On One's "Nature"

Today at 9 in the morning (atypically early for a incurable night owl such as myself) I attempted to park in my parking spot at my apartment to find a red Cadillac (License plate #921SGR) occupying my space.

*What to do in this situation*

Obviously, the first reaction is to get that bastard towed. You let them go this one time and it's a slippery slope. You give them a parking spot and they take the parkade... or something.

The second option, since I was leaving for work momentarily would just be to leave them in the spot since I wouldn't be using it before the tow truck got there to relieve them of my spot and parking for me would be around a dollar at the meter before I left for work in either case.

I opted for the second with a message to tell the aforementioned driver that they did not deserve that parking spot and what they actually deserved was a $300+ towing bill.

Is this wrong? Am I setting myself up to be walked over and abused? The short answer is yes.

Here is the long answer:

Upon returning to my car at the meter (a bit late) I found a curious little slip of paper tucked under my windshield wiper and here is what it said:

***
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside all people.
He said, My son, the battle is between two 'wolves' inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked the grandfather, 'Which wolf wins?'
The old Cherokee simply replied,
'The one you feed'
***

I'm aware of what I am setting myself up for. I'm not stupid. And when I find that this tactic is not working for me I will find another one. And if I ever see that red Cadillac again, he's getting towed. And I'll do that with the knowledge that the slope slides in both directions.

A poem I've rediscovered after over a decade

Fate

TWO shall be born the whole wide world apart;
And speak in different tongues, and have no thought
Each of the other’s being, and no heed;
And these o’er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death,
And all unconsciously shape every act
And bend each wandering step to this one end,—
That, one day, out of darkness, they shall meet
And read life’s meaning in each other’s eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life
So nearly side by side, that should one turn
Ever so little space to left or right
They needs must stand acknowledged face to face.
And yet, with wistful eyes that never meet,
With groping hands that never clasp, and lips
Calling in vain to ears that never hear,
They seek each other all their weary days
And die unsatisfied—and this is Fate!

~ Susan Marr Spalding

Who do you think you are?

I'm often conflicted with the ideas of whether or not to post a blog or comment on things. Who am I to say that my words carry any sort of great worth out into the universe. That's just pompous... right?

Over the summer I had a friend absolutely humbled by the role he was cast for in a musical. He was certainly talented enough for the part. He can sing well, he's a capable actor, there was no preferential treatment given to him in terms of casting. He even looked the part but for a long while, and despite constant and honest encouragement, he couldn't accept that he was worthy of depicting his character. I should probably mention that he was cast as Jesus Christ.

Now, I understand the enormity of attempting to depict such an epic person/God come down/saviour of the world and having to live up to that but the fact of the matter is that my friend honestly was the best man for the role.

I've come to the conclusion that I am nobody in this matter. Just another voice against the ocean of the rest of humanity. It's not for me to decide my own worth. I'm worthy of myself, (this is mostly a useless tautology but in this context I'm using it to differentiate from being worthy of others) that's obvious and unavoidable so to decide your own worth based on your own existence is just a dizzying exercise in futility.

If anybody gets to decide if the world should care about what I do it shouldn't be me. If the world doesn't deem it worthy of being caught it will not catch it. Then, I presume, I'll be no worse off and no more alone than I was in the first place. That's cool. If the world does happen to catch the general direction of the drift of my idea. Then that's cool too.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The universe is still expanding, hence, I blog.

An open letter to N

Dear N,
I want you to know that I get it now.  I actually have for some time and it hurts my heart to know what that means for you.  It frustrates me to no end that I don't get to hold your hand through this and knowing that it's my own damn fault.  You know how openly I love and you are certainly no exception but they've fixed up the dam and it's running as smoothly as it ever did.  We can't have anybody else drowning now, can we?

I get it and realize that you will not shatter beneath the strain of this and that my place is not beside you in this.  That is what I admire about you.  You've never needed that and probably never will.  If you wanted it though, well, that would be a different story altogether but I'm not really any good at writing those anymore.

-P

Memory is a strange thing

Yesterday I found myself reflecting on high school. I found this odd since I rarely think about high school. Socially it was a throw-away experience for me and most of what I learned had to be unlearned in order for me to become the person I am today, whom, for the most part, I am happy with. It's strange because with that revelation I realize that the freeze frames of the people I knew then don't exist that way anymore.

The world keeps turning even when you're not paying attention. Those people have spouses, children, houses. They're older than people I meet now that are older than my memories of them. I'm older than "adults" I looked up to then. There are people I am friends with in memory. We are not friends now.

Then again there's the fallibility of memory. Perhaps I was never friends with those people. Perhaps others considered me friend as I forget them. I can't confirm what I can't remember whether I was there or not. So I try to make a list of the people I knew, the people I enjoyed being with and I stop. I am not the person I knew.

In high school I recall reading about how your body replaces itself every seven years and thinking "in seven years my body will be dead and gone and replaced with a new Phil" (further research puts that number closer to 15). That thought terrified me. At the time, I liked Phil. He felt he was comfortable in his own skin, he liked his friends, and nursed ideas of becoming a writer for a living. But eventually, he did die and the man that replaced him doesn't like him. He doesn't like a lot the friends that Phil had and has the opinion that Phil was, in fact, quite uncomfortable in his own skin.

On the upside, new Phil did learn.

It's good that memory is finite. I don't think we'd evolve as smoothly if we didn't forget. Holding on to old memories, old ways of thinking, things that are gone and dead chains you to those things. The world keeps turning. It's probably a good idea to turn with it.

The Result of a Creative Aneuryism

The Woman as the One-directionality of Time

You spoke to me with the moon in your mouth
A reflected coal of thought
Melting against the friction of all that wasn't said
You peeled off layers and layers of expectation
And laying them as ripened petals
On the river of your heart
Sent the fragrance of your love
Into the cracks in my smile

I hum the harmonies
While you
You sing the songs of too much tenderness
Taking breath and light with you as you go
The world is your stage
your oyster
your pearl
And you in your softness, beauty, and strength
Pry grace from its greedy teeth
I close my eyes and listen to the chimes of your voice
Rise and fall as the dawn and dusk

And when the day is through
I will sit at the edge of your canyon of song
And wait for the beats of love to return
Like the flapping wings of roosting birds.

~Philip Rey Miguel

© 25 April 2009