The Next Step

I signed the papers to put the house on the market. It won't actually be listed until right after Christmas, but the decision has been made, the price has been set and I am going to do it. Finally. I have taken the next step in moving forward.

The plan as it stands right now is this: I unload tons of my junk; the clutter that I have collected through the ages, the objects, the things, the little pieces of paper with strange little marks on them that I have saved from years gone by. I reduce my belongings to that which will fit in the back of a truck. Then, I sell the house and use the money I make to buy that truck to put my shit in. I pay off loans and credit cards and rent a small apartment where Max and I can stay until I've saved up more money - at least $5000 to move on. Then Max and I go.

Go where?

Well, that's a good question. I would like to find a place where I can afford my medications, where I can be with or meet someone to spend my life with, somewhere that has access to culture, nature and prospects for growth.

I need to ask an important question here. Am I running away from something? Maybe I am. I am running from a place where I feel stagnant. I am running from a trap that was fine to linger in for a while, but now, in this particular time, I find that the level of poison in my system is too much. I can feel it seeping into parts of my being that I don't want tainted.

There is one major thing that bothers me and that is my desire to maintain a close physical connection with my parents. I know that I don't have to be around to take care of them, but a large part of me still wants to stick around. I want to be there for them, but I also need to get moving on my own life and, from what I'm feeling now, the two situations don't share a similar space. I can only trust that this and other intrusive thoughts are addressed as they need to be through the passage of time.

So there it is. I consolidate, sell, regroup and hit the road with Max, the intrepid Beagle and bestest of friends, and I pray for the best.

I don't know what is next. I don't know if this is the right thing to do. I don't know. I just don't know. But, isn't that the fun part? Not knowing?

I've started thinking about trucks. I've started thinking about going on camping trips with Max. I've started thinking about driving across country with Max, my camera, my computer and a tent and a fishin' pole.... my, how the imagination begins to fly when someone even mentions opening the door to the cage...

Engineering A Life

I live in Missouri. It is a beautiful place at times, with rolling hills, creeks, streams and rivers that cut through the fertile soil. There are flowering, fragrant trees and flora of myriad scents and shapes; elegant deer prancing through hardwood forests and wondrous natural features like caves, fields of huge granite boulders and broad, sky-domed prairies that yield to the wild and adventure laden West. There is history here, too. Lewis and Clark, Jesse James, the Pony Express, the World's Fair. Yes, it's beautiful, it's interesting, it's nice. There are even pockets of culture and broad, progressive thinking. Intellectuals. Writers, musicians, artists and thinkers exist in the cities and small towns alike. But it's hell living here. I feel so alone and isolated here and I want to get out.

How do I do that? How do I dissolve the ties that bind me to this place and move - move forward, or even take a step or two to the side, just to initiate some action? Sure. Just sell the house, sell all that you do not need, pack your bags and go. All fine and good, but I need to make sure that I can get my meds. They're damned expensive and without them I'm dead. I mean really dead. So, I need to make sure that I have money or a job that pays or insures, or move to a state that has adequate health care.

That thins out the possibilities a bit.

And then there is the family issue. My mom and dad are here. I pride myself on doing my best to take care of them. They have taken care of me for so long, don't I owe it to them? Or is there really a point where I can think of myself without feeling guilty?

I wonder if having any control of my own life is an illusion or not. Is will power and perseverance all that is necessary to craft a desirable living situation, a job, a lifestyle that makes me happy? Or am I bound by situations beyond my control?

I can do my best to do the necessary tasks, to make the calls, do the footwork, initiate processes, follow the rules and play the game, but I have no control over how others ultimately behave. And the final outcome of so many essential things ends up in their, not my, hands. If the results are not to my liking then I pick myself up, dust myself off and start again.

A lifetime can be spent doing that.

So, how does one engineer a life, craft an existence, manipulate the materials of being into a comfortable lair?

