A Few Fragments of My Life
ABSTRACT THINKING
has been a major part of my life for years. Since 1982, to be exact. I blame no one or credit no one for this fragment that brings me such joy. It comes in handy when I am in situations that scream boredom to me, or with people whose aura says the same thing. I simply look inside and see something in the natural order of the universe, and slip-in something or someone who definitely does not belong. The danger of having abstract thinking is that sometimes you can get yourself in deep trouble with friends and family who literally strive to be completely-serious in all facets of life, and you laugh uncontrollably.
I FEEL AS IF SOULS ARE ONLY SHADOWS IN THE FOG
and please, do not start with any religious rhetoric. Yes, I believe in the Trinity. I am certainly not a godless-heathen, but to some religious-minded souls, even these words would be evidence-a-plenty to condemn me to the fiery rooms of Hades. I just said, "I feel," as if souls are only shadows in the fog, not "I know," this to be fact. Souls, when released from our sickly-bodies, are free to walk, fly, disappear. Souls are beyond natural boundaries. This is how I would love for my soul to be.
CROWDS SWALLOWING ME UP
has been a ghastly-fear inside of me since I was a kid of four. It is not really or factually, that I "hate," people, for I don't. At least some I don't. As I grew older, the worse that this fear that I believe the metaphor, "Grim Reaper," designed, grew worse. I not only hated, but dreaded my high school graduation exercises. I was soaked in sweat. I became slowly and surely dehydrated before the event was history. I barely recall shaking hands with my principal, Joe L. Sargent, who I always sensed knew that I was just a "stack of fear." But knowing something and then knowing why are two different things. I know what I fear, crowds. But I do not know why.
WOULD IT BE SO DETRIMENTAL
if God Jehovah, looked similar to this flash of light? Actually, from the Pope to the lowest believer in Christ, "we" mortals do not know how God really looks. Jesus said in the King James version of The Bible, "If you have seen me, you have seen the Father," so with that, God looks like His son, Jesus in some ways. But Jesus was flesh when he said this statement. I can easily live with however God looks--light like this photo, or the eyes of an infant, even wings of a mighty eagle, I an content. But I am not content at other mortals telling me that "they have seen" God face-to-face. This fragment has helped to make-up my life for years, but the older I get, the less I care how God looks. Just as long as He is the real God.
FEAR
has been both my enemy and friend at various times in my life. I have dreamed of being fearless and without caution like most of those early world explorers like Magellan. But not in my cards. I have feared that I cannot see and that I cannot hear. I recognize fear as what it is: Wisdom disguised as confusion. And still, I learn to live with fear, who I pray will not manifest itself as some living thing for I hate to know that I could hate someone that much.
THE GUITAR
has been an illusive ghost of my life; a ghost that I cannot capture. I started loving the guitar in 1974 when a girl, whom I loved, intentionally-liked to me more than once which propelled me to a near-nervous breakdown . . .until I grabbed onto an old guitar that my aunt (my dad's sister) left him when she passed. I learned the chords, but never learned to "pick" like my idols: Jimi Hendrix, George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Chet Atkins. I know all of the doctrines--"you are either born with this gift or you are not," and this one: "it takes practice, dedication and sacrifice," guess what? I did all of these and still, my "ghost," still eludes me.
A WOMAN'S EYES
have always been one of my fatal weaknesses. Not for cheap sex or filthy, cheap thrills at the expense of a pretty woman, but sheer adoration for her eyes. This was kept deep inside of me until I was 22. I could sit and stare into a woman's eyes for hours although I wasn't absorbing what her lips said to me.
SHE APPEALS TO ME
and after hours upon hours of searching, I have found "the" photo of a woman who could keep me spell-bound for days on end. I admit it. She isn't a Van gogh painting or a centerfold, but there is "that" special something about this woman that has inspired poets, songwriters, singers, and writers for centuries. The strange thing about her that scares me as a person and a male: I am not even attracted to her body and its perfectly-shaped parts in any way. But this I know. She appeals to me.
