Maybe...

Maybe... The kindest man I ever met in this world died last month. I only found out just yesterday though, so the shock of it is still ringing in my ears. And in my head. And in my heart.

Sad. It really doesn't begin to cover the way I feel knowing this guy is not in the world anymore.

He was an artist. A talented one. More than a talented one- a gifted one. who, for the most part, labored in obscurity. Not that he cared. He just made art because that's what he was compelled to do. To earn a living, he taught. Art to high schoolers. and he was gifted at teaching too. Never have I seen a teacher who was more beloved by his students or who loved his students more. All his students. All of them. The ones who were artistic and the ones who were not. He especially loved one who was severely disabled and even had to use a computer to speak. He was mischievous. Loved to play jokes on his kids. But never mean. Just wanting to make them laugh and to understand humility and humanity. And love. He saw something special in every one of them. Every single one. He wished he'd had children of his own. His marriage failed. He drank too much. He'd show me proudly, the ranks of his kids who'd made it big in the world of fashion. Of graphic design. Of whereever Art led them. He'd tell me of the ones who sobbed their stories out to him. He foiled more than his share of bullies. The administration hated him. Because he didn't care about what they did. His classroom was where the misfits went to each lunch and to have someone smile at them just one time that day.

The man had a wicked sense of humor. A constant smirk of amusement. A twinkle always in his eye. A throaty laugh that came straight and often, from his heart.

Once he showed me the portfolio he made to get hired for his first teaching job. Back when portfolios were all the rage in hiring teachers. I'd seen a million portfolios. Most of which made me want to gag. His made me cry. It was a poem.

I think he was a poem.

How does a poem end? In this case. In his sleep. All alone. His heart giving way to something else.

He was a chain smoker. A chain drinker. To my great disgust, he was a lover of nascar. I would tell him, " if you would give up that dirty habit, I'll marry you." He would smirk and laugh and say, "you don't want to marry me." Emphasis on the ME. and he'd wink. Because he knew my heart was still somewhere else.

He was a wonderful, hearty cook. He'd message me and say, "please come up, I want to cook." I'd say, "ok." He didn't drink wine. But he always made sure there was wine for me.

He loved heartwarming movies. He loved movies about history and wars. He was something of a patriot. Although I always thought that was wierd. He had a wild mixture of conservative and liberal beliefs. He loved movies for little kids. He had a little sports car that he somehow acquired through a trade. But most of the time he drove the cheapest car that could be had. Which at the time was a pt cruiser. Ugg.

He did not like to go out. Except to his backyard where he grew vegetables and flowers that would make you drool.
He was dirt poor. He made his own furniture. Built the frames. Sewed the cushions. When his mother was dying of cancer, he moved her in. And cared for her. Until she died. He missed her openly and everyday, afterward. He had a grey cat named smokey who HATED me. I hated smokey back.

One time we went out somewhere nice. I dressed up. I wore make-up. He said, "wow" when i came to the door. He looked dashing. We were a pretty couple really. We ran into one of his students who told him he should keep me. He said, "if I could..."

He loved the Sunday paper. Sunday mornings were coffee, lying on the living room floor, cigarettes burning, pouring over every page. Front to back.

You couldn't make him angry. No matter how hard you'd try sometimes. You just couldn't make him mad. And after awhile, you just didn't want to.

He had not one speck of ambition. He loved technology. He could write like a dream. But rarely did. He was a good listener. In that he'd listen all the way through anything you'd be having an angry tirade about that day. Then. He'd hug you. And then you'd be ok.

He grew up poor. Dirt poor. Hungry every day poor. If he'd not had art, I doubt he'd have gone to college. I think he'd be in jail for misadventures. His sister was a college professor. His brother was i don't remember. He loved him but they were too different to be close. His dad was a drunk. His mother, a saint.

I don't know. I think maybe.... Maybe I loved him.

I think maybe i didn't realize it until yesterday.

I'd let him go. At some point, I just couldn't see us being together and I told him we both needed to move on. I remember i was mad because he didn't really protest. He just accepted what i said. I stopped coming over to dinner. We remained friends. On facebook and occassionallyon the phone. He moved away. We emailed. He invited me to visit. I didn't go.

I let him slip away. And then he slipped away. In his sleep.

And now on hearing, I am sad. Blue.as a girl can be.

And maybe? Maybe I loved him.

I mentioned he was kind. He was kind. you could hear it in his voice kind of kind. And I'm sad that all that kindness has passed out of this world.

Maybe.....

