Undercurrent

I've often wondered just how hard the wind can blow when it matters. I've wondered about its velocity, its rage, its limitless abandon. Does it really blow when it truly matters or does it sneak by like an evening breeze, frail and forgotten. It is one of those things I've often wondered and it is something I often think about. That moment that sticks with you and peels back the layers of humanity, leaving you naked in your own distress.

Everything washes away in a wind that strong. It certainly must be some kind of revelation, something truly to behold. A spectacle of sheer grandeur and solitude. These are the things that come in dreams.

These are not things to fear, but certainly things to ponder. A wind like that does not come along often. Sometimes it never comes, it's never felt. If you were to ask me if it truly exists, I would certainly question its validity, its beckoning.

Does it come like a thief in the night? I would hate to think that it would be mere trickery and cheap effects. How hard does it blow when it matters. Can you breathe? Can you lift your eyelids? Is there a deafening roar ringing in your ears relentlessly?

I've often wondered these things; this wind that may or may not know me. How hard will it truly blow when it matters most.

Shutter

Sleeping patterns are off as of late. Perhaps I have a lot on my mind and while the body is weary, the mind has its own agenda. 

Things come in and out of focus. I see myself watching the train speed by me in a blur. There is a sense of hopelessness that comes with that. It permeates the air and wraps around you like a blanket. Ice cold and unforgiving.

Maybe it's the change. The shock perhaps is finally manifesting itself in a slow and cruel manner. Whatever it is, it is beginning to weigh on me. It drains me mentally.

Sometimes, the things you think can get you by, abandon you. Your wits, resilience and sheer determination - weapons which carry not bullets, but rather familiarity - they lose their luster and become empty husks. Part of being human. At our most steadfast moment, we fear that there is no other peak to climb and we feel weak.  We drop our guard.

In these most unsettling of times, we look for shelter. We look to wait out the storm and recover. The soul needs a shot through the heart - a shot of inspiration, a long awaited rush of salvation, a recreation of events that ultimately saves us from crumbling. Us creatures of unusual flair, battle-ready and defiant to the very end - our hands sweat and our realities become distorted.

While the dimness grows, there is still light. And we chase that bright spot on the horizon until we can finally touch it, and we let it embrace us. The strangeness of it all, so distinct and tangible, eventually leaves. The lens finds its focus.  The door to the train opens and lets me in.

The Blur

Suspending belief for a second, it is undeniable that the change in location has brought with it slight alterations in the terrain. After all, spending 26 years in one place makes one see everything else as a different planet or dimension. I've now lived 2 weeks in North Carolina, and boy has the terrain changed.

I feel like the Mars rover, landing, viewing everything around me with a different camera lens. I rotate my head and I catch a glimpse of something new. I pick up glances, phrases, smells, and I analyze them as a robot would - carefully, inquisitively.

People ask me what it is like, and it is hard to explain in a few words. Perhaps I am still in a state of proverbial shock. Maybe it has not hit me yet that I am a stranger in a strange land. But the best reference I can come up with, is that it is like landing on a new planet.

There's a sense of tranquility that is found in every nook. Supermarkets, restaurants, highways, they all have what I can only refer to as 'the look'. That is the look of relaxation; of less weight on your shoulders. Smiles come by easier. 'Good mornings' and 'thank yous' are heard everywhere, like church bells. I don't suspect people in the state of North Carolina spend much time planning vacations to far off places looking for 'the look'. Why would they, they have it at their doorstep.

The profound civility and the absence of urgency is refreshing. I find myself much more relaxed, without needing to make myself relax. Work is work and it's always busy.  But that element of the heart-pounding rush to get things done, to get anything done, has been subdued.

I like it. Perhaps I'm jaded. And with time, the truth will come out. And I'll find out that the place is crawling with zombies and devils. The experiment continues. I've picked my blue in Tobacco Road, and Coach K will not like it. 

Oh and it rains like it would in a tropical place. Really friggin' hard.

