July 8th 2006
copyright© don oddy
~ Blue Sky Cotton Clouds Real Feeling ~ I am my fathers son
I am my fathers son
It is my usual time of day for writing a few words. Maybe a little later as its nearly four in the morning. I recall many years in my conformity to patterns of human behaviour, feeling that four in the morning feeling. It was a dread of this time, a time of day when alone to feel the loneliness of this hour. When alone and without a partner beside me, this hour was one of the cold touch of solitude. Where solitude is not sought, where alone is lonely and this hour haunts like all morning hours where the world is sleeping and I am feeling isolation complete.
How so I ask myself? In that splendid solitude where nothing stops the mind wandering this way and that, over and over all manner of memories which touch that the deep of sorrow inside and out. Inside where the hollow is as void of warmth and cold sucks at my insides. And nothing makes that cold sweat outside of desperate silence abate, and time is held slow and ponderous as the time marches as slow can be towards dawn.
Those times abate for in this new world where feeling is touched with a solid bang of reality, time goes as it may and that searing hot cold is lost, only expectant in dreams where old horrors replay and night sweats touch with less frequent snatches at my peace of mind.
When old tortures are left where they will in history, the cold of night is like a blanket, covering our sleeping moments till we wake and feel the warmth of this world. The dark, so blighting my years and filling the nights of solitude with living ghosts, spirited away and held in others arms.
Not one, not one single one unloved by me, in my memory as time freezes recollections gaze and I see their eyes shining with love, and then the sadness of time as we part and are lost to chances given to other quests. Where ego’s drift placed everything and nothing in my way to peace except my will. And the will of Ego’s drift to solitude where all choices made reflect the doomed heart broken on the back of love. Love squandered and bereft as will to love was never short, yet yielding to love and chance was kept from me as wilful ego draped possibilities beyond that moment forever ahead of that present peace and harmony. That forever longing for loving rapture, given up and squandered in a future tense and tensely given to history.
Those wounds of time. Given me through my lineage and masked as dreams of forbears eyes. Where future was always brighter than the present and possibility held sway over present contentment, resented for its paucity, yet rich in every hue if I had known it so and he my father too.
We live the life we learn and see the world as shaped by those who teach us how to be, and some of us take longer in time to shrug off those older words of wisdom garnered from the wise of time. For in their living and their loving, they held close to all the virtues open, yet in virtues terms their guidance lacked the touch of truth we might enjoy now. In this present, present moment of here and now. Held hostage to our future times and patient buccaneers plundering for all our worth and holding nothing too close in case its lost or lost as though we never believed we might find joy right now.
And as the birds sing in this wondrous hour, as time has changed and feelings moved to find my experience in this present ever present, the touch of solitude is welcomed and time flows as it may, without the need to speed its passing in case a terror comes my way. Indeed I see the sky shifts from its dark to shades of blue, and sometimes deep and sometimes pale, and clouds are passing overhead. They reach the limit of my visions gaze and find nothing hampers my acceptance now, right now of everything that comes my way.
Indeed in depth and colour and shades of living, every moment comes with open senses and keeps my solitude alert. I have no friend in lonely self, that lonely self is in my past. And as alone I feel this moment I feel it with perceptions touch to clarity and not my will, or will of hunger for a future, better than the peace of now.
Tortures touch as in my recollections to my new and framed in my older broken times, is more a countenance compressed and made good with fresher and younger comprehension of new moments as they are, and not as wished with temperament torn by shadows of the past.
My fathers son, with every sense and sensitivity to fears so locked and kept from me and yet I wore them too. And now as I am released from darker times, those tools to keep me safe, were merely a prisoners reaction to another time and place. His price is paid, and was sorely earned for torture was the cue that made him so, and in his history was never easy from birth to death as past was ever present and dreams lost his joy of living in the here and now.
Nature gave him sparkling intellect and feeling for his common man, his thoughts were prime and ego wept and kept him from his destiny, as sorrow consumed his present. And in that ego’s drift where mankind was made to suffer and torment made for joyless rhetoric and ridiculed much of everything, no wonder in my experience of life his wisdom touched and made me feel as he might, and nearly did for me.
And now reclaimed to see a different path I find another way of living, I feel the dark of night and welcome it as if it were mere daylight without a bogeyman. Whatever hour I wake or sleep, I feel the present moment and connect, yet old times touch and scar my soul, reminding me for in all my old and new wisdom to mind this present and guard against the horrors close at hand. The demons are a mere moments glance away in my forgetful start from sleep, where recollections play their part to keep me from old dangers touch. And old danger lurks as bold can be, in others who I meet. A move from ego’s drift for me, not so for any encounters with any I greet, their demons from their history alive and from their will, and realise the touch of time wrestles not just in me, it fights inside everyone.
Ego’s drift, so easy and complete, to make us think we will our world and make it as we would fashion our eternity. The foolishness of pride and mind And bitter times of ours and our forebears needs to be let go. Just a thousand, thousand years to go, as we move across our shapes in time and realise the joy of now completes the ever present, present.
We live life with its joy and sadness, and every degree we might experience between. The balance is where it is and not our will to make it so. We cannot fix our peace of mind we may if we can, let go the present moment and open up our mind to now and now, as time moves on may we move with it into the next.
We will reflect, and make our wisdom good, not by forgetful ego’s drift where denial reckons we will be, but in esteem move with our present and make good of what we have right now. And let the burden of the past be gone and future possibilities be welcomed as make our moments count. Seeing everything and future goals is best accepted as we travel our journey to our end. Its in the journey we find our feeling and never in the destination for its never there, until our end is secured and time is up.
We will shudder to the touch of time and grief will hold us for our desires to be complete, and with generosity let go when will inside is given up to ego’s drift. Shadows haunt as they draw tall in times of great alarm, and grow small as we learn with wisdom how to accept the ever present, present.
Being human has all elements to drive our quality of life today, and its quality impacts every day. The truth is best experienced as dealt, and through filters made by man to take our edge away, we can be lost to time. Best to find that path where reality keeps our vision clear and we feel as intent of nature gave, only man can take away.
Less so for me this day. Daylight comes my way…
Copyright © Don Oddy