grace: (eye)
( Oct. 2nd, 2009 03:34 am)
I greatly miss immediately engaging with friends and acknowledging their big events in a timely fashion. When I feel as if life has been put on hold, I go about everything as if that were true, telling myself I'll catch up with everyone and all the fun stuff and everything else once I'm no longer on hold. It turns out "on hold" can last for a few years at a time. Popping my head up and grabbing around for what's nearby before my head goes under again is no way to live a life, let me tell you. And it sucks to have a "friend" like that, too. I don't want to be that friend.
mmm, a cut! you know what that means! WORDS! )

...while writing this, someone else's world changed. There was no "on hold" for them. Things were one way, then they were another. This ponder is about light-heartedness and glittering connections, how to bring them back and how to send them out. I can't deny, however, that the source of this commitment is based on moments wherein the world was suddenly bereft of a particular smile, a specific hug, a previously mundane greeting. It's difficult to scour away all gravity when gravity is part of the point. We never know what will happen, after all.
grace: (eye)
( Oct. 2nd, 2009 03:34 am)
I greatly miss immediately engaging with friends and acknowledging their big events in a timely fashion. When I feel as if life has been put on hold, I go about everything as if that were true, telling myself I'll catch up with everyone and all the fun stuff and everything else once I'm no longer on hold. It turns out "on hold" can last for a few years at a time. Popping my head up and grabbing around for what's nearby before my head goes under again is no way to live a life, let me tell you. And it sucks to have a "friend" like that, too. I don't want to be that friend.
mmm, a cut! you know what that means! WORDS! )

...while writing this, someone else's world changed. There was no "on hold" for them. Things were one way, then they were another. This ponder is about light-heartedness and glittering connections, how to bring them back and how to send them out. I can't deny, however, that the source of this commitment is based on moments wherein the world was suddenly bereft of a particular smile, a specific hug, a previously mundane greeting. It's difficult to scour away all gravity when gravity is part of the point. We never know what will happen, after all.
Spending lots of time lately amidst twinkling memories of those who have either slipped away or were ripped away. Drifting through other people's stories, often wishing for better closings to their chapters in the great book, running through our intersections during long meditations, considering their ambitions and struggles and what ended up mattering. The paths they changed through influence or inspiration...and, sometimes, imperfection.
not quite stream of consciousness... )
Spending lots of time lately amidst twinkling memories of those who have either slipped away or were ripped away. Drifting through other people's stories, often wishing for better closings to their chapters in the great book, running through our intersections during long meditations, considering their ambitions and struggles and what ended up mattering. The paths they changed through influence or inspiration...and, sometimes, imperfection.
not quite stream of consciousness... )
grace: (downlook)
( Aug. 7th, 2008 04:52 pm)
Back when the Mercury still smelled a bit like fresh paint, there was a sudden flurry of interest in the arrival of a well-traveled gent who went by "Thog". He wrote about his travels in classic gonzo style, making even a description of an overly warm motorcycle seat a compelling read. I'll be honest: I was intimidated by Duri a little, but found him too compelling to stay too far away. I loved his writing and the crystalline humour with which he presented his adventures. Over the years, I encountered him enough to learn that he was actually Duri, not "Thog", and he was more than worthy of even the most intense fascination.

He came to be quite well known for his exuberant, thrash-it-out dance style, and that's where we first intersected in person, and where the bulk of my meaningful time in his presence was spent. As intimidating as he was to me socially, he was a perfect protector on the dance floor. Being almost two feet shorter than him and as fond of the part of the floor by the pole as he was, he provided an incomparable force field from those who were less accomplished at sharing tiny dance floors with others. More than once I found myself rescued from the over-eager and under-socialised by his whirling arms and stomping legs.

Aside from that, he was an enigma to me, and my inability to get over being intimidated kept it that way, meaning I mostly shared small talk (and the occasional wolfish smile while dancing) with him for most of the years he was more regularly in Seattle. When William and I became involved, I had the opportunity to visit with Duri more meaingfully a couple of times and learned he was yet another member of the Abused Kids Club. No, I guess I probably shouldn't say that "out loud", but I think it's relevant to the rest of this.

What I learned of Duri through those visits and his conversations with Will made me deeply sad I'd not had the courage to know him better before he went on his last few adventures. He was determined to have a different life from what his beginnings had promised him. He was erudite, principled, and loyal. And, yes, tormented. His attempts at making the life he wanted to have ran into incredible obstacles that sounded like they were from summer movies (improbable and huge and bombastic), stacking on top of his past.