I miss New England terribly. But for now, this is home. And yes it's 4:23 ET and I can't seem to get some much needed sleep... Stay tuned for more happenings from good ol' Cary!

Lingering Souls

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone."  Hunter S. Thompson

Do we ever really leave a place? Do perhaps intricate parts of our very being linger in living rooms, kitchens, camping grounds, outdoor patios, coffee shops, bars..? It is very hard for me to comprehend this. Yes physically I will not occupy space, yet the time allotted - 26 years and counting - bears significant scrutiny.

I personally have never taken for granted where I live. New England is a magical place, full of wonders that cannot be duplicated elsewhere - its Fall season, Christmas, Summers at the Cape, Camping in NH.. I can go on and on and that goes back to how I started this paragraph - I never took anything here for granted.

I've gone camping to Greenfield State Park for the better part of 15 years. I've gone to Fenway Park too many times to remember. I worked for 4 crazy years in the beloved city of Boston. I've been an intricate part of the life of two friends for 20 years and counting. All of those things lead me to believe, that I will never truly be gone. And New England will never truly be gone from me.

While I've known for a while that my departure is imminent, nothing prepares you for the end. Nothing can prepare you no matter how hard you try to plan things - to leave it all. You can talk about how you think things will go down in the end. I walk around my house, now devoid of furniture, and I am still unprepared. Nothing can prepare you to leave the very fabric that helped shape you/mold you into who you become.

I can sit here and tell you that I wish I had more time perhaps. There are so many still I have not been able to share time with due to the whirlwind that this Summer has become.

Will I ever really be gone? I'd like to think that I will linger...in rooms, around the corner, around a bonfire, in some seat at Fenway, walking down a street in Boston, walking the strip in Hampton, grabbin' lobstah at Brown's, at a friend's home, laughing, joking, playing pranks, being a run of the mill miscreant, having a staggering amount of beer, hosting 12 hour sessions of cheeseburgers on the grill..

Nothing can prepare you to leave what you love most. We are not all alone, all of our lives. We shall have company we share glorious moments with.  Essentially, and finally, we are never and will never be truly alone.  Sorry Hunter - you got this one wrong. 

Love, me.

P.S. "The real good ones...they transcend and can never be fully extinguished...they simply cannot.  It is in their fiber not to disintegrate.." Franco

Let Yourself Go

My absence has not gone unnoticed. I get that. Things have been moving at light speed as of late. With my pending relocation to North Carolina for job reasons, and trips to that area to get a feel, my time has been quite limited. Having said that, I just came back from a splendid vacation in Puerto Rico and I feel refreshed and ready to further delve into the subject of my pending move from all I know.

And it is in that last sentence that the crux of the subject shape shifts.  New England is all I have known since the age of ten. Its nooks, its people, its seasons, the way sunlight magnifies the already present beauty that surrounds it. Many people I know, dear dear friends and so on.

There are many reasons both personal and professional that led me to make that decision. It is a decision that was given much thought and consideration. In the end, it makes sense, perhaps not to others, but such is human nature. Change sometimes translates to fear, trepidation, failure...at least to others.

Does it mean goodbye? Perhaps not. Perhaps I'll go down there and hate it, or miss New England too much.  After all, it is a 12 month commitment and then I an free to do as I'd like. But as I stated in my second paragraph, New England is all I've known...and I long to know more about other places outside of it because of that very reason. Sure, I could sit idle, comfortably, stay here and seek employment elsewhere and so on...and I'd always wonder in the back of my mind about that opportunity, to live elsewhere..

I cannot predict the future, but what I do know is that I am comfortable with the idea of the move.  In my heart of hearts I am comfortable and at ease with the idea.

New England will always be my home, always. It cannot and will never be replaced.

