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Hit a wall today. Then I walked through it. There is, to me, nothing more difficult than the feeling of being disconnected from the very person you are most connected to. The one who sits with you night after night, listening to your tired rants until they simply end up walking around you as you morph from 'unreachable' to 'not there'. Waking up in a row of mornings with the same tired outlook, your first thought again that you are facing yet, another day of this. Well this a.m., I woke up, wrote a note for my wife to tell her how much she means to me and as importantly, shared with her how much I mean to me. Left it on her windshield at work. No call yet, but then who's keeping score, right? Oh, and the person I speak of being connected to is me. Without me, I have nothing. With me, everything. When I got to my shop today I found a reply to a comment I'd left yesterday here at OpEd on a diary by Mark Sashine. It was kindly suggested that I have a way with words, a positive outlook on life, a refreshing style and should I care to, she offered I share these things in an article. She doesn't know it, but she gave me permission. I needed it. She passed me a baton. I have decided to run with it. I thank her and I hope I don't let her down, nor you who peruse articles with non-flammable titles. Funny how throughout our lives and especially after enough time to know better, we still need and seek permission to do what we already know. At 56, I will concede I do not tire of love in all its forms. I think we forget from time to time that love is made, and I don't mean the 'act'. Like everyone I guess, I sometimes think I can buy it. Or act like I can. Put it on the card. Twelve months, no interest. The blue book version with the Roman gothic gold lettering. Or the 12 steps, the final chapter or the sequel to. Gratification reboxed and as always priced to sell. And yes, I've done a few dances in the end zone. I'm the baddest. Or was. Fact is, not only can it not be bought (some would argue rental is a alternative....albeit a comic one), but I can count on one hand the descriptions of love that have even come close to nailing it. I'm still coming up short. It cannot be measured. There is no Super Bowl or World Series to determine the soul goal winner. Balance sheets, both the stock splitting kind and the "get outta town Charlie" kind, lead to more heart attacks than to attachments of the heart. (No, I did not do a Zogby pole. Not necessary. I know). In fact, these lessons of physical plane successes and failures are the repeated hints and lessons that there is more, much more available to those who would listen to the similarities between us vs. the differences. Alas, I believe as I do that all is our choice and that to love and be loved is exactly that. The versions we are most familiar with are usually served with dessert, promises and out clauses. I call these measured versions hedge love. Now, I know there will be those who will do the math and connect my age to the 60's and give me a Berkeley address writing me off as a Joan Baez fan in search of her greatest hits Vol. 4 record/CD collection. I will tell you that yes, I was a child of the 60's and nowadays, in the remarketed love-in written history which has been utterly butchered, there was and is at its' root, a human interest in caring about each other and ourselves that is timeless. If I can correctly recall human history, some 2000 years ago some cat named Jesus caused quite a stir in this regard, and no, I am not a Christian or a Martian or any other 'tian' for that matter. I just dig the guy and the message he lived and left. (Please do not site nor link chapter and verse. I respect your concern, but again it is choice. Yours and mine). I would love to argue that Love is the Answer (another Todd Rundgren penned tune in a world of not enough Todd Rundgren tunes). Even though we can and do argue about anything and everything, it is not an argument that love causes. Love does not argue. It is passion without a mic.When it is attacked, it is like a rock in the river, remaining still and wet as the water finds its way. When convicted, it stands with a smile, guilty as charged. When traded, well, it wasn't really love. No deals, remember? In all forms love is the baddest deal breaker ever. It is the door to oneself and to others. It looks at all our human devotions and time honored traditions of chaos, and without uttering glorious high notes or tasteless profanity, remains there quiet for us to recognize as the place where our soul can be heard to sigh. We get these fleeting and few moments in our lives. They are rare. But as real as we will ever have. I have had them. I will guess except for very, very few of us, we all have had them. Those moments where we have no proof, but we know. These are moments that we can choose to recognize or not. Again, the choice thing. That we are willing to go into this arena naked and vulnerable is indeed scary. Our entire life has taught us, now more than ever, to be the exact opposite. Safe and secure. In return for what? Hedge love. Beware.Funny thing is as I see it, after all is said and done, love is ultimately the answer, without question. Without a bet placed. No liquid to get you over the hump. No oath to protect and defend. No mistake or perfection punished or rewarded. No deals, for or against. No hedge.Just love. Recognizable, forever, and real. The McCoy. This felt good. Thanx Jan......mikel
56 years on this jumpin' green sphere. Musician. Own and operate a music store to help kids find a possible life long friend. I believe in the soul and the search. Happily married w/ 2 boys. Published songwriter. play bass, piano and gut string guitar. there are no solutions..only alternatives. Ask questions. Listen. Be fair and don't expect. Baseball is a mirror. Don't ask....unless you have time and a sense of humor. Peace is never easy, but worth it. Always.
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