a group of people related by blood. Family is a group of people related by love.

Family? I'll see you Sunday. Lewis? I'll see you someday, after we're all done meeting like this...