Another admission: his lack of obfuscation when it came to what he thought of other people was surprising to me. He was diplomatic, but he didn't care for hypocrites or sycophants, and he was made uncomfortable by inclusion in groups he felt didn't live up to even their own standards, much less those of human decency. I also unexpectedly learned he enjoyed making light of people who attempted ingratiating themselves to him or riding his coattails into the "Cool Kids club" (an affiliation he eventually became discomfited by). He thought of them as the adult forms of the bullies and snivelers he'd found distasteful even in childhood, and had little patience for their machinations. I guess I'd thought his size, demeanour, and "cool factor" allowed him to move between the lines without care or concern. That he did care and did have concerns was what surprised me, showing again how my assumptions lead to terrible underestimations.

Thinking of all that I knew about him and those few times we shared words, I don't feel comfortable talking about why his liver failed nor the conversations william and I had about his growing health issues. I do feel comfortable, however, saying that he was a better person than his end would have some think, that he deserved so much more from life than what he got, and that I can't stop considering this knot of anger in my heart for how helpless he felt in mastering his compulsions. Not at him, although I guess that's probably natural, considering. No, I'm angry at the people who filled him up with the programming which made those compulsions so strong they eventually took his health (and life) away. Such a terrible waste of a brilliant, talented, valuable human being.

Duri, now that you've been freed from that shell, I hope the sting of your beginning can fade. You will always be in my heart and mind as an inspiration and reason to keep looking on the bright side as much as possible. If the events after death work the way I hope they do, your energy will go on to another purpose, perhaps even filling another shell with your bright spark. May whatever happens next be more peaceful and nurturing. Most importantly, may those left behind take comfort in the good you contributed while you were here with us, and take into their hearts the lessons of your too early demise. Be at peace, Duri, and know you were cared about by many.
grace: (downlook)
( Aug. 7th, 2008 04:52 pm)
Back when the Mercury still smelled a bit like fresh paint, there was a sudden flurry of interest in the arrival of a well-traveled gent who went by "Thog". He wrote about his travels in classic gonzo style, making even a description of an overly warm motorcycle seat a compelling read. I'll be honest: I was intimidated by Duri a little, but found him too compelling to stay too far away. I loved his writing and the crystalline humour with which he presented his adventures. Over the years, I encountered him enough to learn that he was actually Duri, not "Thog", and he was more than worthy of even the most intense fascination.

He came to be quite well known for his exuberant, thrash-it-out dance style, and that's where we first intersected in person, and where the bulk of my meaningful time in his presence was spent. As intimidating as he was to me socially, he was a perfect protector on the dance floor. Being almost two feet shorter than him and as fond of the part of the floor by the pole as he was, he provided an incomparable force field from those who were less accomplished at sharing tiny dance floors with others. More than once I found myself rescued from the over-eager and under-socialised by his whirling arms and stomping legs.

Aside from that, he was an enigma to me, and my inability to get over being intimidated kept it that way, meaning I mostly shared small talk (and the occasional wolfish smile while dancing) with him for most of the years he was more regularly in Seattle. When William and I became involved, I had the opportunity to visit with Duri more meaingfully a couple of times and learned he was yet another member of the Abused Kids Club. No, I guess I probably shouldn't say that "out loud", but I think it's relevant to the rest of this.

What I learned of Duri through those visits and his conversations with Will made me deeply sad I'd not had the courage to know him better before he went on his last few adventures. He was determined to have a different life from what his beginnings had promised him. He was erudite, principled, and loyal. And, yes, tormented. His attempts at making the life he wanted to have ran into incredible obstacles that sounded like they were from summer movies (improbable and huge and bombastic), stacking on top of his past.

Another admission: his lack of obfuscation when it came to what he thought of other people was surprising to me. He was diplomatic, but he didn't care for hypocrites or sycophants, and he was made uncomfortable by inclusion in groups he felt didn't live up to even their own standards, much less those of human decency. I also unexpectedly learned he enjoyed making light of people who attempted ingratiating themselves to him or riding his coattails into the "Cool Kids club" (an affiliation he eventually became discomfited by). He thought of them as the adult forms of the bullies and snivelers he'd found distasteful even in childhood, and had little patience for their machinations. I guess I'd thought his size, demeanour, and "cool factor" allowed him to move between the lines without care or concern. That he did care and did have concerns was what surprised me, showing again how my assumptions lead to terrible underestimations.

Thinking of all that I knew about him and those few times we shared words, I don't feel comfortable talking about why his liver failed nor the conversations william and I had about his growing health issues. I do feel comfortable, however, saying that he was a better person than his end would have some think, that he deserved so much more from life than what he got, and that I can't stop considering this knot of anger in my heart for how helpless he felt in mastering his compulsions. Not at him, although I guess that's probably natural, considering. No, I'm angry at the people who filled him up with the programming which made those compulsions so strong they eventually took his health (and life) away. Such a terrible waste of a brilliant, talented, valuable human being.

