these last few days
I feel myself
skimming the surface
of some monster sadness inside.
sadness about
rejections and betrayals of trust
sadness about
starving through the days
without passion or sweetness
sadness about
forgetting what it’s like
to love and be loved.
I keep trying to avoid it
but I can feel it in my body
if I pay attention.
it feels like
a big bulge growing in my chest
a throbbing pocket of grief
that’s swelling and getting close
to breaking through
like a boil under the skin
before it breaks the surface.
when I touch it I see
a boy standing all alone in winter
on the surface of a frozen lake
while below the ice
a dark mass rises from the depths
not menacing
not malevolent
but very primitive
with the consciousness of
one of those strange sea creatures that lives
in the coldest blackest deepest water
massive blind and silent
it moves up toward the surface
and the ice is getting thin.
nothing frightens me more
than feeling my own grief
falling through the ice
into the deep unknown
I always feel like
it’s gonna kill me
I always feel like
it’s gonna swallow me whole.
this morning I wrote a poem
I had to steal time to do it
I had to hide in a little crack in the machine
I had to write as fast as I could
I had to pump out the words in the shadows between the seconds
I had to hurry so I wouldn’t get caught
and it made me wonder
why my time and my life
belong to someone else
and not to me.
uh oh
time’s up.
new moon
solstice soon …
flirted with a trip to the yellow rose after work last night
but once again the energy to do it wasn’t there in me
too many negatives from prior experience
I thought about
the awful smell
the bad music
the nasty vibe
the cost
etc
and furthermore
I couldn’t bear the thought of even one more vacant conversation
that starts with
so are you from austin
and ends with me hearing about
someone’s kid
or her dog
or her hair
or her boyfriend
or any other number of moribund topics
that I could really give a damn about
while I look into her empty eyes
and watch the gum bounce around in her open mouth
like a load of wet clothes tumbling around in a dryer.
I looked for some other local skin clubs on the web
but was uninspired
that one’s too far to drive
that one’s too skanky
it all seems so fake and empty and stupid now
I just couldn’t do it
which is good
but I still felt bored and anxious
and wanting …
… something …
was it
connection
touch
companionship
a sense of purpose
to hold and be held
to cherish and be cherished
to be moved by something
to be inspired to passionate action
who knows
whatever it was
I sure didn’t get it.
another morning rush
almost out of time as usual
but before I go I have to say
this culture
this system
this machine in which I am living
in which we all live
is not a friend to dreams
or to people who have them.
there isn’t enough time
and everyone is moving too fast
to remember their dreams
much less record them
much less consider them
much less play with them
much less
understand them.
a culture that throws its dreams away
is lost.
must go
time to rush
rush to nowhere
and nothing
and then home again
to sleep.
how much of what I know
will I forget today.
one day we took a bike ride
just the two of us
father and son
I was 37
he was 60.
it was fall
and the trees were brilliant that day
orange red and gold
even the sky was shining.
he wore a bright red t-shirt
we rode along the old canal
all the way to the dam and back
we stopped now and then to take a break
take a picture
or talk a bit
but we didn’t talk much
the talking didn’t come so easy.
at twilight he was riding ahead of me
that red t-shirt on his back
blazing like a banner in the sun
I realized in that moment
that I’d finally had the kind of day
I always wanted to have with him
I also realized
that it was never gonna happen again
and I was right
but what a day that was.
The “Healing & Recovery for Men” section of the book reviews area on the Gift From Within web site now includes a review of Iron Man Family Outing. Gift From Within is an international nonprofit organization for survivors of trauma and victimization that provides PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) resources for survivors and the caregivers who assist them.
The folks at Gift From Within are doing great work on behalf of those whose lives have been impacted by PTSD and I’m honored that my book has been reviewed on their web site.
it feels good just to be with myself
and my body
with no expectations
to be quiet
to be slow
to be kind to myself
and to rest.
Iron Man Family Outing is now available from the Conscious Relationships Institute online bookstore. Kate and Joel Feldman of The Conscious Relationships Institute offer intensive marriage counseling retreats, weekend workshops, coaching, and psychotherapy for couples and individuals. I’m very pleased that they’ve added my book to their online bookstore.
I remember
standing in line for confession
frantically trying to think of anything bad I might have done
in the last week
or the last month
or however long it had been since the last random occasion
my dad had decided
that I was due to confess.
wishing everyone in line ahead of me
would hurry up and keep it short
as I tried to think of anything I’d done that was
so horrible
that I should be required to kneel
in a dark creepy booth
and tell
some spooky faceless stranger behind a screen
all about it
while dad waited out in the car.
for some reason
the requirement to confess wrongdoing
to spooky faceless strangers
in dark creepy booths
didn’t apply to my dad.
despite my best efforts to come up with
an honest list of sins
well
I almost never had anything to say
I mean
I really tried to be a good kid
follow all the rules
get along with everybody
don’t lie
and stay outta trouble
but I knew I wasn’t supposed to walk
into the confessional booth
and say
I hadn’t done anything wrong
the priests had made it very clear
that we were all loaded up with
sins from birth
even little kids like me
so I knew I had to come up with something.
the first few lines were easy
right outta the book
bless me father I have sinned
then
it’s been
(fill in random period of time in weeks months or years)
since my last confession
which would always lead to a bunch of questions from the priest
like
why has it been so long since your last confession
and
how often do you attend mass
followed by some stern rebuking
when I didn’t have the right answers
which I never did
but I knew I wasn’t responsible for any of that
cause I was only a kid
it wasn’t like I could
drive myself to church a couple of times a week
for mass and confession
and I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk with anyone about
what my life was like at home
so I usually made up some stuff I supposedly did wrong
to fill up the rest of the confession time
and get myself out of there in one piece
until the next random confession.
I always figured that making stuff up was
probably a sin too
but it sure felt a lot safer
than going in there with nothing.
