Breakaway

It’s time to breakaway. I feel I have trapped myself into a pattern of thinking that just doesn’t work for me anymore. I have to fly out of the cage that I think I belong in. The   door is open it’s up to me to take off.  No one knows what’s better for me no matter how much they love me. I love being loved but too often it has been a handicap for me. I know that my creator has given me a brain that is oft times out of time with conventional thought. I am tired of living within the imaginary lines that have been drawn for someone else. I need to practice what I preach. It was told me that what other people think about me is none of my business. It’s time I hear these words now and leave my pencil and eraser for indelible ink.    

   

The Price of Love

Being in love has a dear price. It’s so much easier to just love someone but when you’re in love the swing of the pendulum of euphoria and misery can have us flying thinking there is no ceiling as we climb higher and higher. Inevitably though what goes up must come down.  The pain of the descent is for some just too much to bear.  If the love is unconditional we get back on our feet and take to the skies again and only death can separate us from one of God’s greatest gifts true love.  

  

My Father

 After writing about it I have been able to let go of the resentment that plagued me towards my father. He is doing his best to maintain some semblance of a faded life that has no more to look forward to except the next meal. His worries are few although they loom large in his shattered mind. Where are my keys, my wallet? When are the Yankees playing next? What’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner? 

I hear the click click as his four legged walking stick moves inexorably closer to where I am. It will take some time however not to dread the sound but embrace it as a test as to gauge where my patience and tolerance reside in that very moment. My father sired me and for that I am grateful to be his son and the past must stay in the past as he did the best he could with the resources he had.  

My Heart

The metaphoric distance from my heart to my head has rapidly narrowed. I no longer can think without a consultation with my heart first. Too often my cognitions have been based on what happened in the past or a negative script brought on by low self-esteem. My heart has no such debilitations. It relies on the pure communications with the universal mind and the environments I travel through.  The universe is never wrong it just is. However the environments I traverse through can give me an unbalanced view of what I truly feel. The only way for me to “filter” this potential toxicity is to pray. Prayer for me is the Serenity Prayer and thanking my Higher Power every chance I get when he comes to my rescue emotionally, physically, spiritually and even financially.  

My cognitive self is one that has blessed me with an incredible creative mind that can write, speak and move among earthlings with an innate deftness I can only marvel at. I dare not take too much credit because it is automatic thought. This adroitness is unconscious competence.  This skill comes at a price however. I have a short attention span and can get too distracted by the “next thing” before I have even finished with the present thing. I also know that for those actions that I deem to be mundane like where my keys are or my wallet is bring me to consequences of wasted time and unnecessary consternation.  

What I can do is to actually think about how my shoe is tied instead of leaving it to my unconscious. In this way maybe I can teach my myopic camera to broaden into a Cinerama like view and allow me to function in a practical way, something that has plagued me for as long as I can remember.   The 18 inches of truth, the distance from my head to my heart may not in fact have physically changed but I will ask my heart to guide and guard me and let my head remember where my keys are. 

You Can Rain on Me

Might sound like Part II of Crying but this entry has more to do with my life on life’s terms. I have a tendency to ignore when the universe is telling me all is right in Jack World but give credence to fear at the drop of a falling leaf. The ego or my ego is always looking to protect me from any delusions of grandeur when I even give myself the freedom to think situations will turn out just fine and more often than not exceed my wildest expectations.  

Some say that I attract the rain and still others say soap opera like dramas as well. But as I alluded to in my last entry I think its because I fail to delineate between what I need to happen or what I would like to happen and what others false expectations of me are.  You can rain on me. I might get wet but I must be controversial enough to attract the clouds that unleash their heavy downpours upon my head.  

You can rain on me and frankly I like getting wet.  And if I need I do have an umbrella.  

Crying*

I have been crying but some might see them as crocodile tears or just  liquid insincerity. Only I know what my feelings are and those who might debate it probably don’t know me as well as they think they do.  My life has been a series of hellos and f**k you Jacks mainly because I don’t say goodbye and let people go when its their expiration date.  I let people walk all over me because I don’t want to hurt their feelings. Instead I take their s**t and hope it won’t stink a little later.   

*Inspired by Don McLean's version of:

Crying 

My Dad's An Alien

He looks my Dad. He sounds like my Dad. He even walks like my Dad. He’s not my Dad though.  He’s an alien inhabiting my Dad’s body. I cognitively know that my Father has left this earthly plain and my real Dad is  on a celestial journey to join his wife my Mother who left his side nearly 13 years ago. Sadly it seemed to me that when my Mother passed he started his wait for God to call him home but so much time has gone by that even he forgot to remember what he was waiting for. 

My Father and I were never the best of friends but I suspect that I am not alone in that some Fathers parented from the book they never read and that was how to rear a son with kindness instead of intimidation. This is not an indictment by any means I believe my Dad did the best job he could with the resources available to him. Trouble is that bringing up children in the 1950’s was still mired in the “spare the rod and spoil the child” mentality. A snap of the belt or the crack of a wooden spoon was the default setting as Sergeant of Arms. 

Today when he speaks to me in that subservient voice it stirs resentment inside me that I end up feeling guilty about. I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt a genuine hostility growing inside me. Then it hit me like a bag of ice across my face. I was never able to stand up to him even when I had left the nest for a home of my own. Was it a lack of courage not wanting to incur his wrath or was it that I was just holding him in high regard because he sired me? I suspect that I will never know but it’s too late now to do anything about it except treat him with a kindness as much for him as for myself.  

My Dad’s an alien and the entity inhabiting his body doesn’t know Jack.