Mom

Each moment has to die before a new one is born. And so with us. As John Keats put it, our names are 'writ in water.' We know this; and yet we often succumb to the great depths of sadness and regret. At times, it hurts like hell. At times the negative charge is too much, and there are violent releases of this negativity.

But as time goes on, I realize that my thoughts are not merely products of randomness and circumstance. I realize that I do have, at least in some capacity, an ability to choose my course of thought. I realize that, however amateurishly, I am able to rein in the beast that is my mind. To slow it down for a short while and have it catch its breath. And I am very grateful for this.

I loved mom and continue to love her now. Her warmth and support. Her tireless desire to care for her children. Her love for her family. Her resigned and peaceful outlook on life. Her fantabulous cookery. She lives in all of us and it's important to celebrate this. To let the sad be and instead give due to the wonderful energy and warm memories that never leave. As the insightful Ludwig Bemelmans noted:

"For such as I, then, all is here and now, the rewards and the miracles. They are the green tree, the sunrise, and all the things we sing about – the jet plane, the paintbrush and the easel, the cadets of West Point, and especially children, most of all babies with their grave, observant eyes…

In spite of all that, that black moods descend on upon me, and consolation is hard to find….I lie on my own couch, suspended in cosmic gloom, the eye turned inward, and it takes awhile to console myself.

There are two cures. One is to work; all misery fades when I work, but I can’t work all of the time. The other is to celebrate. I, the confirmed lover of life and professor of happiness, look as we all must at life, and at the approaching day when we can only hope to be mourned for. I get hungry again and have to hurry to and reassure myself with another good bottle and a fine meal, and after the coffee I look through the blue smoke of my good cigar. I sit in the melancholy mood that is like cello music and search for the answers we shall never know…

People such as I live by rules of their own. We are not happy with the comforts that the group offers. We are off-horses, misfits… In the design that has been imposed upon humanity we are solitary, self-appointed outcasts. Outcast is too dramatic a word; let’s call us alonegoers. That also is not quite true, for I seek people and like them, but still in their midst I am alone…

My life has been colored mostly be a period spent in the army as a medic in the violent wards of an insane hospital… I learned there also to regard death as a generous manifestation, and to love life all the more for this discovery. And for the good of the soul I learned to step outside of myself, to forget the “I”, which is the key to happiness.”

But how difficult it is at times to step outside of myself. And yet, not impossible. Here is to possibility, then. And also, here is to the professor of happiness. Thank you for the insight.

ps. Thanks also to Rick and Inigo @ whoistheabsurdman.blogspot.com, you guys rock.