Interestingly, during my vacation to Puerto Rico, I took a drive by myself to the house I grew up in.  A house I lived in between ages 4-10 - my childhood years. And then, in the blink of an eye I found myself living in the States, learning a new language, a new way of life.  It was good to see the old house, brought back many memories and provided perspective. I sat on my car and looked intently at the house that was once my home, my shelter. How far I had come. I felt centered.

I cannot express enough how much I will miss all of it...everything and everyone. But at this station in life a new path has opened...

In conclusion, I echo the words of Hunter S. Thompson in his eloquent piece called "Security"..

"As an afterthought, it seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"

Moving Corridors

Alex - a diminutive of the male given name Alexander.  My Alex is just Alex, not Alexander, yet both are steeped in greatness.  One was a Greek king of Macedon who conquered the known world and never lost a battle. The other is an 8 year old wonder whose quirkiness and inquisitive nature define him unlike any 8 year-old boy I’ve ever met.

This past weekend he stood on a baseball mound as a pitcher for the first time in his life.  This lanky, sometimes awkward and mostly clumsy kid stood there and fired off pitch after pitch.  Though most missed the plate, there were a few that nicked it with zip and movement – a microcosm of life in bloom. 

Our day to day is spent polishing the moving parts that affect us the most.  The ones outside that zone are hung to dry somewhere in the corridors of despair.  We throw things, friends, acquaintances away that we once cared about, to the trash pile of our memories.

My eyes welled up and I fought tears as I saw the wonder that is Alex, with his left arm and leg up in the air as he fired pitch after pitch.  He didn’t care where the baseball went, he simply fired them along.  

This carefree 8 year old with bright hazel eyes can teach us a lesson or two about really opening our eyes and paying attention to everything around us; just like he pays attention to a plastic bag or a lost-on-his-way earthworm or a rubber band.

Mostly, I was incredibly proud to see him on the mound of baseball – I was proud of my son.  Baseball mirrors life in mysterious ways, sometimes all too clear for us to focus, other times thick as molasses, yet non-elusive to the wonder of an 8 year boy and his left-handed delivered fastball.

Hand Loose On The Knob

The allure of the place is not the ethereal smokiness or the frames on the wall – monuments perhaps to better times.  But it lives in the smiles of strangers - smiles tinged with sadness and the loss of what may have been.  Still, the place exists as a gathering for lost souls and dreamers. 

The dim lights, the clatter of the glass on the counter. Everything is orchestrated. Each sound, each sigh a part of some greater function. It passes us by, in a blur, the time we spend in this place.  Distant times glistening with smeared makeup, washed away in the flood of life. 

It becomes home to us dreamers, writers, lost souls and rotting corpses - a compilation of us zombies, pale-faced and absent-minded. Yet, it is here where creativity flourishes – debates abound, love is found even if for a couple of hours.  Between cocktails and sudden stares, hope become something greater than hope.

We leave this place with a bit of sadness, the type that burns inside your brain, as we become aware that outside that door, hope dissipates into smoke. Love found becomes an illusion. And for a second we hesitate, the body stifling beneath the routine of the day to day. The hand loose on the knob, not as sure anymore. Everything compels you to turn around and contemplate and dream and flirt wildly between cocktails and sudden stares.

Roaming the Halls of the Frost Dragon

For three straight nights early this month, a peculiar series of dreams captivated me in such a way that I am still reeling from its effects.  I’ve had my share of lucid dreams in the past, but frankly nothing ever this real, or shall we say, eye opening.  Dare I say, I’ve made some headway in deciphering the overall message, yet it remains as mysterious and elusive as ever.