That is not a rhetorical question.

a smattering of thought

I was thinking about my friend, Sheila, who died on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Josh, the guy that was doing the lion's share of the care giving, and some other friends have begun going through her belongings. Sheila had requested that I take whatever from her CD collection that I wanted, and she also designated some strange and wonderful things that she wanted me to have: a collection of masks, an ancient kimono, some dusty, smoky parasols that used to hang in her house.

I still have not cried. I am thinking that I might not. Our main topic of conversation from the time that she was diagnosed with cancer through our final conversation was death and the cast and hue of the world through the eyes of one who is ill, one who has been told that they are dying. In a sense, I have been crying since the first day that she told me.

I was offered a chance to speak at a memorial that they are holding for her. I declined, though an extemporaneous burst may still occur. Yet, I was reading from my own writings and realized that a verse that I had penned and which is posted on the Scented Shadows blog, is most appropriate.

The Day the Gingko Leaves Fell

I recall that brisk and bracing day:
Yellow golden fans edged in green
Whipping, swirling 'mid Sol's heatless ray
And drifting down to lay between
The stalks of grass with random pose
To make mosaics on the lawn
A single day the gods have chose
The gingko's cloak to mandate gone.
I remember, I think, that chilly day
The skirt shaped leaves upon me lay
As 'neath the branches I lightly sleep
And life's clear moments Time's burglar reaps;
He takes away, I seem to recall,
The fleeting scent of the leaves of Fall
And then the painting behind my eyes,
The light around and within dies.
I recall it, I swear, I know I remember
That bracing wind of late November.
The day the gingko leaves laid down
To rest like me...

©2004-2005 Stuart Dummit


....My friend from San Francisco is set to arrive on Friday. I got a message from him today that simply said that he was excited about meeting me.

That caused a warm rush through my system. Let the Universe and Creation do as it will. For what it is and for what it has been, I am thankful. For what it may be or might become, I can only stand hopefully by without judgment, without preconception but with healthy and more than just lustful anticipation.

I should note, however, that the coupling of endings and beginnings in this cluster of time has not gone unnoticed. Is there some sort of cosmic meaning here? Or do events merely unfold randomly without any rhyme or reason...

And what about that coatless button laying just outside the back door....

I'm Here

I haven't gone away. I'm here. Stuck on the ground, my head in the clouds, wandering through the thicket and briars, tripping over scattered junk and wires, breathing irregularly and with a fair amount of effort.

* * *

My best friend died last week. It wasn't unexpected. In fact, I have been preparing for this for the last two and a half years. Still, it hurts. It hurts but I haven't had a good cry over it yet. Instead, it is festering in me and I don't know how to release it. I know that it is impacting my general behavior. Probably not for the better.

I also have been involved in a long distance obsession. A guy on the West Coast, by the look of his pictures and the sound of his voice, handsome, desirable, available...but there is physical distance. And there are still no guidelines for dealing with blossoming relationships through data ports and over phone lines. On paper and through words we seem to be compatible; both looking for the same thing embodied in someone like the other. The panic of insecurity and fear of stupid things constantly falling out of my mouth belies the inappropriate attachment that I have allowed to develop. He is scheduled to visit me in a week, yet I have not heard from him since night before last. Have I done or said something? Has he changed his mind? Is it me? Am I paranoid?

Most certainly.

I am going to sell my house. I have to trash all of the junk that I've collected over the years. I have to clean and repair and tidy and plan. I have to escape. This isn't an easy job.

Speaking of jobs - the one that brings in the most money is still getting me down. I can honestly say that I hate my job. I'm not alone. So many people do. Why, then, do I feel alone.

Many old friends are coming into town for my friends memorial service. My friend from the West Coast is scheduled to be here that weekend. What a program for getting to know someone that you might want to fall in love with. "Hi. Let's make out, go for brunch, then attend a funeral for someone that you do not know."

Escape? Me?

Yes.

I want to run away. I want to be free. But, I want to belong. I want to be wanted and needed. I want to be desired but I still want to be free. Is this the koan of my existence? Of everyone's existence?

And through it all, Max, the beagle, still wants his noon time walk, he still wants to visit his friends in the bookstore, he still wants his belly rubbed and he still wants to curl up next to me in bed. And with this, I am content.