Friday, April 2, 2010


 Here is a thought for today 4-3-10:
I don't have one life, I have three . . .
three very good lives, but all encompassing,
and needing of my attention.
I have my daily, face to face life . . .
with my students, friends and what little family
I have left . . . all people whom I adore, and all need
my attention, love and good-will, prayers and more.
Then, I created a family out of so many of my Jamendo friends,
same: people whom I adore, and all need my attention,
love and good-will, prayers and more.
Last, but not least, I made a family out of many of my Facebook friends,
and the same . . .

Its just a thought  - got no further than this.
And I'm too tired to think further than this right now.
But it seemed important at the moment to write it down.

I had a dream about a boy who befriended a song sparrow.

He learned all the secrets of beautiful music, and moving the world's
heart with his song.  But, he did too much, he over-reached,
and he lost all of his beautiful
shining secrets in the muddy waters of a deep and troubled sea.


Nothing -
I am nothing
perhaps nothing more than an electronic cloud
composing itself as an existence - a thing

yet - here I sit - feeling
I reach out to hug
another cloud of nothing?

that cannot be
I am the nothing
the others are there

Three hundred students look at me . .
they see something there
they look to me for direction . . .
and a smile
they smile back
I send love
they love back

I think . . . but then I think  . . .
I know nothing!

Again with the nothing!
Well at least I can pretend it is all something.
I will pretend it is all real . . .
just for now
as I ramble through this . . .
is my life worth saving?
Is it a life?
If it is nothing
than it doesn't really matter does it?

I go through the motions
I am thinking really hard
maybe its my thinking that gets in the way

Maybe its me . . .
Is my life worth living . . . for me?
Is my life worth living . . . for others?

They used to tell me I was a waste of space.
I don't know about that.
No one tells me that anymore.
But, maybe its a truth.

When I was young I believed
I was a hibernating bear dreaming . . .
of me.
I even believed I was not of this earth . . .
I need that now, so despairingly . . . and I have nothing!

I am listening to the children's happy chatter,
and I smile at them,
and they show me their happiness,
"Ms. Wolfsong . . . look . . ."
they smile at me and they don't run
away from fear . . .
of the ugly in me . . .
their eyes shine with stars in them
and I get lost in those eyes -
I am an alien after all
I belong to those stars
they are the parent of me
and the only reason for living
I hang on to that
and they look past the tears on me
and they are not afraid of hugs
and they are not afraid of me. . .

So - what is life then
Is it this ambient cloud of whatever . . .
and what is that?
standing in the classroom
being surprised with a hug from every child
entering the room
 . . . why would that matter
if I am simply nothing?

Simply Nothing has feelings?
I think I am slowly going crazy . . .
I know that depression, my old foe,
my well known familiar,
has me by the strangle-hold
I recognize . . .
and I always believe the tale
by this one . . .
and today I am determined
to either understand this tale as TRUTH
or LIES!
this one I cannot ignore. . .
as I am neither afraid of life nor death
I just want to understand
and try not to pass down another winding trail . . .
just ending up
at another dead end . . .

I think I'm afraid of the blank wall
at the end of those trails.

And I am so tired right now.
This pile of mud and stuff is
weak and can barely move without shaking . . .
I need to stop thinking
I will go play with the children
and maybe that will help!
I remember cognitive thinking
in the Psychiatry classes I took . . .
how you think is how you become . . .

But how do you think positively for yourself
when all you do is pour it out
for others - and then there is nothing
left inside? And nothing comes back.
And the mirror is blank . . .
and your soul is a cipher?
an emptiness - a bleakness
a blackness . . .

I am so sorry - just so sorry.
I'm so sorry that I couldn't fix your life
and make you happier
and take away all the pain
and give you only joy
I am so sorry I was never the ray
of sunshine you needed
I am so sorry I was always so
crippled by this bleakness
I am so sorry I have failed you
I am just so sorry .  .  .
I think I tried as hard as I could
I don't think I could have tried harder
but maybe I am wrong
I often am
wrong. . .

I would like to disappear:
I have a poem in my pocket
I wrote some time ago
a few weeks:

we knew that there
       were shadows
within shadows in the dark
Places of oblivion
to dream and fade away
Pull yourself within the cave
of solitary hope
framed within the
boundaries of silence . . .

I wrote that.
I found it in my papers the other day . . .
and I tried to complete it
for it is not done
and then I disappeared within that cave . . .
and I don't know if I can ever come out
or if I even want to . . .
there is my rest
there is my seclusion
my space . . .

I think most of all  . . .
I am just so sorry that I am me . . .
I am truly sorry!
You know how the kids write
their stories
and when they are tired of the
they finish with a big: THE END!
and maybe that is a good thing.
for I am so tired of the telling
I just want to understand the why. . .

it echoes in here
and hurts my ears . . .
and the walls are all wet
from the tears
and there is no one in here
no one at all . .
is it good or bad?
better I guess for the others
but just so lonely
for me.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

I am tired of hearing myself . .
enough already . . . enough



Spud said...

Snow Story.

Let me tell you a story.

The wisest animal in the whole Forest was the Wild Dove, so the Coal Mouse asked her a question.

"Tell me the weight of one snowflake"

The Dove thought about the answer, and then answered; "Nothing more than nothing."

"Well then, let me tell you what happened to me yesterday," replied the Coal Mouse.
"I sat on the branch of a Fir, close to it's trunk, when it began to snow - not heavily - no, just like in a dream, without a sound and without any violence. Since I did not have anything better to do I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. Their number was exactly 3 Million, 7 Thousand, 9 Hundred & 52. When the 3 Million, 7 Thousand, 9 Hundred and 53rd floated down and settled on the branch - nothing more than nothing as you say - the branch broke off."

The Dove thought again about the question. Finally she said quietly, "Perhaps there is only one person's voice lacking for peace to come to the world."

Kurt Kauter

Wolfsong said...

I love that story, Spud, it made my day. Thank you for sharing . . . It reminds me that I felt like that proverbial camel with the last straw. And I do vote for peace, I do . . . my voice is just kind of shallow right now and when I am done with this part of my story, I will be back doing what I need to do to be that snowflake which makes a difference.