Give yourself another talk, this time make it sound like someone

It's Edith Piaf I listen to. It has to be; I'm in a fragile kind of way and her voice levitates my spirit to tranquil heights. Vashti Bunyan would work, too; it was her Glow Worms that broadcast in my mind unbidden earlier in the day when I was not in a good way. If I had known about her when I was going through the horrors of panic disorder years ago, I would have overcome it much quicker.

I only want to be around women tonight. So it's Edith Piaf, Vashti, and now it's Elysian Fields (I'm resting in your voice like an infant, Jennifer), earlier tonight it was Lhasa De Sela (I wish I got to see you live). Is it The Divine Mother, in various guises, that comforts me? A case could be made.


Today was a tough one. It was the type of day you spill out from directly into the embrace of someone warm and welcoming. I could make love to a hundred women right now.

I had dreams last night that I haven't been able topiece together into any thing cohesive. Murky recollections of old friends, the past, a party....It's a pity I can't remember more. Seems I was having a splendid time.

My iPod went through the wash and then the dryer. Things looked grim. It was unresponsive and I had to restore its settings. It works, but the screen doesn't light up. I can barely navigate the menu - I have to hold it to the light at just the right angle. Still, I'm not complaining; glad I still get to use it. A small victory for team Kevin.

G'night.

They say that God makes problems just to see what you can stand before you do as the devil pleases

It may not seem so, but my spirituality has not much to do with blind faith. Oh, I've been known to go at God harshly; it happened tonight. If you had been in the car with me, you would have wanted to not be in the car (how's that for poetical?). I just watched The Exorcist the other night (one of the greatest of all films); maybe I was inspired.

Any faith worth its meat should be able to withstand questioning. I did a lot of questioning tonight. I bellowed, I cursed. I wept. Horrible, abusive battering directed at myself, at God. Where did it come from? On paper, I should  be a mellow fellow almost all the time. I've been meditating daily, going deeper into my yoga practice, eating almost exclusively fruits and vegetables and drinking mostly water and juice. There has been a heightened feeling of clarity. Spikes in mood have been short-lived. So why this raving? My guess is my ego, fearing death more than it ever has, is pulling out all the stops.

I'm alright now. It's been a windy day, inside and out. I'm just riding the waves like a swami.

And, God - we're still tight. Sorry about being a dick.

In a world filled with friends, you lose your way

The commute home from work was messy with snow and I'm relieved to be home. The plan had been to have dinner with my mother, but we rescheduled for later in the week. She sounded happy on the phone; my heart cooed. Even though it's only been about a month and a half since my father's death, I sometimes worry about my mother becoming the sad widow. Talking with her today took a chip out of that worry.

I found myself thinking about my father this afternoon and a wave of grief knocked the wind out of me. It happens fairly often. I look forward to the day I can reminisce about him fondly and with a light heart. I'm not sure that will ever be the case, but maybe instead of being impaled by the sadness of loss, I'll only be pricked. One thing is sure: I will never stop bringing him to mind for fear of the pain it might cause. I'm not going to forget you, Dad.

So Craig's surprise party went well. I had come up with the idea of bringing the party to him rather than having him come up here or to NH under some phony pretense. I reasoned that Craig would appreciate not having to make a lengthy trip to his own party. The idea was well received. I made plans with Craig for me to come down to The Cape last Saturday and informed the invited guests that we had a set date.

I got to his house about an hour earlier than everyone else on Saturday. He answered the door wearing an outfit much like this:

Sure, I was taken aback, but I cast no judgements on anyone, for you see we are all one and the same. And, I've got say, he looked pretty dapper. Anyway, now that I think about it, he might have just been wearing a t- shirt and pajama bottoms like some spray paint-huffing derelict on the street. Regardless, he was surprised when everyone came down to his room. It's been reported somewhere that once Craig found out I was the architect of this event, he turned to me with glassy eyes and said:

"Kevin, you truly are the King of Kings!"

