Silence...and then sound, or soon, at least.

Working on a piece to explain, or at least explore, this chaotic mind of my mine...stay tuned. By this weekend, for sure.

EjG

Discovery....

A Brief Overview
The journey over the past year or so has been an interesting one, and continues to be filled with personal discovery and details. And, I share the following in hopes those who can relate can have something we can discuss. Don't let us hide in silence, but rebel in strength. It takes a special soul to succeed beyond this pain.

Though I often approach my journeys and discoveries with humor, there is a  soulful side to my approach to life that is often held quite close out of fear of sharing too much inside this single person. I do not strive to run the world, just want to leave a positive legacy when I am gone. Because of the topic below, I need to maintain a sense of seriousness. My humor is quelled.

This past year has taken me to areas I had never imagined. From job loss to job gain, to a new location and to new work experiences, to experiencing normality being lost and forgotten. But, the struggle to truly understand who it is I am and what I strive to be continues to be a source of inner turmoil. I know many people struggle with this, I'm just bringing it out into the forefront.

My life is in upheaval...but, it's not the end. At least not now. So then what?

A Taboo Subject in Our Culture
It took a serious set of panic attacks, a couple of psychologists, some good meds, TED talks by Brené Brown and Susan Cain, literally drawing out my approach based on conversations and presentations, a lot of reading on introversion versus extroversion and a serious examination of what my skills as a writer and professional communicator truly entailed to get to where I am right now. It has not been pretty nor easy.

Did I nail it?

Nope.

So, back to seeing a therapist.

There, I said it. Back to seeing a therapist.

My failure and yet my redemption.

Let my personal critics (both professional and non-professional) weigh in on my ineptness. There are many out there. But, the kicker is this: it's not ineptness.

It's because those of us in this predicament often see life dramatically different than most. It's a curse and a blessing.

Yep, I'm an introverted writer that has a messed up brain seeing yet another therapist, and I look at life and problems in a dramatically different way than most. I'm supposed to be ashamed, right? Because I have a therapist? However, I am not. Which is why I'm posting this.

I've been told to not tell anyone. This is something you're not supposed to talk about because it's seen as shameful and a weakness.

What bullshit. Whatever happened to compassion and understanding?

Broken ankle or wrist, chemo I'd be in therapy to take care of it. Much sympathy. But, with a messed up head? Silence, shun and disgust seems to be the better approach. It's time to change this. Which is why I'm going public with my personal struggles.

You cannot push for change until you actually put yourself on the platform.

Impactful Memories 
I thought by the time I was 48 I would have this thing called life figured out, being comfortable with it. I have not. Ironically, I think that's ok (should I get past this current struggle). Not having life figured out means you're not complacent. You're still finding and discovering.

The best class I ever took in college was a course in Logic, far better class than any business or communication class. On the last day of the course, the professor made a statement that has stuck with me to this day. He said something to the effect, "Always continue to learn and be interested in life. At some point in your career you'll plateau and there will be nothing further for you there. If you have no other interests, then life will be pretty unfulfilling."

Of course, the great William Zinser, in his 80s, said to the graduating class from his alma mater, all in their teens, that we all want the same thing. What could that possibly be?

Simple.

We want "to have an interesting life."

Yes...an interesting life. But, how?

The other night I sat out on my deck with my yellow lab and a glass of wine. All I could hear were the night sounds. I'm very comfortable in silence and solitude. For years, in the corporate world, there was something I was told to work on, a major weakness, and that was my willingness to be alone and think. I needed to network more, be more outgoing, be sociable. That's what needed to be done.

But, I struggled. And still do so today. I'm not that way...I cannot be that way.

Now, I've decided to embrace what is me and get others to accept this for what it is. Which is sort of an arrogant view of life. So, in reality, it has become an understanding of both me and an understanding of you, at least the collective you.

So Let Me Be Blunt
I'm an introverted soul who has decided to refocus his efforts on biking for health, writing for thinking, guitar playing for problem solving, reading for discovery, photography for capturing moments in time and, most of all, family for love. Yes, meaningless things from the perspective of the business sector, but strength from every other point of life.

But, this rambling is not a synopsis of a culmination of events over the past year or so. It's not a cry for sympathy. No, it's one more step in the journey with personal struggles. I'm having trouble finding it, but when I wait for inspiration it somehow has a way of slapping me in the face.

And, it did so today.

I'm convinced that by following the path to "me" will enable me to find a truly fulfilled life. The best things to ever have happened to me are the panic attacks and the downsizing I went through last year. Nothing would have changed if it wasn't for both of those incidents.

