Silence in the Heart of the Night...

When the silence takes you, deep in the heart of night, thoughts must answer the call unyielding in the wake of sleep. Dawn offers no respite. Indeed, the sunrise only signifies the wasted hours of reflection that did not even seem meditation. Even the wolf that had nipped at your heels retreats into the comfort of its den, longing for a deep of dark within you. The emptiness within, the echoes without, they distort the hope within such hours... they ignore what should be.

Would that I breathe you in, the cool night air refreshing me in your movements, even if it might be a waning dream of pasts of a future's eve. Would I might sense your heart open into a place unbroken, a world unimagined, sensations of realms within a new heart. A heart only seen in the attempt at understanding the nature of our souls, the joy of love within it. I can... could attempt, maybe even have attempted... and I think my life would not be a waste in such understanding.

You are the moment, wherever you may be in this life... the moment remembers... days, years... centuries hence. Your breath exhales the memory of a consciousness I might never see yet always knew existed. Wiping away the ache, the regret, and most of all, the fear... 

It waits... barely out of reach, this gentleness of spirit awash in the truth of understanding, the truth in all of us. Tantalizing, tormenting, a reminder of our attempts at romantic and spiritual fulfillment. The true tree of knowledge of good and evil waits outstretched upon a shore we might be incapable of crossing, bearing the fruit of ultimate understanding. What must we leave behind... and what would we become in the process? 

In the end, I have no answers, only the questions that punctuate the silence in the heart of night...

C.

Apologies...

I suppose when you get older, you start to think about purpose in life. Well, we do when we are younger, sure, but I have started looking back more than forward, seeing what was lost, all that could have been gained, and the middle path: what actually happened. 

It is tough to love someone and they do not choose you, or life inevitably chooses something/someone else for them. If you have ever had to deal with this, I am sure you understand. And it can be hard to forgive that love and harder still to be forgiven for loving, for only being human. In the end, one must forgive one's self for this purpose as well. I wrote the following piece some years ago, since edited it here and there (as I always do), but... it was a start down the road of forgiveness of self through the window of time, of course. I do not know how much further I have come since then, only that I am older and doubtless not that much wiser. Still, I like the poem mostly because it takes me on the journeys I have loved most in this life... and that is well, too.


'Apologies'

I walked the shores of midnight seas,
Reveled in days that did not end,
Wandering ancient forests, 
Sleeping upon verdant fields
But a time, a soul would not wait,
And the longing could not fade.

Paths mattered little as I roamed
From city to town, hillside to beach,
Traversing storm-tossed crossings,
Metallic thunder racing the night
Yet a heart, a place could not wait,
And the yearning did not fade.

I sat watching the world amble onward,
Doing as it should to survive,
Embracing an enduring wonder, 
Reaching for unbridled joy...
But the heart and mind cannot wait;
For hope eventually wastes away.

It was not my wish,
But what happened remains;
And longing for yearning toward hopes of love,
Must like all things... 
Slip away.

C.

Purposes...

So, a year older... I wish I could say wiser, but no... even more foolish than before.

I glance back to the past year of my life, and really, this month was the beginning of so much that I could not anticipate, nor wanted to, ignorant in my perceived bliss.  While birthdays are anticipatory of the year ahead, they can be as much a reflection of days and years past.  I realize the waste of my life in years past, maybe to an extent some of this past year... I know I have more or less wasted the past couple of months, adrift in melancholy at times, hiding it as best I can.  I have done all I could to put my best foot forward, and it was never enough.  I ran away, seeking the solace of the other side of the world, and yet... respite is only fleeting in the face of sorrow.

I confess my thoughts might be maudlin, even a bit piteous, but I would like to think I am entitled to them.  Indeed, if you knew what I knew, what I have been told, what I have seen... you might understand.  I have done my best to give to you, dear readers, a glimpse of what I have seen.  Regrettably, my meager attempts at expression can only convey an inkling of the beauty I have experienced.  Alas, I seem to have expressed my sorrow with a greater degree of ease in this regard.  

I wonder at times as to a purpose, as I am one long lost... 

C.

The Nature of Thought...

This is similar to the contemplation of the contemplative mind, but I digress and wonder about the nature of thought or more precisely, the nature of our thoughts.  I have argued, perhaps weakly, that our thoughts aid in the perception of the universe at large, maybe even aided in the creation of the universe... or someone's thoughts at least.  Since we are comprised of the same elements as the stars themselves, I am inclined to feel our thoughts and words have real power.  Certainly not our everyday conversation, such as 'I feel like getting a beer' or 'Like, that outfit is totally...' (maybe those types of thoughts help wipe out star systems... celebrity supernovas?).  Sometimes, though, an excellent conversation can help contribute to the wealth of wonder amid the stars and ourselves.  Admittedly, most conversations would not fall into such a category, though perhaps the universe loves the ordinary as much as the extraordinary.  I suppose it would be arrogant to think otherwise.  Of course, maybe one must be able to percieve the connection between our hearts and the beating heart of creation in order to effect an influence upon what awaits in the gulf between the stars.  And there is simply the idea that just because we are made of the same elements of the stars and planets, we have no influence whatsoever... again, arrogant egos.  Still, I like to think we are connected and that thought, like many others, is a part of the nature of thought itself.  It gives me as much comfort as I need sometimes, though not necessarily all the comfort I want, but who really gets such comfort these days?  Maybe I will simply never be truly satisfied, and always searching for an answer when one might never have existed in the first place.  It is certainly a possibility... I am ok with that.  I know my path.  It is one I accept, though I may not like it... I still accept it.  I suppose that might be the nature of my struggle within the nature of thought.  In order to seek such a higher purpose, I have to give up what I might not be prepared to give.  It is something I do contemplate as I delve further into the ideas of thought.  