Night 1 – 11:25 PM. I walk down a winding stairway in complete darkness, except for candles attached to the walls. At the end of the stairway, a wooden door appears and I reach out to open it.  As I walk through, the scene before me is that of a page straight out of a fantasy world. Everything around me is covered in snow – mountains, trees, hills upon hills of snow. I continue to walk and I hear cries as if a battle is brewing nearby.  The closer I get to it, the more I realize, perhaps instinctively, that trouble looms ahead.  I also realize that although everything is covered in snow and grey skies, I cannot feel cold. There in the middle of the field up ahead, it lies - a creature of unimaginable might and destruction – a Frost Dragon. The thing is stomping and munching on a group of dwarves and elves.  Bodies are strewn everywhere.  It catches me in its glance and startles towards me with great speed.  This is where things get interesting.  I find myself equipped with armor, a horned helmet and a long spear with which I attack the creature.  It tries to claw at me in vain, hurtling itself towards me with maddening speed. I feel overwhelming confidence as I spear it time and time again, until it dissipates into thin air. “Where are you Frost Dragon?”  I yell.  I would not doubt that at this point I was talking in my sleep.  Looking from one side of the field to the other, the creature is nowhere to be found. I find myself alone in the wintery landscape. I awake.

Night 2 – 10:35 PM.  I’ve been looking forward to sleep, confident that I will once again encounter the creature. It’s like I am willing myself to meet it, to ask the questions that need to be asked. I fall asleep and find myself in a desert like landscape.  I am in a house under terrible conditions, the walls are clawed, and the roof is sunk in some parts.  I am not alone. Family members abound in this house in addition to others I cannot place. Sounds of a stampede resonate in the distance and they get closer by the second.  This isn’t what startles me, but rather it is the bloodcurdling screams that accompany it. The house is suddenly invaded by these mini- dragons looking creatures with sharp claws and terrible fangs. They start decimating everyone they see. Blood everywhere. I suddenly feel that all hope is lost and my attention turns toward my children.  I huddle them and we all run as fast as we can through a back door into the sand. I awake, knowing full well that these were minions sent by the Frost Dragon.

Night 3 – 11:10 PM.  I have been mad all day due to the events of the previous night.  The creature has provoked my anger and I am ready to meet it once again and end it.  I fall asleep and walk down the familiar winding staircase.  I open the door and I find myself once again in the icy land of the Frost Dragon.  I am once again equipped with the familiar armor and spear. Trotting along I hear nothing but silence. It is so silent I can hear the snowflakes fall upon their snowy beds. I get to the field where I once battled the creature, yet nothing remains. There is nothing, no one. No other sound.  I remain there for a bit, disappointed.  The creature is long gone.  I awake.

After much deliberation, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Frost Dragon and I were always the same person. I was battling myself, seeking to learn about myself and attempting to protect loved ones in a desperate whirlwind of a dream sequence – a sequence that will go down as one of the most vivid and surreal events I’ve ever experienced. Cannot wait for the sequel.

Fluctuations

I tend to think that many of the events that occur during our lives are a product of the culmination of our decisions or actions- whether we make them or fail to do so. Something that happens 5 months down the line is the trickle-effect of some thought that materialized or didn't. It is an interesting concept to think that whatever I read today or whomever I speak to, will ultimately have some influence over some random event in the future. This event will somehow impact me or those close to me in some odd way.

No, not karma. Just little fluctuations in the air, in thoughts, in dreams, that somehow manifest themselves in rather strange circumstances. It's like watching a puppet show. You do not see who pulls the strings, you just know someone is pulling them.

I read a lot, yet few are the books that stay with me. Few are the ones that make such an impression that years down the line I can literally smell what the air smelled liked when I read that particular book. I remember whom I loved and whom I didn't. What I drank, perhaps some rum, or some gin. Maybe a beer. Which makes sense in the realm of things, as we cannot recall the millions of thoughts, actions or decisions made, unless these resonate. The proverbial sound and the fury.

Spent some time today reading past e-mails, and I began detailing in my head what led to those e-mails. What was the series of events that culminated in the writing of that particular e-mail. There were certainly some highlights, some moments where I clearly knew the why. Yet, not every step resonated, and as I backtracked, I lost my way. Into the great void where the majority of our decisions, actions or thoughts go. Some far off place filled with nightmarish creatures and most of my missing socks.