And after that, it's been reported, he and everyone prostrated before me.

Look at what I've done? I've made this all about me. What a fuck I am! Sorry, Craig, you deserve better.

So we ate and laughed and some among us danced. Some went to bed earlier than others. The next morning I woke up to the sound of people talking, Craig among them. "Well," I thought,"if Craig's up it must be late." I got up and joined everyone in the kitchen despite feeling like I could have done with at least two more hours of sleep. I found out it was only around 8:30; no wonder I was groggy. Craig had made a point to get up early and make everyone breakfast. Look at this guy, ladies! A catch, I say - and he also loves long walks on the beach, visiting museums, and candlelit dinners. Snatch him up before someone murders him in the face.


I had some juice and practiced some yoga. Some people left, others stayed. After yoga, Craig, Kate, Kevin and I walked over to the pool house (wish my neighborhood had one) and had a swim. Then we sat in the sauna for a while followed by more swimming. Revivifying.

This coming weekend will be the first one in weeks spent locally. At least that's how it's shaping up. Alright, I'm finished here. Nothing more can be said. I think I'm going to watch Orson Welles's lost classic,Chimes At Midnight that someone kindly uploaded to YouTube. Music will happen, so will meditation. We'll see.

Good night, lovers.

Strange days have tracked us down

The thought that came to me as I settled in for a nap this afternoon: What would it be like to find out that your significant other, the one you know is about to merge with you into the deepest, truest love of your lifetime, is actually the spirit of your deceased dog? That was the thought.

I considered the question. What would it be like? First of all, let's establish how it came to my awareness that the love of my life was actually my deceased dog in the guise of a human. How about this? One morning, after several hours of inspired lovemaking, my beloved slides close to my ear and confesses her true nature. That she does it then is a mercy; I'm soft and relaxed and less likely to lose my shit. Still, I'm utterly perplexed and slightly panic stricken when she shares all sorts of details about my dog and the things we did together that she should not have any business knowing about.

So what would I do? You can never be completely sure how you're going to react in any situation, but I think I would first spend some time exploring the possibility that she was putting one over on me. Christ, I should hope so! Let's give me two solid days of thorough inquiry. Anything? No, nothing. Okay, now I have to resign myself to the fact that I used to pick up my other half's shit.

Would I end the relationship? Could I? That's a tough one. Knowing she was once my dog would be a difficult obstacle to surmount, but as long as she didn't constantly remind me of this, I think I could adjust. In fact, I bet after some time I'd almost forget she was once my pet. She'd be human in every way with no memory of her past life (I should have established earlier that when she spoke into my ear and changed my life forever she had been asleep; it was her subconscious that did the talking). And don't forget we're soul mates. I'm not privy to the what's behind the esoteric veil; I don't how and why the Universe operates. The whole bag is a big fucking mystery, so why couldn't it be the case that I'm in love with my dog? Anyway, it's not as if we had a contentious relationship. We were quite fond of each other.

Ah, let's not proceed further down this bizarre rabbit's hole; I tire of it and you've probably had your fill of what you've clearly misidentified as a sick fantasy. I agree it's not a comfortable topic, but in my opinion it's a worthy one to pontificate over. It's important we prepare our selves for every situation, however unlikely.

Today has been a strange one, if that hasn't already been made evident, and to further illustrate it's nature, I'm about to go meditate for as long as I can and then watch The Exorcist.  Before bed I'll read from The Trial. My dreams will probably be absolute horror shows, but what are you going to do. I'm sleepy; Craig's party at The Cape was yesterday and each of us revelers was our own Dionysus. It went late into the wee hours. I'll recount the experience in another post, but only if you take me out dancing.

Now off with you. Tell yourself you are holy - look into the mirror and say it - every morning and every night. Do it for a week and report back to me. I predict you will be as light as a feather and soaked in cosmic bliss. At the very least, you'll have stopped being such a dick.

