Monday, March 15, 2010
Poem to Tim ---- March 2003
Poem to Tim
He was very much alive and as bright as a star
Loved sports; golf was his game -- he shot par
He would see the bright side - laugh instead of worry
He traveled the world young, including Surry
He knew how to think big; how to dream
Tim made me so full of hope and proud I would beam
He was handsome, athletic, funny, and smart
Everybody loved him; he would warm the heart
He was the stability of the family; we all did believe
It broke my heart that he was first to leave
He was creative, would think the most difficult things through
He’d come up with new ideas that would make my mind chew
He gave me back my childhood just as he became an adult
When I think of those glory days I do exalt
He was a gift sent by God; I only realized later as perfect as could be
That I loved him right I pray to Thee
He’s gone – abruptly --way way too early
He was ripped from my heart; I loved him so dearly
His spirit is now a memory; that’s all I have left
Dear Tim I miss you; it’s such a terrible theft
He was so dear, I miss him badly, it makes me cry
Last time I saw him I told him I loved him …. then said goodbye
He taught me to love and it’s now that I know
Tim was send by God; it’s a debt to Jesus that I owe
Kevin Myer, my grandson --- March 03
To Kevin
He very smart for he can figure any game
He plays catch with his grandma and has good aim
He plays baseball, soccer, and swims
He seems a good athlete; has moves like his uncle Tim’s
He has a lot of friends --- is a Cub Scout
He also likes to fish; one day he’ll catch a trout
He certainly likes to play – he and the cousins go crazy
He’ll play and play – although when the homework comes he gets a little lazy
Chicken fingers and Buffalo wings he does adore
That buffalo have wings gets his grandpa confused galore
He thinks nachos are nice but Taco’s is his favorite
He once had five and he really did savor it
He has quite an imagination and can really tell a story
Most are made up; they’re really great but a few are gory
Grandpa thinks he’s a little young for root beer; the waitress did agree
Kevin thinks grandpa‘s a total embarrassment to the family
He likes PG13 movies that are scary like Godzilla
He wants parental guidance as much as a gorilla
Kevin’s mightily fearless; one thing that scares him is grandpa’s black toe
The first time he saw it, got so scared he had to go
To his grandma and cousins he gives hugs and kisses
And he should keep trying for he always misses
He’s the nicest guy you ever did see
He loved very much by mommy and daddy and the whole family
Thunderstorms, an inspired story ---- February 10
When a thunderstorm is distant there is a lag between the lightning and thunder. You can tell it's approaching when the lag gets smaller -- -- as it leaves the lag grows.
Being organic each thunderstorm has a distinct personality and character -- even the lag is distinctive. This is the story of one very special thunderstorm.
----------------------------------------------------
As she approached the brilliance of her lightning served a harkening and you could hear the rumbling boom chasing behind.
The darkening of the sky had a haunting holy effect, as if to create a cathedral ceiling over a mystical religious passage.
The brilliance of her lightning led, signaling an ascension connecting earth with heavens. the booming male thunder was closing in awkwardly, trying to catch up with the ceremony.
And then they met as male and female rarely do, crackling combustion, a nuclear fusion of Venus and Mars putting on a lightning show with bright colors and dark dancing clouds, with ringing sheets of rain like symbols in an orchestra, with sonic booms from the male's base drum.
Scientists think thunderstorms are formed by differentials in the atmosphere and Earth's temperature. Poets know much better --- thunderstorms get their energy and full fury at those rare moments when male and female are in harmony. It’s a heavenly celebration and symphony of the joining of the sexes -- -- it's nature's Fourth of July.
The celebration fills all the senses ---- magnificent female lightning to see, booming thunder of the male Eros to hear, the baptismal massaging rain to feel. The singed air incense to smell.
The celebration also more importantly speaks to the spirit --- it’s to be revered, it is to be feared, it demands witness, it exacts homage. within a cloud Cathedral ceiling to receive our respects.
And then thunderstorms move on -- -- but not in this story of our special thunderstorm. The male thunder lost his ephemeral nerve and planted himself on a farm. And could only watch as his lightening soul mate moved on.
Poets know this story and get impatient with scientists fascination with this particular thunderstorm that's all lightning with no boom, known as the thunderstorm with a one handed clap. The poets also can explain the haunted farm where the fields speak in a soft lonely boom.