Nevermind

Hopped on to tell you a story. but you know what? Now i don't even feel like telling it. So, nevermind.

Hello

Hello. You're back, I see.

I am back here too. I know why I'm here. But why are you? It's a curiosity to me.

Go away. There's nothing to see here. Ok. Don't go away, but please don't expect anything of me either.

So, it's been a good week. I was rewarded for my work. There was a spot of dry weather yesterday so I could sit out on the deck and write a long letter to a friend while i sipped ginger beer. i got asked to help manage a facebook page because I've "got a keen eye" and I'm "a good writer."

I had a really nice weekend to remember. i had my first experience with opera. I had duck.

It's been a lousy week too. A good friend's brother died after a long illness. It continues to storm and rain. As it is right now. i jammed a shredding machine 3 times today. I got a paper cut. My left leg hurts for an unknown reason.

Tomorrow night I'm going out with a gaggle of friends for dinner. That will probably be good.

So there. Now you know what is going on in my life. Now, how about telling what is going on in yours?

Mt. Doom and the weekend

well, i finished the book i was reading. just before it needed to be returned. but i renewed it anyway. because i'm so hooked on so many bits of it, i want to pour over it again. ponder it again. it has left me feeling both better and more torn up. and i have to turn it over some more. like a pancake or something. (i know. i am so poetic. (-:)

so i finished this book while sleeping at a friend's house following a fourth of july celebration that i helped to host. and after everyone had left or had gone to bed, i laid on my designated sofa and fought drowsiness to finish it before i fell asleep. i failed. and instead felt compelled to finish it on our host's balcony this morning with my coffee while the others that were staying over were rehashing the party or the newspaper with their cups of joe.

i was drifting in and out as a finished it. partly reading fervently, partly delighting in hearing recounts of the party, partly wondering why my coffee at home never tastes this good, partly remembering a stilted conversation with the person i was sitting beside during the fireworks the night before who i think may have been clumsily hitting on me while i was clumsily trying to ignore the fact that i thought he was hitting on me. because i wasn't sure. and when you're not sure, you deny. right? so at the very least he was checking me out. but i'm fairly certain i didn't impress him except when i happened to make a comment about the anatomy of the eye. other than that, i am certain he left believing me to be utterly stupid. and uninteresting.

anyway. i finished the book. clear to the end. but my heart stopped right between pages 293 and 294. and i've been stuck all day thinking about what was on those pages. even while i was watching the steve martin movie, roxanne, which is how i dream that life could be. where it all ends happily ever after after all. where it doesn't matter what you look like, but words count when they should count. and even if you are misunderstood at first, eventually the lover understands what is really in your heart. but life, alas, is not one bit like that, now is it?

so

"the point of Buddhism," he said, "is that it is natural to live with wounds. Everyone has wounds and will be wounded. This can be shocking at first, but in fact it is completely normal. That's basically it." And so it was with grieving, he said. Intense grieving was recognition of this wound, and it always took a person some time to grow accustomed to it." ..........

"Language was not the only thing that worried Minami. Money bothered him too. He did not like the iniquity that money had created, and he was not a fan of capitalism. He was very dubious about the efficacy of counselors and therapists to console the grieving; this was a monetary transaction, and any time anyone took money in exchange for "help," one ought to be suspicious. Better to come to Mount Doom, where a person could grieve the dead. "mind you, " he said, "i believe in the dead. They are very different from ghosts. This is not a place for ghost watching. This is a place for grief."

Perhaps all that is not profound to you. or maybe it even makes no sense. but no matter to me. this post isn't about you or for you. it's about me. and for me.

i was reflecting on my way home today with my bike fastened securely to the back of my car how the two dead people i loved the most always thought i was better than i really was. which makes me afraid to meet them again in any afterlife. because i know they know now just how truly awful i am on the inside. at the same time i reflected that the one alive person who i love(d) the most (besides my children and grandchild) in the end believes me to be more truly awful than i really am inside. which makes me want to see him again in the afterlife so he can know how very wrong he was.

sometimes i have nightmares about running into him on an airplane or something. he'll be sitting up there in first class where he belongs and i will be schlepping past towards my economy seat all clumsy with my carry-on because i can't afford to check my baggage. and he'll be sitting beside the imposter that should be me and he'll look up just as i am realizing "oh god, it's him." and in the better endings i'll throw up on him. and then faint. and then i'll wake up and it will all be a dream i had while moving through business class and into my seat. and in the worst endings, i'll just glare daggers at him before moving along down the aisle. and resuming real my place in the world.
where i'll be the last one off the plane. to make sure our eyes never meet again because i know if they do, i will probably throw up on him. unable to speak all the things that i would like him to know. about me.