I have left so much behind... I am not sure I am capable of taking the necessary steps.  Maybe none of us are.  It should make me feel better, but it does not.  

C.

Staving Off The Night...

Our world is changing...

For good or ill, I have not the insight or the arrogance to say. Change for the sake of change is simply foolish, but then so is complacency for its own sake. While most of us have a desire to fight shifts in the political, cultural, physical and personal landscape, such shifts are inevitable. Nothing, except extinction, can really stop it. Fear usually stems from the fears of change. For in that fear lies the deepest fear of all: loss... loss of life, property, love... self. Fear is unknown, and that is simply why so many fear the night, the primeval unknown. And the future? The ultimate unknown. Hence the debates, some civil, some outrageous, about futures we can and cannot control. In truth, while we say we control our own destiny (oft cliched thanks to sporting events), only the present moment is under our direct control. That is the choice we have... the only choice. If in that moment, the future changes, well... so be it. Such becomes the nature of our existence along the roads we travel, literally and metaphorically. The Holmesian mirror of hindsight can temper new choices, open up new pathways, but in the end, the speed at which present and future collide can overwhelm even the most logical and stoic of philosophers just as it blinds almost every romantic... and most of us in-between. Change... change is our blessing and curse... one of many unique gifts, this capacity of will. Certainly not our greatest gift (in my rather minority opinion), but good enough at times for us to perceive a glimmer of the future hidden in the depths of the past.

In closing, I can only offer my own hopes... in the best way I can. I had written the following several months ago for reasons that matter little now, except one. It is all I can do to help stave off the night...

'The path we walk is lined with the voices of the distant past, our own past, the present, and a future which conceals itself until it merges with the present. Those voices are the words of time. They are the rocks we stop and pick up and examine along the way, a seashell that might be more enduring than another, a glint of starlight dancing upon calm waters, or the gentle calling of the wind from a distant, verdant shore. As we walk, we can choose to leave our own words for time to hear, for the posterity of those that might decide to pick you up one day and see how extraordinary you were to generations hence. Our legacy is not the visceral monuments of our arrogance and perceived greatness, but in what we carry with us... what is unique in all of us.'

The world is changing... and that is well.

C.

Thoughts On Genetic Memory

Wow, it has been awhile since I have written here.  Not unintentionally, I guess.  Simply working on other projects and having two conventions around the holidays will do that.  Well, then on to the actual matter at hand...

The idea of genetic, or racial and collective memory is not new.  I suppose the term genetic memory is more commonly used, as racial memory is decidedly un p.c, and collective memory seems more metaphysical.  For my part, I probably use the term collective memory and genetic memory more often.  While I have understood the concept of collective memory for many years, I really did not think about it as much until I read Arthur C. Clarke's groundbreaking book Childhood's End.  Without revealing too much regarding the book (and though from 1952 I highly recommend reading it), aliens come to the planet and demand the end of hostilities and potential nuclear war.  I know, sounds like a recent and not so recent movie, but Childhood's End is much more of a philosophical read, as Clarke delves into not only our past fears, but our future ones as well.  Clarke uses the term racial memory in the book, but I find the term genetic memory more palpable these days.  Further, my understanding of genetic memory hearkens to Clarke's ideas in this regard.  Put simply, Childhood's End is a tale of innocence lost (hence the title) and how we must eventually come to terms with our collective and individual genetic memories.

What, then is genetic memory?  Is it simply instinct, our natural reaction to images, sounds, words, feelings? Or is it something higher, a collective memory that reaches from a future already written though without a clear understanding.  In science fiction or science philosophy, I can easily propose such questions; however, the science of the 21st century might find the idea of a future memory within our genetic structure laughable.  Therefore, I am delving truly into the realm of philosophy based on some good reading and probably gut instinct (or gut insanity depending on who you ask and how you feel in the matter).  Regardless, I can only offer my view, which has been shaped through my own ruminations, writings, and reading on the subject.  To me, I see this memory in action in many ways, especially in the instinct of our fears, our acquiescence in the strangest of situations, and our ever popular mob mentality.  I understand it in my darkest moments, in the abyss of thought that can drag you into places you never wanted.  And yet, I feel it in the reflection of the light of the universe in our eyes, the gentle hope of a new day, the promise of a home in the cradle of stars.  We are the worst and the best in ourselves, and much of it comes from our instinct to hate and our instinct to love, what is written in our genetic code, our memory of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

While this memory can be on a collective level, it can be, at least to my mind, exceedingly personal.  I have noted this recently in some of my writings, wondering if a few of the things I had written were less about present inspiration but more drawing from a memory of the future.  It could be I simply have the mirror of hindsight, though a few poems and commentaries seemed remarkably prescient and appropriate.  Of course, considering the way I write, it is rather easy to project one piece upon multiple situations.  The cynic would merely opine that it is all mere coincidence, and some part of me would be inclined to agree.  The realist in me notes my penchant for overthinking at times.  The optimist, the dreamer... the romantic, the man who has seen so much wonder in this amazing universe, been given so much for so little in return, understands the truth, even if it is only a small truth.  The higher truths tend to escape us anyways, even when we are confident in our understanding, as I thought so many times, especially in the vanity of youth.  On the other hand, I could be drawing upon that memory even now, yielding only to the truth that exists in all of us.  