And there's a sunset brimming over the sky

A flash of a post and then I'm off to work on some music. Let's begin and end with today. It started early form me, a little after one a.m.. I had fallen asleep listening to The Incredible String Band and woke to the sound of people talking loudly downstairs. It didn't take me long to figure out it was Matt and Fred and a couple of other alcohol-amplified revelers. Someone was strumming a guitar, I heard the clinking of bottles, and a woman with a harsh, raspy voice cut through the din like a horse whip. The assembly was short-lived but I had trouble falling asleep afterward. I felt knotted up. This aggravation lasted well after I had made up my mind that what had transpired was really not that big of a deal and with a few words could be settled the following day. I meditated and observed my physical state with detachment. I eventually fell asleep.

I was having a dream about my father - I vaguely recall being in a car with him - when the distant sound of my alarm caught my attention. And then the crunch of a tooth breaking. That woke me up quicker than a morning dunk in a mountain stream (not quite as refreshing, though). My tongue located the broken piece. I had been grinding my teeth; whatever was going on with my father in the dream must have stressed me out. I felt like weeping (Oh, dad, your absence is a heavy, terrible thing) I even tried to, but it felt forced, inauthentic. So I got on with my day like anyone who elects for something better than Thoreau's quiet desperation. Sometimes changes have already taken place in one's self but remnants remain that haven't been made aware. Ghosts they be and ghosts they'll remain.

It was so frigid today, I thought my car was going to go into cardiac arrest at various points on my way to work. My day hadn't begun well, no, but I didn't lay down in defeat like some craven, sniveling fool (that would have been me a few years ago - ouch!). I tried to focus on where I wanted to be rather than where I didn't. Pretty crafty, eh? A not too shabby intellect is a fortunate side effect of having a pure heart. Really, though, what good would it have done me to have adopted a victim mentality? I can tell you from experience it never did me one iota of good. If I'm ever going to evolve, I've got to change my approach to the game. So, I chose the path that empowers. I'm unkempt in a number of ways (might have something to do with me being a human being) but I'm also, and primarily, a self aware, fairly evolved individual who was born with the purest of hearts and long, delicate eyelashes. I am not the same person I was. There has been growth. Don't cry for me, friends; as you can see, I'm not as weak and fearful as I may have portrayed myself to be.

My diet has changed rather significantly but not in a completely deliberate way. It just kind of happened. Basically, I've been eating  less. Today, for example, I had a fruit and vegetable smoothie for breakfast, some celery, grape tomatoes, carrots, and an orange at work, and a salad for dinner. I may have a piece of chocolate later, but that will be it. The more I eat in this manner, the more natural it feels. I hardly ever experience the pangs of hunger in the manner I did early on and to the extent that I do, it feels kind of good in a way I can't really describe. So I won't. Ha!

After work, I practiced the same vinyasa routine I've been focusing on in my last few yoga sessions. It's brought my practice to a more meaningful level. That's bad news for you, Billy.

It gets late and this was not a quick post. The music may have to wait until tomorrow. Oh, well. Good bye, my bonnie lads and lasses.

Right past the fireflies that sleep in my heart

So it is that I'm listening to Serge Gainsbourg this bitterly frigid January evening. I have a feeling I'll tire of him quickly. It's two seconds later and I have indeed tired of that French fuck. Excuse the language, but he provokes that in me. I'll listen to him another time when I'm in the mood. I prefer his daughter anyway. And so it is that I'm listening to Tom Waits's classic Swordfish Trombones. I have a feeling he'll be sticking around a bit longer.

Today wasn't a bad one but it was segmented with thoughts of my father. Grief is still a resident; a vivid palpable murky merciless graceful presence; enshrined in a fucking swirling paradox I am. Oh, but I miss you, Dad, with an ache that hasn't diminished and that is the bottom line of it. I just miss you.