Poets also know the fields in the farm rest with a certain fulfillment and peace. Minutes after the resident boom saw his lightning's last sheflash there appeared a brilliant rainbow with all the spectrum's colors. Mrs. Lightning and Mr. Boom shared a certain synesthesia that encoded the letters of a message in the rings of color of the rainbow ----- which said ' I love you'
Friday, March 12, 2010
Lunch with John Rice and Greg Mort, March 09, Inspired Sleepy Dreams poem
John and Greg,
I really enjoyed our conservation in Chevy Chase. John, I would be happy to mentor some of your budding entreprenuers in the Maryland/DC area and I would condider it on honor to speak to your classes in NYC --- particularily the ones for entrenpreuners.
The banter we had about starting up a business and stepping out of the corporate world was really stimulating. Somewhat rare to have a business tycoon, famous artist, and carzy ass mathematicain share their go solo catharsis. The way we were each captured by a sense of destiny, compulsion, pull was intriguing. --- after some period of weighing, evaluating, calculating it seemed each shifted, from logic to feeling an inxorable pull to follow our respective path.
I thinik we should do something with this. Below is my fumbling attemp to capture some of it, along with the idnetity issues a startup entreprenuer faces. Since I volunteered to be firest in the barrel maybe you guys could add, refine, expand ... this beginning.
We should teach this stuff to people starting up, I think it would really help big time. It's beatiful, three rafically different cultures of business, art, science; we triangulate the dreams/tumult that compel one to his own path. The driven social engineer, the artist who's hands capture the heavens, the mathematician who quantifies the unquantifiable..... each step off the edge. And recount their transformational moment when pulled to fulfill a personal destiny.
Here's a sonnet ' sleepy Dreams to compelling Destiny'. I hope it captures a piece of that magic moment when we each realized we had to follow our dream.
Regards,
Tom
ps- Escher had it right: 'I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough'.
pps --- one of my favorites Thomas E. Lawrence nailed it: 'All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible'.
sleepy Dream to compelling Destiny -- March 09
At first there's an underlying dream, a passion, a fire
but it's only an afterthought to real day to day life
presently postponed in favor of daily strife
it lives only in the interludes of the busy sticky mire
The dream grows, being fertilized by corporate bullshit
the corporate world is just gray --- no fire
the dream becomes the unfulfilled mind's desire,
needed for the soul's sanity, the spirit's work permit
The vacuous corporate gray flannel suit fires the dream yet more
if not now then never, your hand called on the dream
now plans, spreadsheets, cash flow scheme
and the dream gets teeth, a teething spirit of implore
The mantra shifts --- 'I have to do this', separate from corporate mob
the dream takes your center stage, everyone thinks you're crazy
to throw it all away, what a daisy
to give up such a good 'JOB'.
And the word JOB does it! a JOB is no competition for your dream, your heart pump
and so, with dream in heart and butterflies in belly
you have no choice but to follow your path, o Nellie!
and you jump.
And the dream unfolds
And so do you.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The Lesson and Gift of Cancer ---- August 29, 2003
The Lesson and Gift of Cancer
My recent cancer experience had a profound lesson. Although I think I'm mostly successfully through it, the state of despair it took me to was so poignant that I think it's a big mistake just to let it go, and go on with life's normal routine.
So, therefore this monologue. I want to capture:
The sense of doom the words ' you've got melanoma' brought
How my ‘world lens’ was shattered and how the ‘life or death lens’ became my total focus
The powerful sense of proportion and values the cancer brought
The urgency of time cancer brings
If I have survived the cancer was truly a gift - I don't want to forget it. I want to look at its lessons every hour; and choose to live that hour as if it were my last.
Cancer brought love, proportion, and appreciation. My next hamburger was the best I ever ate.
Cancer finally gave me the focus to attack the real enemy: complacency, boredom, and obsessions with a whole raft of things that mean absolutely nothing.
I know these lessons are so so obvious for the multitude of poor souls stricken with cancer. The lessons sound like hollow echoes for the many of us that take our heath for granted. My humble intent is to share the feeling of the cancer experience, so others and I can begin to appreciate the precious gift of life we have left.