One thing I do know, after reading Childhood's End, I never looked at the stars quite the same way.  We are the universe made manifest, after all... and knowing that has helped me understand, for good or ill, past memories of future's days.

C.

Erratic Errata From the Past Couple of Months...

I am not sure if I am going to make sense at all, but sometimes you just need to write and get it all out there, and I promised myself, if I did, then I would hold nothing back... some of this is simply an exercise in writing, a little is what has needed to be said for awhile, the rest is meandering nonsense... which, to be fair, is pretty normal for me.

This past weekend has been a blur, and while it is now Tuesday, my brain is still spinning from having to do so much for really so little a show.  Of course, being tragically understaffed except in my department was the critical factor, and without the help I had I might have been more insane. Lucky me, I only went half mad.  In truth, things at the show could have gone much worse, and many, many folks had an awesome time, more than did not.  Even the fine folks that worked for me had a fantastic time, but I am sure some of that has to be how easy I was to work for, lol (and the bribes in alcohol).  Still, I had moments of awesome mixed with a bit of stress, usually trying to fix things that were not thought about, or at least forgotten by others.  Silly me and my memory.  In truth, I sensed what would occur... knew it.  I have excellent instincts, though I rarely listen to them because I am too trusting of others, and often afraid of giving in to my instincts.  Just as well, because there were a few smart-asses I wanted to murder, sooo... instead I remained my usual restrained, congenial and courteous self, treating the staff, con-goers and guests with all the dignity and grace I could muster, which must have been a lot.  The thing is, as much as I may want to give in, I have to be the man I was meant to be lest I destroy the best part of myself.  I know in so many ways I am a product of another time and I constantly have to live with the consequences of the nature of my heart.  It served me well to a degree this past weekend and over the past couple of months while away.  And yes, I think about all the possibilities... all of them.  Sometimes, it feels as if I have stepped into one of my stories and live, if for a moment, an alternate life.  Other times, a memory steps in, takes hold, and leaves me breathless.  In the end, my nature forces me to alleviate the pressure the only way I know how: boring the crap out of my readers, lol.  

I do offer a caveat, some of what I am doing can be construed as whining/complaining, and if that is how you see it, certainly you are entitled to think in whatever manner seems essential to you.  I only put the words to page and let the world decide, for it must.  The rest is mere semantics.  I have written for the sake of others and for myself.  Now, I seem to only write for whatever is left in the depth of my heart.  It is hard to come back from such depths when you understand the truth in your soul, when you understand you cannot go back to a previous journey.  All you have is the one in front of you.  No magic time machines... no alternate realities (even if it might make good fiction), only dreams of a dream that fade in quiet of the night, the wolf nipping at your heels.  I felt it more and more throughout the last holiday and will feel it again as the current one approaches.  If you knew what I had known, perhaps you will understand.  The currents that flow from the edge of time through the truth of my soul cannot forget... nor should it.  Yes, it waits in places that I push away when the memory returns, or when I want to feel again.  And yet, it dominates my instincts I think, further showing how much of a fool I really am.  Of course, I understand completely the nature of my foolishness, so shame on me in that regard.  

I can only offer who I am to the burning heart of the cosmos... I can only offer my words to ease any suffering in the cradle of time.  I know the truth of what I see and can only give this.  For all the wandering across the sea, for all the travels and travails, this is what I understand.  I will give everything in this understanding of us all.  If it means I remain a bit out of place in time, if I must continue to treat people with the dignity I think they deserve (whether they actually deserve it or not), then so be it.  I would do so until the stars burns cold... 

As a species, we can be so much more than contained within Sagan's 'pale blue dot'... I suppose I can only do my part one life at a time.

C.

The Holiday Season...

It is possible I posted something about this before... maybe a couple of years back... anyway, prolly bears repeating :)