"intense grieving was recognition of this wound, and it always took a person some time to grow accustomed to it."....

one more thing the weekend brought me was a chance meeting of the nephew of someone that i rather ran away from just a couple of years back right when it might have turned into something. this nephew said he would be seeing this person next week. i asked him to remember me to his uncle. because i did like him. but i couldn't at the time get a ghost of the someone else living out of my head. and i know i hurt the guy's uncle. but i only hurt him before i could hurt him more. i wished i could have the nephew convey that. but of course i couldn't.

so while the words spoken about mount doom literally make the distinction between the dead and ghosts at mt. doom- i believe i will choose to understand them more figuratively. in that while i'm not trying to watch a ghost, i am trying to grieve to the point where i become accustomed to it. someday i am hoping that it will feel natural to live with wounds. and not like a person whose rods and cones aren't working.

4 noble truths and a lie

wakare. i read that in Japanese that means parting. owakare is apparently a final parting. as in a death. apparently, in japanese, any time you add an o at the beginning of a word that makes it a bigger deal.

i'm reading all this in a book entitled, "Where the Dead Pause and the Japanese Say Goodbye" It's about Japan after the earthquake, tsnami and nuclear mishap. it's a little about the Japanese culture. and it's about grief.

it's interlaced with concepts of buddhism and the shinto religion. it's all very mind opening to me. as a good book should be, i guess.

i'm reading it on the heels of reading a book about rosa parks. i'm reading it on the heels of all the both great and terrible things that have happened in the world as of late. i'm reading it on the heels of a bit of a down cycle in my head lately.

it's not that i'm depressed. i'm not, really. just not at my sunniest self. which either comes from not being with people enough or perhaps with them too much. i can't really say.

what i can say is that i think it started upon meeting this guy, who is just a friend (really) and is going through an unwanted (on his part) divorce. he is now part of a circle of friends that i've acquired down here. and here's the thing. he seems to want something from us that most of the rest in our circle seem prepared to give him but for some reason i can't. i can't be upbeat with him when that's what he wants and i can't be sympathetic with him when that's what he wants. i just can't. summon anything at all for him. i find myself wanting to distance myself from him. and the whole group.

because he's rather like a ghost to me. what he's going through (with far more grace really than i ever had) is something i don't want to remember or be haunted by. an unwanted parting. a big old messy pile of grief. i just don't want to be near it, hear about it, empathize it or be reminded of it in anyway. and i find myself withdrawing.

which makes me a lousy socializer. and a lousy friend. and quite possibly a lousy human being. especially when i think how very much time, love, and understanding my friends gave to me back when.

there's a lot of talk about ghosts in this book. apparently the Japanese are big on ghosts. which is something i didn't know even after having been there four times. there's talk about noh theatre which is apparently usually about a chick being dumped. who knew? anyway, i can handle all this in the book. but i can't handle it all in my life. perhaps because i can put the book down if i'm too overwhelmed. and the book is not offended. not sure. but i can fade out. and then fade back in. when i can do it.

i was intrigued by the discussion in the book between two shrine priest who were comforting survivors of the disasters when one told the other that he must never give more than an hour to any one person at a time. because more than that and it would eat you up and you wouldn't be able to console anyone. i'm also intrigued by the concept of bodhisattvas who are beings who could be buddhas but who stay behind on earth and help ease human suffering. i'm definitely not one of those.

the first noble truth in buddhism is that life is full of suffering. the second is that suffering is caused by human attachment. the third is that we can rid ourselves of suffering if we rid ourselves of attachment. but the 4th and final is the kicker- and that is to end suffering and cease attachment, one must live correctly.

apparently there is an 8-fold path to this living correctly. perhaps, i need to study on that path of right living.
because right now, i'm having trouble understanding all this. how do you strive for no human attachment when life seems to be all about human attachment? i'm not an eastern thinker, so there must be something about detaching that i don't grasp. perhaps my understanding of detachment is warped. or at least different. because while i seem to instinctively know detach from people these days, it seems more to isolate me than to bring me closer to helping to end suffering. my own or anyone else's. all i know is that i've got enough of my own ghosts to deal with- i don't feel like i can take on anyone else's.

i don't have any wrap it up conclusion to this post. i don't know how to end it. just as i don't know how to end suffering in the world. so let's just part for now. wakare.