Yesterday I went through close to an hour of vinyasa followed by some plank positions, back bends, and ab work. The vinyasa portion was cool, for lack of a cooler word, and the more rounds I went through, the more energy I had. And not the type of energy that makes you feel like you've got to go run a few miles or punch a few people in the throat in order to expel it from your system; no, this was something different. I felt as light as something that might appear on any number of winged creatures. Not now, though; now, I'm a bit sore. Whatever.

Increasingly, I'm feeling the desire to move. Or, perhaps it has to do more with my living situation. Either way, there is inner agitation.

Off to work on some music. What I need to do is write lyrics, but I resist the idea like it's a bowl full of disgusting raisins. Oh, not quite so bad, but it's not always a gleeful endeavor. I'll give it a whirl. Or maybe, because I feel a bit run down, I'll watch a movie or something.

Peace out, worms.

And I feel like I've been here before

Back from Peterborough and fresh from a satisfying nap that infused me with a crisp mind (we'll find out how crisp as things progress), which is a tricky thing to achieve. We all know the dull mind an overlong nap can produce. Though I did have a late night, I still managed to get about seven hours of sleep and no, the nap was not a necessity, but my heart deemed it was. And because it's essential to obey the voice of the heart (or any voice for that matter - no, really) I took that nap like a champ without hesitation. When I awoke, I made a bonanza salad that featured many salad all stars; baby beets, tofu, herbs and greens among them. I feel like Zeus just blasted me straight through my third eye with the totality of his immense and incomprehensible power. Thank you, Mr. Zeus.

I'm listening to Rimsky-Korsakov's The Story of The Calendar Prince. I figured it would provide suitable accompaniment to the writing, but I was mistaken; it's a bit distracting. I think I should just come to terms with the fact that I prefer silence when I write. Ah, that's not really true, but look, I'm eager to move on, so let's put this baby in its crib and talk about my sexy adventures in Peterborough, NH. We can come back to this topic in a later post if you insist, but only if you beg me with the fervor of Joan of Arc.

Shortly after my arrival at Rachael and Mike's place, Scott and Eszter made theirs and we all sat down for a dinner of ribs (plucked from a deceased pig at The Well School where Rachael works), quinoa with black beans, potatoes, bread, and macaroni and cheese which seemed to be meant for Rachael and Mike's son, Kyle, but after he refused a serving of the stuff because he preferred the white version over the orange one that was offered up, I spooned a sizable dollop onto my plate. Guess what, Kyle, orange mac and cheese is classic mac and cheese. And thus it is tasty mac and cheese. That is your first lesson in life (ok, probably not the first, but surely the most significant). Now go fix me a gin and tonic, ya ragamuffin. I confess that bit of business did not happen, but if you fancy the notion of a multiverse, it very well could have. Let's hope so.

Before dinner, I had a beer and then Rachael made me a screwdriver. By the time we ate, I had a warm buzz. Not long afterward, Rachael's friend Amanda came by with her son and a baby sitter and we all headed to Harlow's Pub to watch Cirkestra, a band I'd never heard before, but had been intrigued about. Circus music with a klezmer bent? Sure, why not.

Rachael had told me earlier she thought Amanda and I would hit it off. She said something to the effect of "You guys will be instant besties." Or was it beasties? Anyway, she once said the same thing about Billy and look at the absolute horror he's made of my life. But, as it happened, Rachael was spot on this time and Amanda and I hit it off.

I found her to be funny (I still think back to some of the things she said and chuckle), intelligent, and attractive. How could I not hit it off with someone like that? I mean, we talked books and goofed around. Watching her and Rachael ham it up on the dance floor was a treat to behold.That's my skill set. I love meeting interesting human beings .

I enjoyed the band a lot. I'm not as interested in seeing live shows as much these days, but their type of music swings and should be experienced live. It was one of the better shows I've seen in a long time - these cats went deep into their instruments. And the vibe of the pub was a nice one; too often, especially at the bars around here, there's an air of latent hostility. Peterborough is a happening place.