So is life. Fluctuations in heartbeats, in voices, in emotions, in temperament. Things resonate, others don't. Things fall apart, others remain. Convergent forces meet, embrace, fuse and ultimately coalesce into something..

I wonder why I dropped those eggs...  I wonder if they too are in the void.

Here to Show the World

A New Year can be deceiving. We strive to wash ourselves from old habits and set on a chase of outlandish conquests. We steer the ship through murky waters hoping to come out squeaky clean on the other side - wherever the other side may be. Yet, we commit the same errors, over and over. We trust too much that the turn of the year will bring fresh air, fresh ideas. But we tend to get caught up in the tendencies of human nature. Relationships stagger like drunks on a Friday night. Friends and acquaintances phase in and out like clocks that no longer can tell time.

At the beginning of 2011 I referred to the year as the Year of Embrace - a year of embracing what you feel and how to express it. And it indeed was such a year. It was a year of discoveries and introductions. A year of embracing strong heartfelt emotions.

The New Year is upon us and with it new challenges, new conquests, new terrain to tread through. What wonders shall it bring..? What will it be filled with, aside from days on the calendar? The plot will reveal itself in due time. For now, let's sit still and revel on the unknown. Let those who hide behind a mask of lies and false words simply phase out... Happy New Year's!

Holiday Wine

I don't know if it's that Christmas and New Year's are around the corner or not, but I have certainly run into the proverbial wall. Officially running on fumes at work. Luckily, I am on vacation next week, where I intend to just unwind and relax and enjoy the day as it comes. It's almost as if the body/mind are aware that the year is about to end and are gearing up for that final uphill run before passing out into rehabilitation.

It's been a heck of a year for me personally, from my daughter Miranda being born, to the fantastic family vacation to the Cape, to my folks moving back home. Personally, it has been very fulfilling. I've gotten closer to some of my older friends whom I dearly love and have made new ones in the process. At the beginning of the year I referred to 2011 as the Year of Embrace, and that it has certainly become - a year of embracing friends and family and coming to terms with internal turmoil and fears. A year of really focusing on the needs of others versus mine - finding long lost family members whom I hold very dear.

As for 2012, well, I guess I haven't thought that far off yet. I know there are upcoming vacations to places like the Caribbean and perhaps some other unexplored venue. More to come on 2012. For now, I countdown the days left before Christmas vacation; two more days and I'm home free until 1 flips into 2.

Day Within a Day

Today feels like what tomorrow will feel like; which is what yesterday felt like. There was laughter and introspective thoughts. There was an infusion of joy and nostalgia. Tomorrow brings with it emotions and aspirations for the new year. Today is filled with planning and dedication. In the end, it is all intertwined in a web of sticky glue. Many aspects of tomorrow will blend with today with a sprinkle of yesterday. It's like one of those long jazz compositions - complex in nature, yet simple to understand, if you are committed to really listening. Perhaps, that is what we fail to do, really listen. The rush of the moment inhibits us from truly listening.

Stop. Breathe. Blink a couple of times, and listen.

For All We Know..

...someone is out there, playing, praying, perhaps simply portraying themselves in lights unbeknownst to them in past adventures, during past tribulations.  Out there in the rain they play the puppet, withering away to life's fatal touch - the wound that festers and never heals.  The strings dance along like permanent rain, masking the deceit and the many triumphs we have chosen to bury, simply because we can.  Because the truth is ugly and does not cease to show its face around corners and in shadows.

Still, for all we know, it makes us better individuals, better citizens. It is liberating no matter how intoxicating. The pages of the book continue to turn as the seconds tick away and our lasting memories shift onto themselves; consolidating the present and throwing away the left-over cigarette in the ashtray of tomorrow. Sooner or later we find ourselves, there I say, we find about ourselves things we were too blind to see. Even in the mask of night and isolation, one can truly find themselves.