I want to survive the cancer but not the cancer experience. I lived more than ever, and did more work of the soul, while my cancer outcome was in doubt. I pray that this terrible disease has left my body. I pray with equal force that I can live the rest of my life with the spiritual focus that cancer brought.
I. Bad news
The first section deals with the experience of getting the news.
Well, we have a melanoma
The first was a biopsy; what was the answer?
Hope against hope that I wouldn’t have to enter the starship cancer
My own world is comfortable and nice,
I’m scared to death of this big bad cancer price
For a researcher who knows all the self-absorbed trivia to impress,
Couldn’t get myself to find out what happens if the answer is yes
The feeling was numbness, disbelief
Made myself comfortable with the grief
If the gloom suit is mine, well I’ll wear it well
The beginning of letting go - to oh so many meaningless things, it was farewell
The spiritual spring-cleaning wasn’t complete, of the hang up and obsession attic, that had life defrauded,
But an inexorable cleansing had started, reluctant at first but now applauded
Which created space to do what? --- To live, do you believe it, to live life unconparable
The obsessions, hobbies, hang-ups, were all anesthesia against life’s pain unbearable
After cleaning out the attic, the cancer put a loving light on what had been life’s pain, become karma,
The obsessions, life pain, and induced karma went away --- thank you cancer dharma
And created time and space for life, for heart and life, for laughter and life sublime
Ah, but how much time?
II. Three weeks waiting for the gland biopsy
After hearing the words “ Well, we have a melanoma” there was a 3-week hiatus waiting for the biopsy. It wasn’t just waiting; the surgeon cut a wide margin of safety around the melanoma and removed the nearest sentinel lymph node. But the waiting was transforming me; reconciliation was taking place and the possibility of cancer deepened in my psyche.
Life shows up while waiting
Before the cancer, after distractions my mind would return to a self-conscious home
The mind’s home was comfortable, reassuring, confident, a self assured clone
Active serotonin, warm endorphins, could feel healthy neurobiology down to the bone
With cancer the self-conscious home feels like dread and doom, disease and unease, something gone terribly wrong
Which begets the need for yet more distractions, which when needed are all gone,
And then self-consciousness reasserts it's troubled nature --- there's something gone terribly wrong
An uneasy peace settled in, an almost holy mood
Not in a rush to find out, was enjoying even the interlude
If the news were bad, the waiting would be the last days lived free
Can’t stand waiting some relatives said, not me,
An uneasy peace was better than a death sentence, don’t you agree
Not ready for the tortuous chemo fight
Body disfigured, stomach upset, hairless, I prefer flight
Rather have the good memories and go out whole
This shows the soul’s immaturity, to prefer the grave hole
Cause the death sentence would make the remaining days more fine
What irony, the shorter the fermentation, the sweeter the wine
Saw people laughing and loving, that’s what I desire
Realized, for the first time in my life, that’s the goal, there’s nothing higher
Also realized how rare love is and that I had become its foe
Spent most of my life chasing the wrong rainbow
Realized these could be the last days before the trip above
Last trip to SF, last tennis game, last sushi, last love
Sadly realized there had not been enough love, laughter, fun, reaching out
Realized this is to be first on life’ agenda, not last, with no clout
To be OK, to be childlike and play, this is the last chance no doubt
Envious not of youth, money, looks, … but of health, longevity, more time
Of days left, savored like the last sips of a great wine
Like the last days of a child’s summer vacation,
Relishing the present with full appreciation
It hung over me; it hovered closely above my head, a halo casting a dark and ominous chill
Every mental paragraph and even sentence was interrupted with the cancer shrill
Wasn’t like depression – would welcome and applaud the frivolous all day long
Even though it was like a death metronome interrupting life’s song
The dark worries dismissed, triviality was its mother tongue
So depression it was not, but it hung
Even the shame of failure was finally excused, all the success hang-ups completely flung
Finally such clarity, but it hung
The hovering turned from dreaded numbness, to a strange companion, and then a friend
The theme turned to living, form cancer it did transcend
I was laughing, feeling, loving, with complete acceptance, without reservation or expectation
But with total presence, and clarity, and appreciation
The waiting was loved, didn’t want to let it go, relishing the present before we say ciao
At times was actually elated, I had made a new friend, it was a friend called NOW
Made a strange and selfish deal with my dear Lord,
Vowed to really live if life He would afford
Not to go to church, or be more devout
But to laugh, love, cry, and really reach out
Was roughing out plans either way
If only a short time would just do a few great things, but with cache
If OK, really let loose and live baby - this is your only time
The NOW friend was so strong, it demanded my presence, said this is thy prime
Don’t dwell on the plan; the short plan is best, you’re wasting time
And then there’s hope, really afraid to hope, and build expectation
Equally afraid to fear, and dwell on the worse desperation
Best to stay in suspended animation, neutral but present
Fully here in every moment, as if a witness, to let in the feelings without lament
To let the thoughts dance,
No judgments, no projections, no critique advance
No grandeur, ambition, or fame
Just here, open, present, alive without blame,
For the first time, for the very first time, is this what it took?