I have never been one to get into the 'spirit' of the Holidays. In general, I feel if a person is going to evoke the holiday 'spirit', then they should do so year round rather than be hypocritical for a month or so. I would like to think I am the same kind and generous person year round. Admittedly, I sort of have to, being in the anime convention business. One might argue being the type of person I am is not necessary, but I digress for personality does go a long way in garnering repeat business and happy customers. I have seen many a vendor and exhibitor treat their customers with disdain and disrespect and it invariably comes back to haunt them. I have seen vendors (even my employer) become too greedy and have watched it come crashing down when they least wanted to do so. Of course, I am not intimating I am beyond reproach, for sadly, I fall prey to our less decent instincts instead of heading the better angels of our natures, so to speak. Most of the time, though, I think I treat people and customers with a decency and civility that is often lost these days, except for perhaps one month out of the year. I also say this in regard to the United States, not necessarily my experience abroad, at least abroad recently. Perhaps the kindness, generosity and hospitality that was accorded me in New Zealand was atypical, but from what I have heard from other travelers and visitors (and the residents of the islands in general), my experience was fairly typical. That being so, I see how far we have fallen and may yet have to go. I can only attempt to return that kindness and hospitality in what I do, and while I have done so in the past, I see clearly how much further I must travel in that regard. This is well, for we all need to see such ends in whatever path is laid before us. Now, as Yulecon approaches, I am cast in a more unfamiliar role, handling the registration and convention sales booth and not our own vendors room booth. Still, I hope I can continue to evoke that same spirit I try and cultivate at every show I work as a vendor. It can be a struggle, but a smile and a kind word can go further than you might imagine. I saw this so often it became commonplace, so much so that I was surprised when I did not see it at home. At the last convention (Izumicon), I was even surprised at people's reactions when I offered my own kind words to others (while still remaining capitalistic :) Really, I should not have. Deep down, I know. We want to be made to feel special, if but for a moment, or perhaps a season. I simply want others to feel special any time of the year. In general, we probably deserve it, regardless of our sins. Again, to lead with the holiday spirit, this is probably a time to forgive all those sins anyways... even if we may not the remaining eleven months of the year. I suppose it is a start.

C.

Night's Dawn...

I am certainly not attempting to sound ominous in this entry, for the title has less to do with me but with the Night's Dawn Trilogy by Peter F. Hamilton. At 3600 pages, it is an epic read, and can be dizzying even for the most hardcore of hardcore sci-fi fans. Hamilton does an amazing job creating a breathing universe with excellent characters and characterizations. If he has one flaw, it might be his overtelling of the science, but I believe his background is in physics, so I am willing to give him some leeway there (as if I am giving advice to prolific sci-fi writers :) I also think the books are a bit more graphic sexually than most sci-fi novels, but most of the time, the sex serves an end. Regardless of what surrounds the novels, at their heart is a simple philosophical tale, at least to me. And I fully admit, what I find simplicity might drive others mad, so take that as you will.

The novel revolves around the dead coming back to life and possessing bodies through a quantum mishap, and the series of events spiral out of control until everyone from Al Capone to Fletcher Christian are taking over bodies. It sounds a little out there, but is excecuted quite well and really takes an interesting tack on the standard back from the dead stories... quantum zombies? Sort of... In the end, it all boils down to the nature of the soul and how humans (and other races) can deal with the end of their own existence, and the existence of the universe. I think that is why I really connect with this author and the novels. I sort of understand combating the nature of the soul. I can see the end of existence as well as the continuation thereof in what little glimpses I have been afforded, and what little I have been able to impart to others. The novels, while grand space opera, reach into something simpler, and that is also the essence of good storytelling as well.

In any event, reading the books again has made me ponder our attempts at existing and continuing to exist. We take a lot with us on our journeys, and we do not want to leave it all behind, though I think we must. Well, we can leave it all behind but one emotion, and I will refrain from the obvious in that regard. I think the trials and travails of this life bind us to an existence we may not want when we pass on, and maybe that is why so many of us keep returning lifetime after lifetime (or however you ascribe an afterlife :) Perhaps that is why I am so calm about that one thing at least. Sure, I have plenty of issues, but I think I can face the twilight of my existence with a calm acceptance... a serenity of a sort (thank you, master Yoda, lol) that can govern the remainder of this mortal life. Again, I could be full of it... but I can think of worse fates.

C.

Thoughts and Ruminations...

As I promised... this time a little more philosophical... so take it as you will :)

Being in Auckland reminds me of some of my time in Sydney back in 2004, though with certainly a fresher perspective, if not somewhat jaded from the experiences of the past few months. I admit to some trepidation in that regard, and I do try and ignore what I can as I can. Every so often, I feel it, and while it may not be fair, it is terribly human. These same emotions that cause me to remember, to drift now and then (more then than now these days, but...) are the same that I use in opening myself to the words... the same heart that beats in tune with the what Dante wrote 'L'amor che muove il sole e l'atre stelle.' (The Love that moves the sun and other stars). To discard such love might be a fate worse than death... I can only be true to my words, to my instinct, right or wrong, good or ill.

I think I have found people on my journey to be receptive to most conversation, including my weekend in California, and I still am warmed by such good discourse, though it has only been but a week. In the end, we all want to be heard, whether the talk runs from the lastest sporting news to lists of things to do before you die or to the very nature of the cosmos. It matters to someone... to you, to me, to them. Maybe it matters to what we cannot see, or hear, but can feel at the edge of self... not quite hidden, waiting to be revealed. All it takes is a willingness to understand each other, to look with another set of eyes, listen with an open heart. Admittedly, I have touched on this before, but concepts like these often bear repeating. They are seminal in understanding each other... keys to a future worth sharing. Or... I could be full of shit. But then most philosophers do that, shovel their own brand of shitand hope it smells better than the rest. I guess, at least, I am a little realistic... but not too much. If I weren't idealistic, I doubt I would have left the States.