The Finale, Sort Of 
Fortunately, I have the financial means to take this journey on, and discovered my current role, which follows my passion. It's not a job...it's truly a passion, though stressful, it helps define my character.

That's the big distinction. I may not succeed, but if I don't, I know I will have left a legacy from what I have done. That's true life, my friends....and the biggest thing is rediscovering other passions in life.

And now? Well, I'm finally redefining passions to discover my "interesting life." Thanks Mr. Zinser...

So, until later...

Beauty

There is an edge to beauty forgotten
Where sound mixes with silence,
Symbiosis unveils.
Sound ceases. 

There is an edge of beauty realized
Where minds separate from reality,
Silence moves to symbiosis. 
Thought emerges.

There is an edge of beauty discovered
Where intrigue of ideas are pondered
Forcing us into undeniable
Mind patterns.

EjG

Inspired somewhat by S.J. Tucker's "Snake Song"

Untitled

I'm directly non-proportional
to where I thought I would be today….

...which is more beautiful
than most can comprehend.

Silence quells the demons
within my mind.

Yet, silence is more to me
than most can comprehend…

….the night sounds prevail.
A reality beyond what most know...

Yet, tomorrow's silence
is more deafening

than this night's solitude….
Shhh….

Silence and whispers
are deafening to a chaotic mind…

and yet we scream and yell,
only to discover

the madness of triviality….
seek no more….


~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read nothing more into this than a frustrated poet spewing lines of verse...

A New Time...

Too many days have past since last writing on Crossroads. This has to change. In the last year there have been many things to take my mind and soul away from writing, and it is killing my being. I am not this person without soul or words. The picture below has more significance than any know. 

This photo was taken on St. George Island the night before Tropical Storm Debby made landfall on us. Despite the warnings, I stood in the surf breathing in the salt air, a gin and tonic warming my soul, as I took a series of these photos. Little did I realize the changes to come in the short days ahead. But, it sometimes takes a storm to get to a better place...ask me some time, and I'll tell you the full story. 

Until then, my Crossroads at Sunrise continues. Not just with poetry and photography, but also with stories of those places and people that have some tale needing to be told. The stories are most important. The photos and poems only paint a moment in time. Stories define these moments. 

May we all find and understand peace and serenity at some point in our time...and may we all have our stories told before they are forgotten.

EjG

winter's solstice

snow covered the trees and headstones
in an old cemetery where time
became both present and past.

winds whispered through pines
as souls of the dead 
passed by unnoticed,
they dance amongst the winds.

the heavens do not possess us
during this moment of time.

it is now the day of the year's renewal
where silence of long winter’s nights
breaks only momentarily
allowing dreams to subside
into the few waking hours
where we enter into a search
for an understanding of the circle
in the life-death continuum.

candles illuminate the night,
as the wood of the floor 
reflects the flames flickering and dancing,
in hopes of a quick ending
to this long night.

the flutes and guitars break the silence
while warming the soul with each note;
death now only holds the illusion

and life presents us solemnity.

but, the graveyard continues to present
its silence on this day of renewal.

yet, it is within
the midst of the headstones,
where the snows blanket
the iniquities of the land,
that our souls chase 
those within the winds
as we search for tomorrow. 

the marbled graves
bring finality and change.

the evergreens

give us hope.

the snows
show us purity.

winter's solstice...

-- EjG 

Originally Written 12.16.05 / Revised 12.21.12

------------------------------------

Author's Note: Solomon and the Scribe were in earlier postings. I introduced Icarus 12.16.05, they have become my searchers ~~

Both Solomon and the Scribe walked among the graves days before the winter’s solstice.

“Do you see the beauty of the graveyard?” asked Solomon.

“I do."

“Where?”

“I see it in the trees, the snow, the clouds, the scurrying animals and the gravestones. When you cannot see the beauty in these things then life is at its end,” replied the Scribe.

“Merry Christmas and a warm solstice to you,” said Solomon. “May you find warmth and understanding upon this day of renewal.

“And to you, as well,” stated the Scribe.

It was then that a man by the name of Icarus introduced himself to them, he was the keeper of the dead, the sexton. The three of them prayed for silence solemnity, and peace in the coming time. Winter’s passage is nothing more than a sexton letting the souls be free, which is all Solomon and the Scribe searched for in this time.

“Come with us, Icarus,” requested Solomon.

Accepting their offer, Icarus placed his responsibilities upon the ground, hugged both Solomon and the Scribe, and left with the two men. 