Thank you cancer, you were not a crook,
For it was while I was waiting for you cancer, that life showed up
III. Good news
It’s probably obvious the news was good, two gland biopsies were negative. I walked into the doctor’s office suspending expectation; it was an incredible relief. It didn’t hit me in the face; it gradually sank in that I had another chance. If the news had been different I’m sure this piece would have not been written. I apologize to cancer victims, I’m sure they consider this trifle; the depth of their grief and their courage exceeds anything I could express here.
At a variety of seminal events in my life – college graduation, marriage, getting a graduate degree, starting a company – I wrote lists of success goals that I’d had to work hard to achieve. The results are mixed, about as good as a decent baseball batting average.
I also have a list of goals stimulated by this cancer event; not success goals but rather life, laughter, and love goals. My batting average is going to go up.
Shadows on Water
shadows on water hold a double mystery
of another world that holds different life
and of a darkness that hides a different truth
When you talk to a pond you look into its shadows, like looking into the eyes of your partner in conservation. The pond had some soulful advice for my broken heart that day, but that’s a piece of a bigger story -- you’ll have to buy the book ---- http://www.blurb.com/books/2102430.
Ponds and I go way back, ponds and their shadows play a big role in my life. This story is long overdue.
Be careful here, looking into shadows on water will change you. This is where secrets and keys are hidden. They lurk in the dark boundaries of our consciousness, the shadows of our awareness. When you look you see both ways, like Oedipus you see your own fate in the water. You have to gradually let the story in, like a game of peak a boo with the dark unknown. There in the water’s shadows Erebus lurks, the primordial Greek god of shadows. Like Erebus the dark shadows are the place between heaven and earth, a secret passage way.
-------------------------------------
There’s a duality of early morning shade and early evening shade, they’re twins but not identical twins, they’re born the same but die their own way. Both are transitional sentinels of change, but one is pushed aside and the other melds. Daybreak shade a hearkening of the day to come --- transitory, darkness surrendering to sun light. Evening shade salutes the oncoming tranquility of night -- shadows melding into the dark of evening.
The daytime magic shadows need sunlight for contrast and boundary. The night darkness has shadows only with a full moon, well known for its mysterious pull. Most people mistake the full moon for this magical power; not so, it’s the shadows. Shadows know dark secrets, the 1930’s pulp fiction had it right: "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!"
The most special water shadows have fulltime canopy cover --- this is where the magic is. Dark mysterious truths lurk, even a few fish. You have to sneak up; you want to savor the hidden scene from the every approaching angle. It’s best to carry a fishing rod to legitimize your adventure. It’s the unknown, the mysterious, the hidden, the forbidden, the unseen, the darkness of the water’s soul.
I know where ponds are, never forget, there’re my landmarks, the way I navigate. Others remember street names and route numbers and certainly the name of towns -- what folly; it’s like remembering zip codes and missing cathedrals. I don’t remember any of this dribble, but I can tell you exactly where the ponds are, and something of their nature. I always picture an idyllic scene revisiting the ponds – paying them homage and getting to know them. They each have a distinct feeling, their own character; some have a sense of wonder and warmth. Wild, rough, sheltered, shadowed, calm, deep, cozy, lonely. Hallowed places where you’ll find me at peace, lazily fishing for something I already caught, being home.
fishing is just an excuse to get to know the place
I sit with a pond, and listen
it always speaks
with wonderful stories and feelings mainly of her history, her story
of the ways she changed, who visits, what they feel, what she holds
Then I talk
mainly of my history, my story
of the ways I’ve changed, who I know, what they feel, what I hold
And we become friends
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