Now, I am about to embark on another stage of the journey, driving the countryside of New Zealand for a little while. I will see where the days take me... who knows what they will bring? Not I, and I am ok with that :)

C.

P.S. A little strange thought about the term hopeless romantic... which I am, and I have met a few in my life. I suspect the term must be a bit misleading. To be that type of romanitc implies more hope than the rest... it is inclusive of hope. Anyway, just an odd thought.

Discourse, Dialogues and Discussions

When I start traveling again in the next couple of weeks, (or even when I am traveling here in the US) I am always keen to hear the words of others as it relates to the rest of the world. It sort of gives me an idea how well-informed we are these days. Some times I feel we are too well-informed. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. Regardless, I find most of the discussions to be lively and enlightening, and I suspect I will hear no end of the upcoming election, especially since I hear Kiwis are even more politically minded than Aussies (who, strangely, I visited in 2 other election years... '92 and '04... weird). Just as well, I suppose. I am not so much concerned these days with the election as I am the return to the world stage of Mother Russia, and not in a feel-good way either. Plus ca change...

At the outset of the new millennium, I had hoped for something better. From a technology point of view, I have been moderately pleased, though I see technology rampaging out of control. Of course, that could just be a result of reading too many books on technology rampaging out of control... or, I could be right... I was right about Russia, but then the nut finds a squirrel every now and then. The world simply pains me. We have so much potential, but it is squandered on petty bickering, outdated revolutionary dogma and their associated organizations, fanatical belief systems that have only caused more bloodshed, unabashed greed and lust for power, sex, drugs, money... etc. It makes one wonder who the animals of the world really are... For all our potential good, the flip side of that coin mars us... sometimes through choice, other times through chance. I hope that I can see more of that good in others as I wander throughout this world again. I admit, it is easy to see in a person, or a few people. And perhaps my quibble is with the powers and principalities of this world, or those that command the loyalties of fanatical murderers, or even those that feel one death is justified by the ends. Of course, my points are hardly pragmatic. I understand. And I know I have a long way to go myself, but ultimately, that is what dialogue and discussion is for... so we can all understand, even if, especially if, the rest of the world cannot.

C.

Today... and Tomorrow

Technically, I wrote this yesterday but forgot to post it... still, it applies to the rest of the week as well and the month as a whole... memories are like that for me I guess.

The shadows of a year ago today have weighed heavily upon my heart, and today... at least today perhaps, I am entitled to share that weight, maybe even all it entails. The day itself does not linger in shadow, only the illusion I allowed myself to believe. Now, it seems unreal, and yet, like other unreal moments, I live with the memories. My nature, for good or ill, compels me so. I cannot change that aspect of myself, nor should I want to, for in doing so, the best part of me dies. Without the inspiration of memory, I am less a man... merely a shadow of a shadow. Because of this, then, undue (or maybe due, who knows?) strain can haunt me, just as a pleasant thought erupts into a burst of creativity. Such is the dual conflict of one born under the Sign of Sorrows (that would be us Pisceans). Of course, astrology can be as much an excuse when one is a 'perfect' match as it can when you cast blame upon the stars for the nature of your heart. Really, it boils down to a decision: whether you decide to be a good person... or not. Indeed, it is the simplest decision of them all, the choice of the good heart and right action. Admittedly, right action might not necessarily be good, and what is good (or at least perceived to be so) might never be right. Most times, such things are in accord. Who I am is the result of my choices and feelings. Sure, all (or most) of you might have had a hand in molding my feelings and choices, but in the end, I have to be the one to decide, as do you all. Even in love... we make choices, even if it is to choose to say we have no choice, for it only gives us comfort in the decision that has already been made. Regardless, I understand.

So, today. For me, today, while a memory of something remarkable, is the path to tomorrow, though my tomorrow looms closer than some but not so close as others. Today needs to be set aside in the memory of past joy, so that it will not burden tomorrow, especially for me... and you, all of you. At least I hope that today creates such memories, even if they might be a glance of a memory of some pleasant past, or the hope of a brighter future. The health of the wellspring of our soul needs such hopes, if even for a little while. I am not sure what my tomorrow might bring except the shuffling of my feet across a couple of large islands at the end of the world (or however I desire to travel, by car, train, bus, sheep, etc :) Still, it is all I know about tomorrow at the moment, and for now... all I need.

In the end, I have to wonder why it all matters, even after thinking I have come to some enlightened conclusion in a sometimes vague book. Maybe it is because we all matter to what awaits in the cradle of stars, or that we all, in some strange interconnected way, matter to each other (and some more than others, naturally). Or maybe I am still just a naive fool who can never quite wipe the stars from his eyes.

If it be so, then allow this fool his indulgence of memory. Some day, the memory might fade, like so many others... but not today.

To a brighter tomorrow,
C.

A Year of Rebirth, Reckoning and...

