Open Diary: Day One

September 12, 2010 at 10:19 pm (Uncategorized) (, , )

This piece is more than just a way to talk to Scin while I am out of town. It is a way to explore a particular form of writing that is memoir-like in style, mixing fact with literary elements. I am enjoying playing with this medium and hope you like it as well. 

It is 9-11 and that is not lost on me. It never is this time of year. But, the Gulf of Mexico is calm, people are few, and having a quiet beach to roam moves my mind to other things. 

I think of you. I think about the fact that we began this journey together nearly a year ago. And, I wish you were here. After all the months of short visits, long leavings, and the past couple of months finally in the same place, any leaving is hard. It seems wrong in some way to be anywhere trying to relax and enjoy things without you. It is what it is, however; and mom is clearly glad to be here. So, the mission of the trip is being met. Still, I miss you.

Last year while I was here, I wrote about learning to float. Really, I wrote about trust. This year, my mind is on all the many forms of trust.

I think of the trust between us. It still amazes me how I trust you so—trust you with my feelings; my affections; my deepest thoughts, fears, dreams, secrets. I trust you with my body in ways I have no other. I trust you with my life. I have trusted few. None so deeply as you. It takes a lot for me to trust, as you know. I spent my life trusting only myself, my instincts, my own learning and experience, my own abilities to cope and problem-solve, and a few carefully chosen, close people. I had to learn, by experience, to trust people again. This is how we all learn. I had to learn, by experience, to trust God. As you know, that trust grows, in many ways, each day. I know how hard trust is for you as well. The trust you bring me, I know, is not a thing you give easily. It is a gift. I cherish it. I recognize the largeness of it. And, I respect it.

Looking out at the vastness is that is the Gulf, it is natural for the mind to turn toward the smallness of our daily lives. The blessings we receive each day come to mind almost as a consolation of the difficult things—a kind of reminder that, even in the uncertainty, there is much that is given. Much that is good. Much that is better than good. I watch the sea after the sun has gone down. The water moves in shades of blackish-purple, grayish-pink, and deep indigo. A crescent moon hangs low and shimmers silver on the darkening water. 

As we have talked of faith, of the forces that shake it, the events and forces that revive and increase it, I think of the things we are taught. Our battle, we are told, is not with governments, principalities or people; it is with darker, unenlightened forces. I watch the changing water and ponder these things. We are like the water. We, too, can absorb and reflect both the light and the dark. These simply manifest differently in our solid bodies than they do in the water. In the water, the light is so clear, as is the lack of it as the sun goes down—clear, deepening blackness. Like the normal human doubt we feel when we are walking on shaking ground. We do not fully trust the ground to remain firm. At times doubt is good. It keeps us from becoming too comfortable or careless. But, if we are not careful, doubt can overwhelm us and become a state of being—a state of pessimism and lack of belief.

The things with which we struggle now, the uncertainty, the things we cannot see but which work on us, are like the sun behind passing clouds. They are temporary darkenings that seek to increase our normal doubt and uneasiness. Circumstances are simply the darkness trying to move us into the blackness where we cannot clearly see all the evidence that we are being cared for, that our needs are met, and that we live in a benevolent universe that responds to us. The difficult times are, indeed, the dark night removing the evidence of light from the water. But, the sun does rise. The light does return. And, we can carry the memory of the light within us, shine it outwards until it begins to shine as real as the sun. We can hold a torch into the darkness.

That light comes from the things we know. That we have been given much. That even in the difficult times, there is evidence every day of all we have been given. I look upon the moving water and know that this vastness teaches me much about the movement of the light and the darkness. I know that I need to continue to focus on what I can see, on all of the things that evidence I am being cared for—perhaps learning new lessons in preparation for something else—but being cared for nonetheless. I need to remember that there are things that are mine to do: that trying to be the best person I can be, trying to be responsible and accountable for my own thoughts, words and deeds, and seeking to do the next right thing, are mine. The rest is in hands larger and more capable than mine. It always has been. It is mine to remember that. In that, normative doubt and fear cannot become the lack of faith that brings about a deep undoing.