Duri, now that you've been freed from that shell, I hope the sting of your beginning can fade. You will always be in my heart and mind as an inspiration and reason to keep looking on the bright side as much as possible. If the events after death work the way I hope they do, your energy will go on to another purpose, perhaps even filling another shell with your bright spark. May whatever happens next be more peaceful and nurturing. Most importantly, may those left behind take comfort in the good you contributed while you were here with us, and take into their hearts the lessons of your too early demise. Be at peace, Duri, and know you were cared about by many.
grace: (eye)
( Mar. 15th, 2008 01:52 am)
I don't care if you read what I write. I don't care if you don't think about me. I don't care what you do think about me. I don't care if you haven't called or written in a long, long while. I don't care what position I'm in on the various social networks we may be connected by. I don't care if our mutual admiration society has broken up. I don't care if you don't agree with me. I don't care if we never agree on anything again. I don't care about whatever makes you better than me. I don't care about silly snap judgments or stubborn feuds. I don't care if we never catch up to each other. I don't care if my advice doesn't work for you. I don't care if yours doesn't work for me. I don't care that you don't care.

I just want you to know that I don't care about any of that.

I only care that you're out there and we interacted positively at some point and I learned some part of your story and whatever lessons I've received from you. No matter what our association was or is, no matter who has shared more credit or more blame, no matter what I got wrong or right or halfway there but not quite, that's really all I care about.

Thanks for being there and having been there, for whatever span of time we have shared space peacefully. For the laughter and tears and tentative hugs and even the occasional cold, angry look. For your imperfections co-existing with mine, regardless of outcome.

Maybe we're still thick as honey, maybe our connection shattered. I still hold all the safe feelings, all the fun, all the moments of being taken seriously, all of the help, and even all of the criticism right here in my heart. It's a comfort. Occasionally bittersweet, but then one appreciates the sweet notes more. We may never fight by each other's sides (again or ever), but I'm grateful you have been there when you were.

Remember that time when I was all happiness and smiles because...there you were? That's what I'm going to remember about you. That at some point you helped me feel joy, and it was simply because you were there when you were. Online or off, it's the same. And while I hope I have provided some sort of friendly joy to you, I can't be sure of it in all cases, so I'll not assume. I wish I could be sure, as that would go far in enriching this existence.

No one knows how much time they have in this world, and we all face challenges in finding and keeping the way. In that light, knowing life could stretch on or blink out after I close my eyes tonight and that I could face a million battles in between now and that moment, I thank you for being on this planet with me.

Whatever you believe or don't believe, you can trust that I have only had good intentions which sometimes went awry. If you were one of those affected by the more difficult transitions, regardless of our current situation with each other, know that I regret not having taken a better path at those moments. My disappointment in myself for any failures is what keeps me growing and striving and exploring. I hope it's the same for you.
grace: (eye)
( Mar. 15th, 2008 01:52 am)
I don't care if you read what I write. I don't care if you don't think about me. I don't care what you do think about me. I don't care if you haven't called or written in a long, long while. I don't care what position I'm in on the various social networks we may be connected by. I don't care if our mutual admiration society has broken up. I don't care if you don't agree with me. I don't care if we never agree on anything again. I don't care about whatever makes you better than me. I don't care about silly snap judgments or stubborn feuds. I don't care if we never catch up to each other. I don't care if my advice doesn't work for you. I don't care if yours doesn't work for me. I don't care that you don't care.

I just want you to know that I don't care about any of that.

I only care that you're out there and we interacted positively at some point and I learned some part of your story and whatever lessons I've received from you. No matter what our association was or is, no matter who has shared more credit or more blame, no matter what I got wrong or right or halfway there but not quite, that's really all I care about.

Thanks for being there and having been there, for whatever span of time we have shared space peacefully. For the laughter and tears and tentative hugs and even the occasional cold, angry look. For your imperfections co-existing with mine, regardless of outcome.

Maybe we're still thick as honey, maybe our connection shattered. I still hold all the safe feelings, all the fun, all the moments of being taken seriously, all of the help, and even all of the criticism right here in my heart. It's a comfort. Occasionally bittersweet, but then one appreciates the sweet notes more. We may never fight by each other's sides (again or ever), but I'm grateful you have been there when you were.

Remember that time when I was all happiness and smiles because...there you were? That's what I'm going to remember about you. That at some point you helped me feel joy, and it was simply because you were there when you were. Online or off, it's the same. And while I hope I have provided some sort of friendly joy to you, I can't be sure of it in all cases, so I'll not assume. I wish I could be sure, as that would go far in enriching this existence.

No one knows how much time they have in this world, and we all face challenges in finding and keeping the way. In that light, knowing life could stretch on or blink out after I close my eyes tonight and that I could face a million battles in between now and that moment, I thank you for being on this planet with me.

Whatever you believe or don't believe, you can trust that I have only had good intentions which sometimes went awry. If you were one of those affected by the more difficult transitions, regardless of our current situation with each other, know that I regret not having taken a better path at those moments. My disappointment in myself for any failures is what keeps me growing and striving and exploring. I hope it's the same for you.
.

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags