Escaping the static…

She was a creature of habit. And those close to her knew that when she was frustrated or needed to escape the static and think she could be found lowering her grandfather’s wooden rowboat down into the water of the bay’s narrow inlet.

This particular day she relied on reflex to lower the boat, as her mind was elsewhere. She settled in the center, squaring her shoulders and facing the stern, and began rowing. The oars caught the water, propelling the small boat closer to the open mouth of the ocean. Second nature, her movements flowed—back, front, back, front—exhaling frustrations and gaining speed.

Dark clouds hung low on the horizon. Trapped inside her head, her focus was on the constant back and forth of her thoughts—lightning synapses firing—diversions to one another.

She continued, rhythmically rowing. Back, front, back, front. The rain began to fall…streams of water running down her face, down her forearms tightly grasping the oars. It did not slow her actions but it proved to be the distraction she needed.

She looked up for the first time as the sun slowly made its exit. There was no land in sight. As the darkness enveloped the space around her, she surrendered to the rocking of the ocean. The only sound was that of the waves hitting the side of the boat followed by a silence like she had never heard before. A silence that became a steady hum in her ears—a hum so loud she couldn’t think.

Things to be desired...

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore, be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Afternoon on the lake...

Hot July afternoon on the lake. Children jumping off the dock, orange floaties pushed high on arms. Sunscreen bottles overturned. Glasses of lemonade, no ice—just condensation beading up on the outside, leaving puddles behind. The water was refreshing to bodies sun-bathed, no breeze. Crisp and cool, she lowered herself down from the ladder wrung by wrung, slowly adjusting. Feet, legs, and torso, dipping her head back into the water and smoothing her hair with her hands as she came up. She began to relax—a reprieve from the dry heat of the dock. She kicked her feet slightly to keep afloat. Moments later, out of the murky lake water, came a nip at her foot so startling she speedily re-climbed each wrung—torso, legs, and feet—back to the safety of the dock.

I was the water. You were the fish.

On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur...

"The Professor & La Fille Danse" by Damien Rice

Well, I don't know if I'm wrong
'cause she's only just gone.
Here's to another relationship
bombed by my excellent breed of Gamete Disease.
I'm sure when I'm older I'll know what that means.

Cried when she should and she laughed when she could.
Here's to the man with his face in the mud,
and an overcast play just taken away
from the lovers in love at the center of stage.
Loving is fine if you have plenty of time
for walking on stilts at the edge of your mind.

What makes her come and what makes her stay?
What make the animal run, run away?
What makes him stall and what makes him stand?
What shakes the elephant now and what makes a man?

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
No, I don't know anymore.
No, no, no, no...

I don't know if I'm wrong
it's 'cause she's only just gone.
Why the hell is this day taking so long?
I was a lover of time and once she was mine.
I was a lover indeed, I was covered in weed.

Cried when she should and she laughed when she could.
Well, closer to God is the one who's in love.
And I walk away cause I can;
too many options may kill a man.

Loving is fine if it's not in your mind,
but I've messed it up now, too many times.
Loving is good if it's not understood.
But I'm the professor
and feel that I should know...

What makes her come and what makes her stay?
What makes the animal run, run away?

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
No, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
Hell, I don't know anymore.
No, no, no no...

Well, I don't know if I'm wrong
'cause she's only just gone.
Here's to another relationship
bombed by my excellent breed of Gamete Disease.
I finished it off with some French wine and cheese.

La fille danse
Quand elle joue avec moi
Et je pense que je l'aime des fois
Le silence, n'ose pas dis-donc
Quand on est ensemble
Mettre les mots
Sur la petite dodo

The things we leave behind...

Becoming less idealistic, but at what cost?