As they walked through the gates of the cemetery, Icarus expressed, "Life cannot be found within the headstones; nor can death be found within life. It's time to search for life."

The three men then walked away within the cold night winds of the winter's solstice...

A Fallen Man, A Heroic Man, A Common Man and an Uncommon Hearse

It was Sunday, August 5, 2012, when I walked through the streets of downtown Traverse City, Michigan with my wife and kids. The skies were clear, a bright sun overhead, but cool for a late summer afternoon. A local film festival had the town packed and bustling. Artists, hippies, film aficionados and common folks walked the sidewalks en masse. There was life all around.

As we walked the sidewalks ourselves, I noticed across the street a customized motorcycle with a hearse trailer behind it. Two men standing stoic next to it. I shot this photo of them, more from the uniqueness of the situation than anything else. 

After lunch we walked back by, this time on the sidewalk next to it. From behind the hearse, I snapped another shot when one of them turned, looked at me and said, "you were the one taking photos from across the street a little while ago, weren't you?"

I told him I was, not sure if there was concern, when he said, "you can put your kids on the bike and take some pictures of them if you'd like." I was not expecting this.

So we did.

When through with taking the photos, I spoke to the man without the top hat and asked him if the hearse had ever actually been used, thinking this was part of the film festival due to it being just outside the State Theater. 

He said it had been, in fact, 52 times, the last time being the day prior for Sargent Justin Hansen, 26, of Kingsley, who had been recently killed in Afghanistan by an IED. The $80,000 Harley Davidson motorcycle hearse customized in Pennsylvania, had just carried Hansen, a motorcycle enthusiast himself, to his grave. A true hometown hero who's casket was followed by several hundred motorcycles and several hundred cars. 

Though I thoughtlessly did not ask their names, I later learned through several searches they were A. Jay Howard and David Censke of Battle Creek, Michigan. I believe it was Censke, the man without the top hat, whom I spoke with. These two men volunteer their services for men like Hansen. 

Censke, a military man himself, had lost seven men in Afghanistan. They were his family, he was closer to them than his own blood. His face showed the pain as he described the loss, and it was something I could never comprehend. Whether or not you support or despise the military action there, or anywhere, you have to honor the courage and sacrifice many of us will never know or understand.

In my younger days I feared being in the military, now I regret not serving. I told him this, not expecting any response in return, and taking advantage of his silence to thank him for what he had done for our country. It's humbling to thank a military man in person who has lost his own men. A hand shake and simple words do not seem to be enough.

Then the unexpected came. He looked me straight in the eyes and said in a firm voice, "It doesn't matter if you didn't serve. If you serve your community in some way, then you have done something that matters," which is a pretty gracious statement for a man who has seen more death than I'll ever know. However, this is the best I can do at this point in my life. 

He then changed the discussion.

"You have a beautiful daughter," he said. I thanked him with pride. We laughed about the dating years that lie ahead of me.

I asked if he had kids. He replied, "No." After a brief pause he went on to say, "My first child died and then my ex moved on."

His face told the tale from a perspective of sadness again. But, he went on to tell me he did raise two Vietnamese children. He was doing what he could to give them something better.

He finished the conversation by saying, "I gave them the best life I could, they were not my own, but I know how you feel."

Our parting handshake was the best I had ever known. It was from a man I will only know from this instance, and yet is from one who shared with me pride and honor, and a sense of realizing just how precious time and living truly are in this life.

When I met up with my wife she asked, "Did you make a new best friend?"

"I just met a man with an inspiring story."

EjG

A New Time...

Too many days have past, almost a year of them, since last writing on Crossroads. This has to change. In the last year there have been many things to take my mind and soul away from writing, and it is killing my being. I am not this person without soul or words. The picture below has more significance than any know. 

This photo was taken on St. George Island the night before Tropical Storm Debby made landfall on us. Despite the warnings, I stood in the surf breathing in the salt air, gin and tonic warming my soul, as I took a series of these photos. Little did I realize the changes to come in the short days ahead. But, it sometimes takes a storm to get to a better place...ask me some time, and I'll tell you the full story. 

Until then, Crossroads at Sunrise begins again. This time not just with poetry and photography, but also with stories of those places and people that have some tale needing to be told. The stories are most important. The photos and poems only paint a moment in time. Stories define these moments. 

May we all find and understand peace and serenity at some point in our time...and may we all have our stories told before they are forgotten.

EjG

Books...

I've got several books on my desk open, some tunes blasting in my ears, a few sent messages I barely remember sending, and a brain full of ideas just waiting to be released...can you release me into the desires I once sought in solitude? Call it remembrance, or something else...poetics mean nothing more than this....

