When it seems like time

I thought that I should write something. Or could write something. Or would write something. Now that I’m logged into my old account and staring at the editor, it may turn out I’m wrong on all counts.

I’ve had a fear of writing anything. There are reasons for vows of silence, after all. It is easy to misstep when you open your lips. Silence, too, can be a misstep. It can send wrong messages, false signals.

The worst of all word dangers, perhaps, is sending wrong messages and false messages to ourselves. Rather than excavating hidden truths, they can be used to bury the obvious. They can be a pile of covers to hide under when we don’t want to see what’s lurking close to the bed. The words we tell ourselves can dangerously skew our view of reality.

Shame is another thing that can lead to silence. Those who feel ashamed can feel it is better not to speak.

So what in my life is leading to silence? What is leading me to want to break it?

This isn’t so much an update so far as it is psycho-analysis. This isn’t 2008, for goodness sake. I’ll try to change course.

Then again, reality seems too personal. What’s going on with the one kid. What’s going on with the other. Spouses, jobs, religion. Everything is a tightly balled knot of anxiety. Of things in a state of precarious balance or things already pushed and falling and waiting to meet their terminus. And the rest of it is just coping.

Sometimes the coping is the deepest reality. Am I coping, am I not? How do things really stand with me? How do things stand between me and, not any circumstance, not anyone or anything, but how they stand between me and the life I have been given? How is my relationship to my being and the source of that being, whatever it might be? The word ‘coping’ doesn’t really do that relationship justice.

So here I am, writing to connect, or to cope, or to obscure. Maybe for a little of all three. Or maybe for a lot.

If I write again, I’ll try to write about actual things. I’m sure there are some.


New blog

In the hopes of exploring my nerdy philosophical and religious interests without boring, imposing upon, or alienating my good friends, I am launching a Catholic-oriented blog, where I will learn, explore, and teach whatever happens to interest me at the moment. (I will continue to maintain and contribute to this site.) Though I don’t expect anyone to follow me there, I offer the link below in the interests of transparency. 😀



I saw a strange thing.

I saw a blind man with two legs

carrying on his back

a man with two eyes

and no legs.

I said to the man,

“Where are your legs?”

He replied, “I cut them off,

for I did not want to rely on crutches

to carry me through life.”

I said to the other man,

“Why do you carry him, when he was

born with two perfectly good legs

and decided to cut them off?”

The blind man said,

“Even so, I was born with two eyes,

and yet I plucked them out.

Now I carry him

and he sees for me.”

I saw a strange thing.

Poems or not

I thought I would do the poems today. I may or may not. 

We know there’s a lot to do. That goes without saying. 

There is heavy machinery working in the wooded lot behind us. Greenery is disappearing, little by little. The end point is uncertain. Grace is sitting by the window, quite distressed. It touches some deep, unrevealed part of her inner landscape. 

We have a job offer. We took it. The contract is supposed to be sent today. 

We aren’t going anywhere, but with the heavy machinery in the lot behind us, one does think…

I don’t like writing poems on my phone. 

Lot of chaos on the messy floor world.  A lot of people judging each other, on all sides. Loud voices. I sometimes wonder if I’m judgey enough, or if I’m too insecure about my own moral character to feel such. If I’m lacking, or less than, morally and emotionally. Sometimes I wonder if the loud voices are the same and are just trying to drown out the hum of their own internal chatter. 

I need to find a better device for poems.


They are

the stunned deer,

jumped too soon,

that hit the side of the pool,

and were pulled from the water,

dangerously flailing.

Use your kid gloves,

fawn gloves,

to bring them back to life.
This is probably unfinished, but I didn’t have much sleep last night and I wanted to see what I could come up with. 

So, some other stuff to round things out. 

My wife got a part time job. It should be enough to get us by. Very grateful for this. 

Got the kid to school on time for the first time this week. Not sure why, except that the highway that gets us there didn’t happen to have lane closures today. Four-day weeks for summer school, half-day days, apparently. It will be interesting trying to get him ready from a hotel room for the last week next week.

They are starting the floors next week. We are getting packed out on Tuesday, which is moving, essentially. No difference that I can think of, anyway.    

My daughter warned me about double-positives. As opposed to double-negatives. I’m trying to figure out exactly what that would be.

I might’ve should’ve stuck to the poem.