Category Archives: reflections within

reflections within

Snickety

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I would like to think that my ruminations in a sickly head have some application to a healthy head. At least I have a wise friend to advise and nurture me physically.
Lately I cannot blog much because things are too jumbled. I cannot write more than one word at a time. I’m also embarrassed to air certain things. I don’t know where the line always is between things I’m irrationally ashamed of and legitimate shyness or privacy. The shame is probably not good.

That is why it can be good to get sick. You can do more hard-core soul-searching, and weed out some of these discrepancies. I have developed a very deep respect for learning. My first forays into it were more out of survival and experimentation. Now it is daily nourishment. I think this enjoyment enhances the value of the learning. I don’t tend to question it anymore. I don’t bother to second-guess. If I can feel that something feeds my wisdom, then I’m a happy camper.

originally published on 4/18/11

reflections within

Faure Elegy

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For my close friend Dick Carter, having passed away November, 2011.

You were at my wedding! (Not much pomp and circumstance, but it meant a lot to me). I miss you. Especially when I need some sage advice from a close friend, one who knows things about my life no one else does, and could understand the way you do. I do think of you in the present tense. It actually hasn’t sunk in that you’re not here anymore. A year-and-a-half later. It doesn’t seem very long. Just a blink of an eye.

I wasn’t ready for this. Even if the thought had occurred to me. Our age difference didn’t create any gulf between us. From the first EA meeting when I heard you speak and then introduced myself afterwards, I felt a kinship with you that is rare in my experience. Perhaps a lot of people felt that with you. But it carried me far when the going went rough, both in meetings and in the rest of my life.

Remember when we had an ad hoc meeting in your living room with a few of us guys? Remember when you helped me out (!) with my crazy summer tenant? And you were the most beloved devotee of my music making here in town. You would always ask me about my summer music plans with great interest. You wanted to come hear me and visit me, but your loving curiosity about it was just as good as an actual visit. We did have a few nice phone conversations from across the country. You always had great interest in when I would be returning, in which months, so that we could reconnect. Basically, you cared.

But of course it was your wisdom on more personal matters that I miss most deeply. That I need. How many discussions about romantic relationships (mostly mine, but also some yours) did we have? God knows. And thank God for all of them. I was so happy to hear about your good feelings, both with and without your significant others. I think we had a similar style of looking at certain aspects of life. It’s called friendship. I’ve never had a friendship like ours end like this.

But you were my sponsor, too. I put you in, and you accepted, a position of advisor and guide for my emotional and EA progress for quite a few years. It was wonderful, believe me. Invaluable. It went way deep.

Thank you for all the bottled water. Thank you for that dinner you shared with me. And Cody. You were sweet with Cody. Sweeter than me. And my God, how sweet you were with your granddaughter. Ha! She was one lucky girl.

I’m sad I haven’t been able to connect with Cherry. I don’t know if she has some issue with me, or if she has simply moved on. I loved spending time with the 2 of you. You were really sweet together.

I am not going to say goodbye to you. You have SO not gone. I actually want to grow closer to you, if I may. You bring out the things in me that I should hold dearest. You are absolutely alive, in my heart.

originally published on 4/8/13

reflections within

21

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I not only have issues with distancing myself – to the point of shunning – from the present, but I am positively prejudiced against it. I adore the past, and always keep a torch burning bright for the future. The present though, I could care less. I always am wishing it simply would disappear. And eventually you get your wishes. I wish dearly I could appreciate the present. And not just for a minute or two, and not just after a near-death-experience. I think that describes well what was happening there in South Dakota. All I needed was the present. I didn’t need any Earth-shattering memories of the past or intense yearnings and plannings for the future. I didn’t need my normally overwhelming fantasy life. I only needed to wake up in the morning. I remember telling people that, actually. Somehow a calamity puts things nicely in perspective. It’s dangerous to have things too good, it seems.
When I speak of the present, it means both the actual present moment, or more key perhaps, present day life situations.

originally published on 1/02/10

reflections within

20

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Is it not enough to pursue the things which make you happy? Do I feel a true void in the absence of the sad, weighty things? Is it habit? Maybe it’s a viewpoint which needs tweaking, maneuvering.
Maybe I know what makes me happy, but I haven’t had much practice immersing myself in those things. If I only touch upon them occasionally and reluctantly, naturally I’ll still yearn for the other stuff I have become old friends with. The somber, melancholic stuff.

Maybe my childhood observation about my multiple personalities should tell me something about the possible cause of my moodiness. I liked to talk about how frequently I felt like a different person. I’m sure each different person was in a different mood.

I have observed that focusing more on what makes me happy engenders a state of mind which hearkens back to childhood. More unfettered mentally.

originally published on 12/29/09

reflections within

19

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All the paths I have taken, all the roads down which I have detoured, few having completed, and yet it seems I have a path which is mine and mine alone. These other detours and disciple-ages have permitted me to continue on what ends up being the only way I was ever meant to go. It would seem I have an internal, natural drive, somewhat akin to inertia, which leads me from point to point in the epic of my life. I believe I and others are in control, but what they seem to be doing really is helping me not to fall off the tracks. It kind of reminds me of being a character, a protagonist, in a novel, rather than a person in real life. I sometimes feel a kinship with book characters, but I always put the book down and end up feeling more indecisive and meandering than anyone fictional. I have always assumed that is the deal with real life. You don’t get the luxury of a script. You have to make it up as you go along. But maybe we are actually characters, just by virtue of having character. It defines us and determines our fates. It gives us inertial tendencies, like a magnet.

