Life After Emilee Logo | Neal Klein honoring his wife after losing her to pancreatic cancer
Life After Emilee Logo | Neal Klein honoring his wife after losing her to pancreatic cancer
Life After Emilee Logo | Neal Klein honoring his wife after losing her to pancreatic cancer

Morning Musings 2

A few things about this morning. Some Realizations first.

  1. I am overly sentimental by most standards, but it feels just right to me. Tears are soooo much easier than they used to be, and no shame. I am proud that as a male I can cry when moved to. Emilee did that for me. Among other things.
  2. I attribute human qualities to inanimate objects, whether they are stuffed animals that I sing good morning to each morning, or have a heart to heart with when either they or I am feeling blue. I talk to most objects as if they understand what I am saying. They have atoms and they vibrate inside and resonate. Who is anybody to tell me it is not so. So there. I talk. Sometimes I also talk back in their voice. We converse. Okay, you get the point, and when the point of the cabinet connects with my head I yell at it. I apologize after. I do have SOME manners. (see number 3)
  3. Sometimes I enjoy an overly descriptive paragraph or two or more where I love to go on about something or other, or I just get carried away, possible overdoing it at times…okay, definitely…I thought I said overly indulgent already but now I did so we have it on record. Overly indulgent. OI, like OCD.
  4. Some, in social circles, would consider me a bit on the nerdy side, but one of these days I will have a T-shirt that says, NERD and proud of it, Nerd and what of it, YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?, or some such saying. OR, maybe a shirt saying…”writers do it with their pens and pencils.” OR writers are sensitive, don’t break my point. Okay, okay…writers do it with a flare? Some suggestive saying with keystrokes… I am getting to the lewd part of me, better stop.

Now that we have some basic guidelines or givens to which I can refer back to when needed, I will proceed.

For reference, the rain works as well as the birds for a meditation focus. The sounds are a mix of droplets hitting many things, such as the roof, the outdoor chairs, the leaves on the trees, the car in the driveway, it is gurgling along the gutters of the house and pinging when it drops down the vertical leaders to the downspouts, and it is, a mix of soft and hard sounds, gurgles and beats and a curtain of background to the birds talking and singing.

It, the rain, also knows some Italian or Latin, as it understands crescendo, and decrescendo, staccato and legato, piano and pianissimo, and mosso and allegro, and staccato and legato. And, of course bellissimo or dolcissimo, and those would be masculine. Change the “o” to an “a” for reference to feminine. The rain is playing fortissimo this morning, quite loudly with strength, soft and loud, soft and loud.

The anxious question of where I am going with all this. Who knows?…in latin “quis scit” or “chissa” in Italian, or “qui sait” in French.

The major announcement is this. I would like to say, that I had my own writing contest, and some of my children, and all my writings are all my children, some of my children were absolutely unconsolable that they came in second and third. There is the piece about 911 which is breaking its own heart and mine sitting and sobbing that it needs to be read and cried over. Then there is the piece about my dad dying, which, has gotten so damn melancholy I can’t stand it.

If you have children now, younger or older, at some point they were young and would get upset and there just wasn’t anything you could do to soothe their sadness and you felt that deepest of aches inside, and ache you couldn’t begin to truly describe and do it justice because, if somehow your big toe toenail got ripped off, the deepest of deep throbbing pain would not compare to the ache you felt looking at your child being so sad, so mournfully sad. (Refer to numbers one, two, and three above.)

They, my writing pieces, are too sad. It is breaking my heart. And so, I promised them (and you had better just keep your lips sealed and not spoil this) that I would send them on their way into the world of electronic media, to attempt to soothe their hurt. Now, there is no pressure to read them but I am not telling them that, and since they are not looking over my shoulder they are not reading this. I am entrusting you with their care. Use your conscience and your heart to be your guide and do what you will. But, I promised, and a promise is a promise.

Why, the dad dying story? There is a feeling about death that as an adult is very different than that of a child. As a child or almost teen, I felt somewhat creepy and spooky and bad, like a boogeyman came from somewhere to get him. That was scary, goose bump scary. Terrifying inside my gut and made my skin crawly scary.

Also, it was my dad, my rock, my go to person to look up to, and yes I forgave him for floundering on the seven year old’s question to him about the meaning of life. He ignored the question. Granted it was a little difficult and I could have gone a little lighter but I was in a heavy mood at the time. I would have been okay if he said it takes a lifetime to figure out the answer, and by then, it is almost over.

OR, he could have said you learn the answers as you continue to live and it is different for different people and that is part of the joy of living, discovering what you have inside you that is important for sharing and giving to the world around you. I would have been okay (probably not) with that, but I forgive him for faltering on that one. We are all human, well, I thought of him as superhuman.

And then he was gone in an instant. A part of the answer to the question on life. Shit happens. You don’t always know when. Sometimes it is really really bad and like a baby falls down a million times but keeps getting back up, that is what we learn to do. But it takes time to learn. The first few times you cry a lot until you realize if you do this or move that way you can eventually get back up, but it is sooo difficult at first and then it gets easier and then you don’t think about it anymore, you just do it. Tough lessons. Some are just that. Tough lessons. (refer to number 3 above)

Both of my children (my writing offspring) have flaws. But I am their parent and I do my best to help in that regard but at times I know I am blind to their shortcomings because I see their beautiful souls and all I can do is praise them and encourage them and give them warmth and hugs and comfort and warnings how the world is filled with a mix of kind and compassionate souls as well as some that have grown tough and bitter because they are weary of the pains that they feel have been inflicted upon them, and in many cases, they are right that they have had more Way MORE than their share of heartache and suffering.

Some are able to be more resilient than others. We do our best not to fault them but to show compassion. And some are beyond repair of consoling and have become mean and if we cannot soothe them with compassion and love we avoid them as best we can so as not to allow them to color our world with dark crayons or dark colored pencils. We will encounter enough on our own and do not need anyone to help us in that regard. (again, number 3 and possible number 1)

And so, having said what I have said, you will come across two pieces … and I will say no more. Remember the Buddhist saying that I have yet to learn how to heed very well, that sometimes, he who says the least says the most? Like I have said, I am still working on that and probably will be for life. At least I have somethings I am working on, and have not gone to sleep and given in, given up, or at least so far, given out.

So if you see a piece by me, and one says dad dying and one says 911, you will know they are not the ones that count for discussion in this workshop, but they are my children, so be kind and please treat them graciously, as you would your own. And do not hesitate to put them in their place if they step out of line. Just take care of them. (damn…, number one and three, again) Thank you.

This is Neal Harvey (you know me as Neal Klein) saying…….. good day!

 

Nmitchk@aol.com

 

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