Amanda left with Rachael at some point and when the rest of us got back to the house she was gone. That was a bummer, but it didn't spoil the night. I was glad I got to meet her at all. And maybe I'll encounter her again (hopefully not at the bottom of a well or trapped in a cage with angry hyenas). I'm trying to listen to my dharma, or what the Quakers call the small, still voice. Or, put another way, I'm just trying to go with the flow, man. Ya dig? The flow will guide me true. Or maybe not, how the fuck should I know? Anyway....

Rachael and I stayed up later than everyone else. We talked a bit and stepped outside to admire the stars. It was late and she could barely keep her eyes open, but she trudged through. Me, I was aflame with the light and love of God almighty and burned brightly through the night! Until I puked rib meat all over my shoes. No, that did not happen, but I suppose it could have if I had had more to drink or if Rachael had poisoned the ribs, which, I'm not going to lie to you, I strongly suspected. Do not tell her this.

After breakfast this morning, Scott and I took some time to work on some music. We're both energized by this project and I predict we're going to produce some fine music. Scott told me Shane is up for playing percussion with us, which was pleasing to my ears. And you know what else is pleasing to my ears? The sound Moe, the resident guinea pig, makes when you stroke his head as lays on your lap. It's a squeaky, purring sound. How could that not be pleasing? Anyway, Moe was pretty cool even though he treated my fingertips like carrots.

Ok, rascals, off with you. Remember to say your prayers and wash behind the ears.

In Christ, there is no east or west

Friday. The work week went by quickly; I was active throughout every day of it. Much of it is a blur, so don't expect a detailed accounting. I will tell you that I've been keeping my mind, body, and spirit in optimum health and the instances in which I felt lousy or stressed or sad or angry were dealt with swiftly and weren't lingered upon.

More than once recently I've taken satisfaction and found comfort in the fact that between my coworkers, including the people I see at the registries, my friends, and family, I'm immersed in the company of some good people. I'm fortunate. I know what it's like to be around toxic, selfish people. It sucks, but there are lessons to be gleaned from interacting with them. Still, and again, it sucks being around that type of energy. Indeed, I am fortunate, but could it also be that I manifested my life as I know it? And, further, might it be the case that it's all due to my pure heart? Oh, who knows, but yes.

I can't really disclose much, but a couple of situations of an amorous nature have presented themselves (I'm about 90 % sure), been green-lighted, if you will, but I proceed with caution; they come barbed and I may do well to avoid them all together. Ah, but what doesn't come barbed in this life? I'll have to consult Billy about this.

That last paragraph deals with the ego, something I'm trying to demote, so lets talk about music. I'm still high from playing with Scott last weekend. The ideas percolate. I may just quit my job and go play music with him all the time. I suppose for that to happen, he'd have to stop working too. Oh, I don't know; I never said I was an idea man.

Went to mom's house for dinner last night. It was a nice visit, but the pain of my father's absence was strongly felt. Around my mother, I try to keep a light and steady composure so that I can support her grief if she needs to express it. I say I try - there have been a few occasions when I was less than successful . It's okay, I'm in tune with my feelings and am not about repressing them.

Heading to Rachael and Mike's this weekend. I think Scott and Eszter will be there. It will be another weekend of driving, but it will be worth it. I plan on visiting their sauna at least once.

Okay, time to get on with the night. Just had a yoga session that approached transcendence. It flowed nicely and was often intense. I surrendered to the poses, settled deep within each, and now I feel as loose as some kind of feathered creature.

Namaste, ye of little faith.

Five to one, one in five, no one here gets out alive

I've been having thoughts about a vaguely hippie lifestyle, one that finds me under the blankets with my love in some rustic, tranquil setting. Making love under a blanket under the downy stars, meditating on a hill top, hanging out with my pooch, that sort of thing. What's this world's equivalent to the Shire? I want to go to there.