originally published on 12/25/09

reflections within

18

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I’m not sure how long I’ve been catastrophizing. I thought it was a more recent phenomenon, but perhaps not. I think I often let my friends and family do the brunt of the catastrophizing for me, so I figure I am free of it myself. There’s also the opposing trait – idealizing. I seem to have dreams full of that. Not to mention the trips my mind goes on in my waking hours.
But why is it so different in my head, so one-sided, and then when I write or talk about it, everything changes? When I am thinking, it stems from some sort of raw emotion or physical sensation. When I am writing or speaking, it is once removed, at least, from the raw emotion. So you can reimagine the emotions, reconfigure them to help serve a greater, vaster truth than that stuck in your body and psyche. But what happens when I feel I have run out of material? Is there something else which is equally rewarding that I could do to reconfigure the wiring which causes the angst? Yes, I believe so. But there are a lot of deceptively pleasing or fruitful activities which don’t provide the assistance or expressive qualities they have been deemed to. Or, if they do, I overuse and abuse them to the point that they cause more harm than good. It’s that “ize”-ing thing that I am so drawn to. I exaggerate.

originally published on 12/24/09

cello practice, reflections within

17

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I was listening to JS yesterday playing a Bach suite. It is so easy to listen to, so direct. It seems to me that his bow is always coming from the most convenient place prior to beginning a note. Whether above the string or beside it, the act of traversing from there to the contact point is simple and non-stop. Then I was listening to JdP today, and I heard an utterly contrary style of making notes. She coaxes them out of the instrument. The act of starting notes for her is laced in mystery and mist. And don’t get me started on what she does with them once they get spinning. Hers is a heart-wrenching and sumptuous listening experience, plumbing the depths of the world’s soul.

originally published on 12/21/09

reflections within

1

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Left to my own devices… Why must that be such an imbalanced state? Can’t I just be left alone once in a while? Must I always feel I am teetering on the precipice of making all the worst choices for myself if I have no one to lean up against and be guided by? I am noticing just how emotional it all is, not sufficiently logical or intellectual. I am not really an idiot. I know reasonably well how to be a functioning member of society and how not to be an assortment of self-destructive behaviors. I am just way too infantile in my reactiveness.
Oh, no! I have once again been abandoned! I will wither away and die! Where is my mother’s breast to suckle on? What will provide some modicum of comfort in this total void in which I find myself? Isn’t there one person who loves me in all of this world?

It is great when you find rapport and solidarity with those whom you spend time with. It is crucial to have that give and take, that pushing and pulling of personalities and passions. I think I might also need to acquire that in my solitary life. In other words, there is no such thing as unadulterated solitude. There always need be a flow, an awareness and participation in the yin and yang, the attraction and repulsion, the artist and the scientist, the cleanliness and the disarray, the mob and the hermit, between yourself and the surrounding community. Maybe my own devices are not as much my own as I originally thought.

Perhaps the difference between an infant and myself is the capacity for creative spark. I do not need to rely on someone else to make known my innate contributions to the universe. I do not need to wait until someone translates my feelings in order to compare and contrast them with those around me, eventually collaborating with my brothers and sisters of humanity. I am my own flower, capable of however much blooming I opt for at the moment.

originally published on 8/20/09

reflections within

2

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No, no, no. I feel the need to rebel. It is not such an easy act for me, as it seems for others. To put my foot down. Either in a defiant posture or in true passion for something. I tend to hold it in, letting it out in fits and starts when the opportunity arises. I need to make more opportunities for myself. Then it might not be such an exercise in keeping the horses gated in when it comes to my heart and imagination. Let the air out of the balloon, slowly but surely.
It’s interesting to find the myriad ways of doing this. It has been one of the most personal quests I have ever undertaken. This is something few talk about, at least in my circles. People are a tad surprised about this blog, for instance. They didn’t know I had it in me, or had an urge to express it like so. It is rather a natural act for me to write this. It’s my exhibitionistic journal, you know. I would not have been able to foresee the usefulness and serenity this brings me at times. And that is true for many things I have dabbled in. I have to leave myself open to trying things which may seem to contrast with other aspects of my life. The greater risk seems to be too much closed-off-ed-ness, so it’s safe for me to keep my options open.

There’s also a temporal side to the experimentation. Knowing how long and how often to stay in a situation or a feeling is equally important to the acts themselves. Time can be your friend or your enemy.

originally published on 8/22/09

reflections within

5

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I have written many journal entries recently, on paper. I didn’t feel anybody needed to see them. It’s not like some instances when I feel the issues are too personal. It’s more a question of sharing. There’s a side of me that just really sucks at opening up. Maybe some would wonder if there is another side at all. It is possible for me to be extraordinarily open. When I feel that way, I still have a glimmer of the closed, private side in my field of perception. Likewise when I’m feeling pent up – I know there’s the other half waiting for its chance to shine through. But these appear to be equally true, valid halves of the whole. I can’t just eschew one of them on a whim. Man, I wish I could sometimes. I want them to be friends, partners, gracefully navigating through daily events and interactions, but particularly internal swings. External events are much less reliable and critical than the odd, uncharted biological hills and valleys which sear through us hour to hour. It’s quite a trick knowing when our mind, heart or body will summon up sensations which we then need to live out in some way. I am sure these are not accidental nor incidental; they have little to do with what goes on around us.

originally published on 9/13/09