I sit in a quasi empty hotel room drowning out the decadent noise of the television and the incessant snoring of a co-worker, who, by all accounts, is an ass, though sometimes entertaining, and at least works (unlike James who randomly disappears when he is needed most during setup and tear down). I still have to spend another week or so on the road with him, including a couple of days of down time in the DC area. Well, I get to see a few things I have not seen in awhile. Awhile... ironic at the moment and the time, for time is something I cannot escape. I am its eternal prisoner, as are we all. Yet, because (or perhaps in spite of) of my memory, time tears at me in ways most of us find easy to forget. Forget? Hardly, even when I want to. Memory is in the little things, you see, and while I can sometimes be dense, I am quite observant, and the little things... they always seem to take me at the worst possible of moments. Needless to say, this can be no one's fault save my own and the nature of the way I see the world and how I reconcile thought and memory. As such, I feel the weight of my past, the weight of this year in ways that require probably more alcohol or drugs than I can safely consume to dull the stains of this year.

Remarkably, much of the year was special, and I could never forget that... nor should I ever want to, even if others must. In a way, I have to remember, if only for posterity, and I do take pride in my desire for posterity. I admit to being prideful in such ways, but not as prideful as others might think. I have re-discovered the nature of my pride, the nature of my own dignity and the power of forgiveness in ways I never wanted to consider. Still, the experience helped me forge something greater for my own future even my present (and past) still give me pause. That is the nature of my soul... and ultimately, my sins.

I understand that some may not want to read this (though if you got this far, might as well finish :) and others may simply ignore what might seem a disconsolate attempt at what... something foolish? Contrary to many opinions, I am hardly a fool. I was certainly naive and unwilling to see what was plainly obvious, but I was in love... what was I supposed to do? In the end, I have only done what a man desperately in love would have done, and if any one claims they would have done otherwise, I challenge them to look deep into the core of their heart, the wellspring of their very soul and question the nature of love itself. For my part, I could have done no less, and regrettably at times, no more. And those of you who truly know me... you know the truth in my actions. They were borne of only one thing, borne of the truth in my soul. And if you still do not understand, then you never knew me.

I admit, during this strange, terrible and wonderful year, I made many mistakes, far less than some might think, more than I would have liked. But I have only done what I thought was right for those I cared about most, and still care about in the ways I still can. I gave everything to my words and to love. The reality, though, haunts me. I wonder if I can ever do so again...

Now, I face the world on my own, as I had been doing for so many years. Much of my life has been on the terms of others... in the next couple of months, at least, everything will be on my terms. I feel I have earned a little respite, even if whatever else I have earned in this life will remain hidden until I can allow someone else the privilege of seeing the world through my eyes again. It is not what I want, perhaps even deserve... but it is what I must do. I can only ask for your understanding and respect in these matters, as I have tried to be as understanding in return to everyone I have called friend.

I do not know where I am going, and for once I am glad of it.

C.

The Roads Taken...

I assure you I know Frost's meanings all too well. Pity that my road became what it is/was. Or less pity for some, etc. Maybe I will be happier again overseas... I have been a little happy just having nice conversations (what I enjoy most in friends anyways) at the last few anime shows, but... as the time lingers into a moment I would hate and like to forget all at once, I do wonder about the road I am on and where I am going. Physically, I know I am going to New Zealand soon, to Baltimore on Wednesday and Iowa next week. Mentally, I understand my roads and my fate... otherwise, a little tough at the moment, and I hope those that read this do truly understand. I wonder if she understands. I know what I have been told, and that must be enough. I know it all too well.

I will do my best to be strong, to focus on selling tons of crap, to finish scraping up my life savings to go on another journey, to continue to help others see the world through my eyes... for now, that's all I have, and all I know about this current road I am taking.

C.

Points of No Return

For starters, this has nothing to do with any personal point of no return, the 3rd Season of Babylon 5(or episode of the same name) or the song from 'Phantom of the Opera'... just a little ruminations from wherever I've put my mind these days.

Between terrorism, pandemics, outright war, threats during times of supposed good will, media-inspired global panic and general apathy of the world's citizenry, I wonder if we are worth even saving, if the reckoning that is coming somewhere down the road is fitting? I wonder if I have been simply made too cynical or pessimistic by a variety of issues, or just getting older and understanding the harsh pragmatism of the world we have to live in so we can survive. The best part of me surely wants to remain idealistic and hopeful (regardless of commentary from others), but the historian in me always questions. That I suppose must be my curse... not too many romantic historians out there I suspect. I generally would like to give the world the benefit of the doubt, and yet... I know the truth of our past, present, and because of that, our future. Even knowing and understanding certain truths (or at least what I have perceived as truth) about our place in the universe, about the love it shares with us, fades at times with the knowledge of how terrible people really are. Mind you, this is not a revelation to any of us... we suck. We are frail, flawed, corrupt, cynical, prideful, scornful, lustful, greedy and murderous... not necessarily in that order, nor do we all give in to all those traits, but most of us are a mistake away from giving in to any of our fears that can lead to such a darkness. Some, the sociopaths and fanatics of the world, simply give in to desire in the name of self-satisfaction or for their cause, but the cause is merely a form of self-satisfaction in the end. If you achieve the end of liberating, say, Upper Silesia from the harsh rule of the Poles or the Slovakians, regardless of how that end is achieved, do you not feel a sense of self-satisfaction? So, am I saying revolutionary movements are filled with sociopaths? The fanatical mindset is certainly sociopathic to be sure and considering how fanatical humans can be, one wonders if we are all sociopaths... I have been called worse... and better.