Whenever I think I've made headway in taming my ego, I think of two things:

1. My mother saying, "Don't forget to say thank you" when I'd receive a gift or favor from someone as a child. It bothered me because I always had the intention to say as much; I didn't need to be told. Her meddling reduced what would have been a sincere, rightful act to something that felt like it was imposed on me. Whenever I think of that type of instance, I get agitated. Ego level: High.

2. I know it shouldn't matter to me - I know this on a conceptual level - but it bothers me if I put money into a tip jar at a coffee place and the person doesn't notice. This happened the other day at The Ultimate Perk in Andover. I put a dollar in the bowl right as the barista (sp?) looked away. I feel like they need to see you leave the tip because they'll think you're a creep otherwise. Ego level: High.

So I think of those things and I can use them as tools. For example the latter example could be used as an exercise. I could make a point of leaving the tip only when the person is looking away. Be selfless in your giving, child, and expect no reward. This is the way to higher consciousness.

Shit! It's late. I'm out, ya rascals.

You never knew that, that I could do that, just walking the dead

Another social weekend. On Saturday, I drove through the thick fog to Scott and Eszter's place in Deerfield. Eszter made us a delicious cabbage soup for dinner with fresh bread on the side. Great conversations - Scott and I had a wonderful one about religion/mysticism/spirituality that lasted close to an hour - and there was plenty of music played. Scott recorded a bunch of it; can't wait to hear it.

Kat stopped over for a breakfast of omelet and crepes yesterday and afterward Scott and I played her some of the stuff we worked on the night before and she added some vocals. Eszter came by later and sang with us. If it wasn't for the fact that we were going to head over to Tracy and Ray's place in the afternoon to watch the Patriots game, we probably would have kept going into the night. Well, I suppose I'm just speaking for myself; they may have been pining for things to wrap up. I guess we'll never know barring a thorough investigation. It's such a relaxing, creative vibe up there; my soul was nourished. Thoughts of leaving the city and getting back to garden, as Joni once said, swim in my mind.

Had a great time at Tracy and Ray's place. There was a welter of food - scones, chili, cookies, chips, beer - and alongside watching the game, Faith and James introduced me to their new Wii. I'm not going to lie to you: Faith wiped the floor with me in every game we played. No beginners luck to be seen for miles. Oh, well, it was still fun hanging out with them. I love those kids!

I might watch Brother Sun Sister Moon in a bit. Scott and Kat recommended I watch it, and I'll do so eagerly. I'm a fan of Donovan who provided the soundtrack. Let's see if he can't move my tender and pure heart. If I don't like it, I will be quite angry with Scott and Kat. Let's see how things pan out before I start making preparations for their demise.

On that note, peace and love to you all.

Anniversary

It's been a month. I miss you so much, Dad.

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other
That we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
We enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me,
Why should I be out of mind because I am
Out of sight? I am but waiting for you
For an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner .  In the next room.
All is well.

You idiot kid, your arm's got a death in it

I've been on the go since last Friday; not with the consequence of feeling drained and stressed; quite the opposite - I've felt invigorated. Even when dealing with troubling issues, like trying to assuage my mother's grief (my own has been manageable), I've done so with a sense of purpose. It's helped that I've fortified myself by eating well, exercising, meditating, and huffing alarming amounts of paint thinner.

Joy! My book arrived in the mail today. I'm eager to dive in.

 I've been learning to surrender to the moment. I always had trouble enacting the idea of finding grace in the midst of pain or despair. Why surrender to that, especially when almost every part of you seeks to flee from such things? But once you key in on the fact that there is an observer of events, your Self, you're on the path to immersion. And immersion occurs only through action. Hungry? Feel the hunger with your Self, observe it in a detached manner without judgement; feel at one with it. Ive been applying all of that with good results. I feel the pangs of hunger right now, but it's not unpleasant because I'm embracing the feeling; I'm not wasting any energy trying to shield myself or flee from it. The moment, being there fully, is where the meat of life is. It's taken me a long time to make this small leap in consciousness. Ah, now I'm amped up to read some Ram Dass.