The ashes continue to bubble up in dark clouds, the strings moving along fast and furious - yet we still find ourselves, our center, our raison d'etre. It's a delicate art form, deadly and life-affirming. At the end of the day, the rats come out in a circle to the tune of the piper. The question becomes airy, like a whisper...what are you doing for the rest of your life...?

...someone is still out there, playing, praying, perhaps simply portraying themselves in the illusion of the inevitable dance, for all we know.

Train Station

The tracks end in a blinding flash, unexpected yet familiar. Like a distant nursery melody that reminds you of your early childhood days; the high water mark when things stood still and meant something much more profound. The familiarity of the sound compelling, the fury unparalleled. Still, we remain in constant search for something meaningful and fulfilling. The spirit, the soul, the mechanism that makes us feel and ache and at times, weep. Adrift the melancholy of the past and what could have been, it simply lingers.

December the 1st is here and with it, thoughts turn to the past. Childhood memories, of Christmas and loved ones and fun filled days of eggs sunny side up. Days when there was no snow, yet no snow was needed. Sad memories go by the wayside giving light to sounds of laughter and music and all of that magic that comes with this month. If one could bottle the magic that December brings and spread it throughout the year, how different life would be.

Yet here we are at the opening of the bell. The first of the month, reminding us that there's more to come in wondrous ways. Reminding us that at the end of the tracks, the flash gives way to memories and unbridled joy.

Peek Up and Read Mee

This is the abstract from a business plan / feasibility analysis from my Entrepreneurship class. I got a 100% on it, and it inspired me to perhaps pull the trigger and see if it can become a reality.

Abstract

It is staggering to think that this generation of children may not have the privilege of spending time in a bookstore or a library simply reading. What happens to children when bookstores and local libraries ultimately disappear? 

Imagine not being able to hold a book in your hand because they are no longer available.  The unavailability of physical books can have a detrimental effect in not only children but in society as a whole.  Most of us grew up having access to a local library or a bookstore where we could spend hours sifting through shelves.   Having this access allows us to develop socially and intellectually.  Neural pathways and cognitive abilities are enhanced.  According to John Dupuis, the Head of the Steacie Science and Engineering Library in York University, Toronto, ON, Canada, “the local bookstore creates all kinds of value for its community, whether it is providing community bulletin boards, putting rocking chairs in the kids section, hosting book readings, or putting benches out in front of the store. Local writers, harried parents, couples on dates, all get value from a store's existence as an inviting physical location, value separate from its existence as a transactional warehouse for books.” (Dupuis, 2009).  A bookstore’s value is existential; its mark profound in not only the social arena but in the human arena.

In the same vein that there are Chuck E’ Cheese establishments spread out throughout the country; there is a need for a similar space in the reading arena. Let’s face it; children nowadays are more interested in the next video game system versus the next great read.  It all started with Atari and Nintendo and as of recent times, the Microsoft Xbox and Sony Playstation systems.  If a child does not have one of these systems available they simply have their parents take them to Chuck E’ Cheese and spend countless hours playing arcade games.  It is in this simplistic concept that the idea of Peek Up and Read Mee is born – misspelled in purpose to make it more appealing. If kids can spend countless hours playing video games at pods like Chuck E Cheese, why not make it accessible for them to spend some time reading as well? Why not facilitate an environment for children, where they can come in and pick up a book and spend some time reading? 

Public libraries and independent bookstores are closing across the country not just because the Internet is gaining strength in the eBook space, but also because libraries are failing to advertise themselves as beacons of adventure and reading pleasure. In this space is where the idea of Peek Up and Read Mee takes shape – a place where children can come and read and actually enjoy themselves. If you think of Chuck E’ Cheese for a second and what makes them successful, it is not only due to the arcade games but also the secondary products they offer, such as the birthday party space and the pizza and sodas. They understand that if they can make games available, why not make pizza available, enticing the kids to stick around longer. Peek Up and Read Mee would provide ice cream and music – a lively and inviting place to read and peruse shelves and get lost in the adventure of the imagination.