I am going in now. I will attempt to sleep. I will miss you as I have throughout this day. I will talk to you before we both retire in different beds, in different towns not unlike we did before. When we talk, I will remind you of my love for you, my trust in you and in us, and my trust that we are being cared for, that all will be well. I cannot help but think of all the ways that our journey together has already served to increase my overall faith. I am aware that as I grow in my own sense of self, I grow in my love for you and for us. There may be much I do not know. There may be much that is so uncertain the possible outcomes are out of the range of my sight. But, I do know this. I know from experience that when I am on the right path, obstacles are removed, things beyond my control are resolved, and the things I need come to pass—usually not in the form I envisioned, but they do come. We are part of all that comes to pass. We were brought together in a way that deserves consideration. I do know that this path is not only a good one, but the right one. And, I know there is no one I want to walk it with me but you.

In the morning, the sun will return. The water will be so clear, again, that I can see my feet pressing gently into the soft sandy floor. So, clearly that I can see the way in front of me.

NOTE:  This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.

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Freshly Cut Grass and Sawdust

June 19, 2010 at 9:44 pm (Uncategorized) ()

It appears that our friend G [Can I Help You, Sir] has started something…and my wife-to-be [Scintillectual] and her BFF [Femme Fairy Godmother] picked up the idea and threw their two cents into the fountain. So, I figured I might as well do the same. There is nothing like a good wishing well. So, thanks to G, I have entered into the “things I love” category. I have kept a journal for years and most of the pages are filled with gratitude lists. I’ve not kept it up well lately because I have not felt much like writing about anything–not my norm–and I’ve been a bit pre-occupied. But, it is something I do in my head throughout the day. It makes me feel good and is part of my daily dialogue with the universe and myself. So, I thought it might be fun and helpful to do it here once in a while.  And, the first thing on this list is a big thanks to G for swatting us all into this direction.  Who knows what treasures we will find.

Things I love:
The smell of freshly cut grass; really icy sweet tea after cutting the grass. All sorts of jazz. Laughing. The smell of lumber and sawdust; cheeses of all sorts [except the ones with mold because they will make me anaphylactic]; really good steak; the highland and uillean bag pipes. While we are on the subject: I love my kilts [I have two] and the way a sporan sways when I am walking–there is something about the way a kilts lays, the pleats in the back  and the sway of a sporan that make you stand straighter, walk taller, and feel like you are the hottest, manliest boi for miles.

Good food eaten in a nice restaurant with a good atmosphere and good music. Time spent with my friends–sometimes there is nothing better. Christmas mornings and Dad’s french toast. Folk and roots music. The way Scin smiles and the deep light in her eyes. Working with wood in any way, for any reason. Working out. Watching the birds at their feeders. The smell of rain. Gently pressing my cheek into Scin’s cunt, savoring her, then quenching myself in her welcoming. Long, hard thunderstorms. Really well written prose. Scin and I tucking her son in at night.

Scin’s cooking. Cherry or peach cobbler. Playing around with my guitar. Hanging out with my brother. Trying to become a better photographer. Drawing. Working in the gardens. Getting to see my extended family once in a while. Gem mining. The sound of Scin’s laughter–well, really the sound of her voice, period. Board games. Irises. My dog; I love my dog. I love my parents and my brother. Sleeping with Scin: feeling her next to me, the sound of her breathing and the feel of her breast in my hand as I fall asleep. Each day a new beginning–the promise of growth, being surprised, and things at which to marvel.
And, I love the ability to be able to do this. To stop and be with myself and the good things that inhabit my life. The ability to be grateful. And, chocolate covered peanuts.

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HNT: Ink

March 24, 2010 at 9:44 pm (Uncategorized) (, )

It would seem that since Scin so lovingly coerced me into last week’s HNT, we found another photo [or two] to share with you. This is one we took on my first wonderful visit to see her after Christmas.  It is one of my favorite photos of us. I think the shot, itself, displays both how we are together, the play of energy between us, and the tenderness present in our high passion. I love her in ways I cannot begin to describe–however, I believe this photograph speaks for me what I cannot find words to express. And, it is my opinion that it is really quite hot as well.  I [we] hope you like it.

Don’t forget to visit Os and catch the rest of the HNT goodness!

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