There is more to relate, but I'd like to decompress from a long, active day. I'll play some music, meditate, read, and perhaps I'll finish watching Deliverance or Predator. My friends, it's time for me to end this post. Wipe thy tears, children, I shall return.

Peace.

Like a bird freed from his cage, all night and all day I'll play and sing

The weekend creeps to a close and it was a fine one spent with friends. On Friday, I headed up to Merrimack for Shane's surprise birthday party. Heartening seeing close friends. The party was held at Tortilla Flats, one of Shane's haunts. I remember going there with him years ago when we were recording some of my songs. I'm pretty sure he was surprised. My one surprise party wasn't even mine. It was my friend Pepe's, but for some reason everyone thought I was him when I walked in the door. They bellowed "Surprise!" and sprayed me with silly string. It took longer than I figured it would for everyone to figure out I wasn't the birthday boy. The rest of the night paled in comparison.

Yesterday was spent at Spira's place. She was battling a bug and I played nurse as best I could. I brought over my deluxe editions of the Lord of The Rings trilogy and we got as far as the first half of the Two Towers. I think she continued on with the rest today. As for me, I went and saw The Hobbit again with Craig today, this time sans 3d. Just as good the second time around.

My spiritual work continues. I've been downloading Ram Dass podcasts and watching Joseph Campbell's sublime Power of Myth series. That man had it right, I believe. I've been practicing yoga and meditating and studying. As a result, an inner peace has been blossoming along with a greater sense of the interconnectedness of all things. There are ups and downs still, but I go easy with myself and understand it's a process that unfolds at its own pace.

Thoughts of my dad surface every now and then that drill anguish right into my heart. I miss him so much. Before I headed up to Shane's party on Friday, I stopped at my mom's house for a visit. I hadn't cried in days, but I did then. Reminders abound in that house. There is still a part of me, the inner child that calls out for his father, that is in disbelief. It will take time to heal.

Namaste, friends.

But in her dreams she's far away

A new year. Mine began with an hour of yoga followed by an hour of meditation. Later, I read from The Teachings of Don Juan and tried to take a nap while listening to Ram Dass speak from my iPod. It was a productive day.

Christmas was a mixed bag. It felt good being with family, but my father's absence was an open wound. In the morning, my mother and I drove out to my sister's place in Ashburnham. Strange not having Christmas at my parent's house, but what hasn't felt strange these days?

A couple of days later, I was inflicted with a nasty stomach bug. I spent the first night in misery with bloated stomach and cramps. The next morning found me setting up shop in the bathroom with some thunder from down under. And then I broke out in hives from top to bottom. Never had hives before. Wonderful.

Fortunately, I was hale enough to attend my father's burial service last Friday. It didn't last long, but it stayed with me the entire day. My mother's grief is still profound; I am helpless before it. She is a strong woman, though, and will get through it. I offer her what little comfort I can provide. I wish I could do more.

Saw The Hobbit over the weekend with Spira, Pam, Pat, Allie, and Theresa. It was my first IMAX experience and, to steal a phrase from the youth among us, it was fucking awesome! A thrill ride, to be sure. Afterward, Spira, Allie, and I went to Veggie Galaxy in Cambridge for dinner. We all had a visceral reaction to the movie and spent some time going over it as we ate our omelets (Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, Spira ordered a sweet potato dish served with rice and collard greens. Glad I got that off my chest).

A new year. Since my dad passed away, I've been either sick, deep in grief, or both. Added to that, though, has been grace, which I covered in a previous post. It hasn't been all bad; far from it. From St. Paul, Corinthians 12:9:

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

I take comfort and glean strength from those words. Any ally in these troubled, disruptive times has been welcome. Not all bad, no.

Happy New Year, readers.