In the end, what does it matter? Perhaps we are so far past the point of no return in our social development, we can no longer see the ends for what they are or can be. Maybe our genetic memories cannot allow us to see what we can ultimately be. Humanity is hardwired to destroy itself through passion... ironic that passion can lead to love and hate. Maybe even the passion of love is not the end either. Every time a prophet has preached the love and understanding of the universe, how has it ended? We still count the dead... we still pay the price for the sins of Mohamed and Jesus.. for Yahweh. The price of their love has resulted in death... from misunderstanding, from martyrdom, from intolerance... all in the name of love. Even though love might be the great treasure of the universe entire, it could well be the great darkness of the soul.

I have seen the welcoming love of the universe. While it is love, it gives without passion or prejudice. It might even be beyond our emotional control. We cannot exist, as humans, without our passion, and that may be our ultimate curse... my ultimate curse, to be true. Without passion, inspiration fades, even the desire of love diminishes. And so we sit... knowing we are past the point of no return, caught in the world we have created.

C.

Home

Some of these thoughts are in Notes on the Reformation in the essay entitled (amazingly) 'Home'... some are new regarding my choices (or even lack of choices depending on how we define the nature of fate) about heading to Oceania again, this time to the other islands...

I remember the elves in Lord of the Rings (Return of the King specifically) saying 'The sea calls us home'. Home in elvish is Mar. Ironically, Mar or Mare in latin, means sea. Since Tolkien was a linguist, this was probably not lost on him. For me, the idea of home and the sea make sense, especially considering one of my most prized possession and what is inscribed upon it, and well, how I have always felt about the sea. It is evident in this blog, and my two books... it is about as good a theme as love, maybe even more important. Home is in all of us, and different for all of us. Quite simply, it is home, however we wish to perceive it. For me, home was a person (can still be a person), a place, an idea, a strand of beach, a walk in tranquility, or even a home-cooked meal. For now, home calls to me from afar, whether it be some 10,000 miles or 300... at this point, the distance is the same in my heart.

I have lost so much to home... to the sea, to my heart, and only want to see that quiet shore once more, regain a little of what was lost, hold on to the Mar of my soul, whether it be truly a home or the sea itself... or both. I suspect these musings will not be lost as well on those that read this, for anyone that does should know me by know, and know how I feel in these matters. For the less informed reader, I can only tell you to follow the calling of home whenever you can... you never know when the idea of home may change, or simply can never be reached again. Embrace it... home, sometimes, is all we have.

For my part... at least now I have the will and means to do what is necessary and right... for once the two are in accord in my heart, even if my soul sometimes disagrees...

C.

The Quiet of the Night...

Just back from Metrocon and so tired I can't sleep... typical. I have a little break before Otakon and AnimeIowa, but the coming month will be... hard. I think I started mulling it over some tonight, hence the current entry, though it is more philosophical and just me trying to write, but... take it as you will :)

In the stillness of the early morning hours, the true quiet of the night, it all comes back to you. It strikes deep within the soul and churns, those moments lost, those thoughts you never wanted to have... you can find yourself drifting into a world forgotten, one of aches and sorrow. You see all the little mistakes you made in one day, one week, one... life and they strike at you... haunt you until it fulminates into overwhelming grief. Those little mistakes... so many or so few, but enough to outweigh so much good, for in the dark, we are those mistakes incarnate. We are also the good incarnate as well. The night grants us respite in its solace as much as it offers us genuine pain. The night cannot be blamed for our sins, no matter how much we are haunted by it. Our sins are our own, perfect in all the ways we can conceive them, for our sins might, to some, be perfect... it all depends on perspective. And perception can truly turn the key in the deep of dark within the night.

For my part, the ache draws ever closer even as I look to home... caught in the subtleties of the dark, the crossroads of my own pathways. I cannot hide from the truth in the night.... I can only face what has been wrought and... decide. In the end, I have decided, not for the sake of others (though it still bears heavily upon the burden of my heart), but because I am a decent man who deserves better than what I have been forced to accept in the quiet of the night.

Such matters, of course, fade before dawn... and the choices start anew. At least that is what we tell ourselves when we hide from the dark.

C.

'Til The Stars...

I wonder what will happen when the stars grow cold. What happens to our promises? What happens to eternity? Will all that we shared be false in the cold of the void... in the stillness of entropy? Can love survive the end of time? All that has been given to the stars, all that our soul can endure, waits, but only for so long. We are the universe in microcosm, and it is us... we can only do so much, but only for so long. Or... what happens when entropy consumes us? Do we begin again? Have we done so before, maybe an infinite number of times? Maybe that is the great mystery of what awaits... in death, creation begins anew.

So, when I have said 'I would have loved until the stars grew cold...', does it have less meaning knowing what happens when the stars finally do grow cold? Do the words ever have less meaning even when we forget? Does it matter so long as creation remembers us? As long as love waits for us, as long as we are loved by the beating heart of the universe, and as long as... we can begin again, then it must matter. Then again, we could just be cosmic motes with no understanding... though, I hope not.

'Til the stars grow cold, my friends...

C.

