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Dear Son,

Let’s see how many times in this letter I use the word I.

When I woke this morning to an empty house. I made tracks to the coffee pot, pour’d a cup and sat and looked out the window facing east as I always do. Near me on the table was a pad of paper. I wrote things on on that pad last night. A list of things I thought I ‘had’ to do today. Near the top of the list was write to you.

As I sat sipping some not so good coffee I thought this, ‘at some point I must accept my share of the responsibility for the way things are’. I liked that thought so much I wrote it down. There was no point in my mind, no particular ‘some point’, just a thought I thought and thought it was worth the effort to find a pen and paper and write it down— ‘at some point I must accept my share of the responsibility for the way things are’. I do so impress myself with self-thought philosophy.

I have in the prison of my mind tremendous freedom. My associates drive me batty. Although the confusion and constant noise they cause causes me fear and anxiety, it’s the anger and resentment that assaults me the most. The noise in my mind does not make living good.

A million years ago I left home at 16 and went on the road traveling in bands. I would write endless pages of mind trash trying to find peace and reason for the hate I held doing what I loved to do—play music for people. I would send these pages of stuff to my mother in envelopes. These writings I would call ‘letters to mom.’ She never much understood what I was talking about (probably like you now) in those weakly written weekly letters, but in the doing I found a way to stay my execution and was able to continue on with my life’s poor planning. My planning was much like no planning at all, play music, drink, get drunk, sleep, eat, play music, drink, get drunk, eat, sleep, have sex……and so on.

Followed that plan quite well even if I say so myself.

So this morning I am hearing in my mind the play back dialog of all our Christian brothers and sisters we have mingled with over the past several years who keep saying ‘God has a plan, it’s Gods plan.’ Well, today I’m thinking it was Gods plan to let me make a plan and my life today is the result of my plan, or lack of it…..I am talking about ME here, cause it’s always about me, right?

So many letters, so many songs, so much talking, so much rain and pain and stupid rhymes sung in an ever rotting voice, I have the vocal chords of a 99 year old man…..to what end is all this the the end. That’s not a question, that’s a statement and its not to you, it’s to God but for you see. Just as I did with my letters to mom, I am doing with/to you today this morning. I am working out my head game and spraying it out like graffiti on paper and hoping God, or Jesus, the Holy Spirit or even better I will see/receive a message (I’m not pointing a finger at you) a message and meaning, a GPS co-ordinance to where this trip (my every shortening life) is leading. Of course I do, it’s either heaven or…………

Fine, I’m 64. Really, do I need to be worrying about where this is all leading?

If you were here now we would be talking much bull, if we were talking at all. There is so much talk, too much talk. I think of the spoken word as coin of the realm, moola, cash, kaching and I try to save my spoken words, use them sparingly because I really have not that much to say that is worth the cost. Mostly who ever I talk to is already beyond listening and gone to the point of talking their come back, talk-back before I’m done with my dumb pontification. I think about my communication skills and lack thereof and have this to say about that……

I am struck by the linkage and relationship of the words community and communicate. They bring to mind A stranger in a strange land. The book. I have never read that particular book. Some claim that book is a classic. Some claim so much about so much that my inner head spins and my heartaches, i.e. community, communicating—head spin—talking heads—heartache.

I ponder, for you see, I have time to ponder, much like you, not immortal time, but time still, and I embrace pondering and all that pondering offers and entails. I move toward much pondering and never have to leave my chair to do it. Pondering can consume my entire day, and just as enlightenment of some particular ponder arrives—night falls. Night is falling forever, forever falling—BOOM! 

There are 24 hours in a day, the day man has segmented in Gods world, and even in sleep, pondering pounds at me. I think that’s called ruminating, or insomnia, take your pick. And that leads to walking through the house at night pondering and Gerty inevitably calls out to me in a groggy voice, “is that you walking and pondering again?” Lets move on to nowhere. 

I understand and believe the term motivation precedes action. Action only functions after motivation causes something to happen. Got that from the book entitled Undoing Depression: What Therapy Doesn’t Teach You and Medication Can’t Give You, by Richard O’Conner.  I have been pondering that undoing thing as well as all the other ponders pilling up on me. Both clergy and PHD’s commended me on finding this book. Well, seems I did something right. Ponder that one Gerty as I walk the halls at midnight.

Where were we, perhaps we were no where, but I was/am somewhere seeking the community and communication quandary I’m in—I am the stranger in a strange land failing to communicate in the language of community. 

Mutiny is not the order of the day here, nor is disorder or disharmony the lay of the land, but on all, (and this I believe) God has His hand. His plan, and if we read it and heed it, (The Bible) we may be fortunate to be among those who see the Word, feel the Word lead us to motivation and pondering that leads to action—THE TRUTH. Whose to say yea or nay? Not me, (or is it I?) 

I professed and confessed at the beginning of this confused confluence of chatter that I am motivated to seek and speak on communicate and community, more than mere words for me for sure. Do you see? Or are you blinded by inability to communicate as I am? 

There is this that I see: (a) you, (b) me (c) God, a trinity not holy per say, but three vital pieces of a multifaceted puzzle called life. Maybe it’s only my life that is missing pieces that makes up the whole picture, though I doubt it. Picture it as you see it. The picture lives, beginning to end, of that there is no doubt, yet here I am, we are, stuck again, at this very moment in time by the words community and communicate and my mind suddenly floods with words of The Teacher:

Ecclesiastes 1:1-3

King James Version (KJV)
The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

Here I am attempting and wracking my brian to try to communicate in a wrestlings match with words to solve my conundrum of communicating and community. Are you here with me there?

Humbug! Leave me be. Let me return to the land from which I came. Let me leave these endless, timeless arguments of rhetoric to those who believe they know, for surly I don’t know, and I love it when they, who seem to know, as much as tell me so, and give me the question marked eyes and pale pained faces of their observation of one (me) who seems way to strange to be in their mix, the community.

The end to this began at the beginning!

So, there you have it for today my boy. My thoughts. And not once did I ask how you were. Because I assume you don’t know how you are and you don’t need any more stress to try to come up with words of your own to effect, dissect or reflect a situation you are in for the next while. I have spent this past 30 min or so writing (now actually about 12 hours in refining and unwinding) about me with you in mind, and in fact, you may have all your duck in a row, and thought together and might could have afforded me some wisdom but you couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

In closing I will only ask one thing of you and you don’t have to do it, but if you don’t you will only be short changing yourself (unasked for advice there)—write…..and write some more. Write what you don’t understand. Write with only one purpose and one reader in mind……write to take out the garbage in your mind and soul. Don’t worry about having meaning to the reader, for as you are the reader of this (if you’re still reading) the point is to free the soul of the toxic karmic crap that masticates into ‘soul cancer’. Find your soul, touch one fragment of hurt and pain and see it in print and read it back and never forget it….. by letting it go! Then move on to the next crack in your body/mind armor and do it all over again!
Write it, see it, mend it and move on…..or not.

For in the end the reader and the writer will just ball up the paper and throw it away anyway, but I will confess, I so impress myself (and you may too) that I do refrain from tossing all, and try to retain as much as I can so as to come back someday and see how far I have not come.

I think of you often. I wish, and yes even pray, that some best comes your way while you are on your way to where you are going/where you are/where you will be/and are at this moment…. and in this moment….and in the next moment and in the……………

respectfully yours,