Cynicism...

There is no more cynicism when the mind realizes there is nothing beyond the now, forever, and the everafter...we chase our parallels into the mindless perils of tomorrow...our souls trippin' across the forevermore of infinity...time to breathe in the night air and wish we were nothing more than dust amongst the winds...goodnight / goodnight! (May we someday realize the parameters of infinity).

Hancock County Road #6

Author's note: This is an old piece, probably almost 20 years past, but the photo I took today reminded me of it. There is nothing like an old country road and a road trip. I need another road trip...

Taken in Hope Township, Midland County, Michigan
February 2011

Hancock County Road #6

Black top country road,

one lane into infinity.

Farm house

with broken windows,

stands

with a barn

leaning to the wind.

Vacant fields,

of green wasteland,

connects with gray sky

and solitude,

a brook babbles .

One vagrant,

with two canes,

journeys on,

skin tarnished

by the years.

There’s a lightning storm

in the distance,

which is the future,

for the past

is where you have been.

(SR-18, Hancock County, Ohio)

hollow

Taken on Stanford University Campus
May 2010

we hold our demons within tips

of bruised fingers,

they become contemplations 

to some sacred reality,

we call it religion…

madness appears in forms

of wicked temptation

from one soul’s thoughts,

we concede reality in silence,

it became surreal…

is there something real

to tomorrow’s iniquities?

confessional chambers fill

with delusional masses

of the guilted answering “yes”…

there is no redemption

to man’s foresight

when lost in some abysmal bliss

of a decadent destruction,

we become more maddening than wise…

the philosophical destruction 
of the mind,

our souls know no more 
than what the brain once held
in secret...


it is merely nothing 
compared to our reality,

and yet we prayed 
to our gods 
for redemption…

yet we knew there was nothing 
more beyond “the now,”

and limitations we saw within confines

of mental capacities

Look into our eyes…

or her eyes,

your eyes,

and my eyes,

they are windows to our souls,

yet we still do not understand…

the mind is the connection

between the self,

the soul,

and the non-living,

or is “the now” our only true being?

our existence? our forevermore?

which may be nothing more

than the mind’s ability 
trying to comprehend 
the incomprehensibleness of infinity…

and yet we define madness and religion,

as the same.

oh dear God,

is it the same?

please tell me no…

a silence echoed

through the night,

it was hollow,

more hollow than

i have ever heard before………..

EjG

Wait…as I Ask You

wait…as I ask you

to understand my temperamental ways

as we pass by one another

amongst night winds

when desire should over power passion

and yet it does not…

stop pretending, we comprehend nothing more

than our own reality of mediocrity…

wait…as I ask you

to hold onto your passion

the very passions where we once

held each other in silence…

the very silence that seemed to fight

with night sounds as they passed through open windows

and enveloped our every moment

while our bodies became symbiotic in their desires…

wait…as I ask you

why we pass each other in silence

of our own misunderstandings

only to exist in moments of sadness

or persistent disbelief that we truly know the other

because silence fools us into believing

we have not lost what we no longer

are able to comprehend

wait…as I ask you

is it over between us

as we fail to comprehend the desires

we lost several summers ago

when the passions faded into the realities of the day?

the sheets tell us no lies

and the winds whisper nothing, but the words of today…

wait…as I ask you…
nothing further…

Said the Scribe...

...I learned more when you and I spoke of our children and their tribulations than I did when I remembered there was hatred against my ideas, ideals, and philosophies...
And Solomon responded, "Forgive me, son, we both learn more than we teach in our lifetimes."
To which the Scribe decided to seek out life and philosophy in the journey.

Said Solomon

Said Solomon to the Scribe, "Your silence has been too long."

To which the Scribe replied, “It has.”

“Why?”

“I lost my simplicity,” and then the Scribe wept into his hands upon saying these words.

“But, you can change this, too.”

“Will you help?”

And then Solomon embraced the Scribe, and assured him he would. The Scribe cried.

beneath me

oh man, the ground is below me...

and the sky is above, 

existing in some sort of complacency...

mediocrity.

is there nothing more than the wasted efforts of today?

she says nothing, 

other than I loved you once upon many years past...

figure it out...

she relents in silence...

speak!

oh man, the ground is below me...

EjG

Random Thought...

Thinking there are more miles than tread on the tires to travel them. Maybe exhaustion is just another form of the soul rebuking reality...

Violence and Grace

Scenes from Dismal Swamp...Take 1

Afterglow on a September Evening