Toward the Precipice

I think I should have posted this sooner than the other new entries, but... I had forgotten, and trust me, I'm not thinking of jumping, most of the time, lol. Just a little meditation on the abyss, so to speak.

Have you ever stood upon the edge... waiting to take that deep breath before the plunge? What do you see when you are at that edge... who do you see? What faces do you remember as you stare into that deep abyss, knowing what might soon consume you? Do you see the loves, the lovers, the hopes and dreams of worlds so recent and so recently forgotten? Do you see the sadness of those worlds, the agony of suffering? Do you see the suffering of others... do you even care? You know you are about to take that breath, stare into it all. You see it... see them waiting, calling to you. Or are they calling... waving you off? Again, do you care? It is your suffering after all. You know them, but do they know you? They think you do not have the will, the desire, the heart... they do not know the depth of your spirit. How can they? Are they you? Are they standing upon the precipice with you?

Should you take that plunge even though what you leave behind is shattered, or should you take it with you, hoping to repair it along the way? Yet... you cannot. You are too busy enjoying the sensation of free fall, waiting to see what awaits within. Do you care about anything but the flight of fancy? Do you know anything but the delicious rush of pure ecstasy? Do you even want to see the world around you? All that matters is the high... the jump, the deep breath that awaits. The problem is, of course, what is left behind. Who do you leave when you drop into that perilous though delightful dark of wanton abandon? Who knows what you feel in the end?

I know the end, you see. I have seen the deep of dark within the spirit... I see you all in your lives, hoping for something else, something greater even. The problem, alas, is the abyss. You cannot run from it, cannot go around it... once you stare into it... you have to face it. The plunge might be exciting. It often can be. Perhaps even... sensual to a degree. The sudden stop, though, when everything falters and flails, when all comes tumbling down... cannot be ignored. We must all face it, all of us, for we all drop into the abyss, sometimes far more than we would like. Do it enough, and you never come back... my brother did not. I nearly failed... twice. Others, they have their own stories of oblivion to carry with them.

I stand again. The wind, so cool upon my face. I feel the weight behind me, pressing me closer to the edge. I almost embrace it, for I have been in this place before and fear it yet again. What to do... What to do?

I can hope... but hope seems to have no more place in my world. It stares back into me, Nietzsche's words howling in my skull. What choice do I have? What choice do we ever have? I could tell you all everything... I could, but you have to listen with a new heart, as do I. At least I have the dreamy sensation of the plunge, the beauty of interminable bliss without and within. It is my respite before I live in the moment of my sins...

I have stared too long. And yet... I wonder if they see it? I wonder if you see it? But is it enough? Is it worth the fall? Can you hang on to one simple thought in the embrace of the dark? Will our own abyss let us this time? I have no easy answers. If I did, I doubt I would be standing upon the edge, leaning out upon the precipice, waiting to take that deep breath...

C.

Ascending Jacob's Ladder

'Love is the great treasure. It is what we come here to feel, and every bit of it that can be taken must be taken... Most everything is forgotten in death. The names, the facts, the achievements, the failures, all are left behind. But not love... Jacob's Ladder has another name in heaven. It is Love.' -- Whitley Strieber, 2012

I just finished reading the above book,2012, last night after buying it Friday night. As one might guess, it was quite engrossing and while not terribly plausible in places, appealed to my love of conspiracies, aliens, parallel universes, the apocalypse, and the nature of the soul. Indeed, the book revolves around the concept of a war of souls, a little far fetched at times, but entertaining. Still, I was a bit surprised to find such an engaging passage (the above one quoted) and one that mirrors much of what I think and what I write about the idea of the soul. While semantically different, conceptually I think the author and I are in agreement on matters of the soul, at least one part of it. And the idea of leaving behind everything except what matters most in our soul, in the core of our being is seminal to the idea of a universe that loves without end. The soul... the love that exists in the soul is the eternal part of our existence and the eternal part of creation. Love can be forever... it is immortal so long as it is freed from the bounds of mortality itself. I, and many other good writers, have thought eternal love a brilliant illusion... but we can sense it, can't we? That kind of love is freedom in the truest sense of the word. The strange thing is really that I had written about this before I even thought to pick up the book. While it dims some of my own originality, it gives me comfort that others might be able to see the universe in a similar manner and add their own unique light to the equation.

I wonder, how close are we? How far up the ladder, so to speak, can we ascend? Do we have the will to go further... can we leave it all behind for the sake of love itself? Can I? I have seen it before in the calm of many resplendent days, the beauty of an eternal sea, the rest beneath the shade of trees... They were but a glance of what can await, a promise of something that maybe only the soul can truly understand when freed from the bounds and concerns of mortal life. Except... our thoughts create love. It is our mortality that is perhaps the essence of love made manifest, or maybe love creates the soul. I think it is certainly the reason for the soul, but then all romantics think such things. A universe borne of love itself... a truth worthy of the journey we all face. I admit, all this can be quite idealistic, and I am maybe no closer to the truth than any other. Understanding and doing are two very different things, alas. Still, in the part of me reaching for the next rung on the ladder, the part of me that struggles in the journey to another place, to the heart of love borne within all of us... I know. It might be enough to help me move from simply understanding. I hope it can be for all of us.

C.