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Beams and Talons

[an abstract piece describing my experience of recently becoming someone with low vision blindness]

This throbbing within my head is pounding; enough to the extent of which I can relate to every beam of some safe structure that has been riveted in such a fashion where so many other facets and arms of support have just been pressed and anchored upon it to uphold their own strength.

Even in the quiet still, the echoes of the drilling and the sounds akin to crepitus continue to ripple as the fibres ache from breaks and cracking under the spinning of bits and pressures of affixation. This beam is now attempting to settle calmly despite the restricted ability to adjust to the drops in temperature that surrounds it; changes of which seem arbitrary and are outside of its control.

barn-beams-2Under all this, and as are the beams of safe structures, I am somehow to remain as the bearer of immeasurable weight. As I am grateful and understanding of this cause, the sounds of joy from those who find comfort beneath my outstretched purpose are piercing as they are wound. The smiles from the surety of the resulted proper efforts are a new exchange of trust as I’m now only to believe they’re there through assumption and contextual implication.

The sight of them are beyond my scope. What lies unspoken remains unheard in ways I dread to be forced to acknowledge; a means by which exists through causes I cannot control.

The warmth they intend to give is known to me, however, it’s cold up here. It’s unsettling, yet I am to remain calm in all this lest they realise I’m now needing the anchoring of their support in ways I have not understood how to communicate down the wire. I remain steadfast, constant, unmovable; perhaps to a fault.

The distances from the sounds within this safe structure resonate with currents of energy that surge upward; enough to illuminate a vision of distraction as everything worth reaching for are, in that moment, closer than they appear. Perhaps I’m just attempting to convince myself of this closeness of distance.

owl-sleep-snowHowever, I am certain that my eyes feel as though they are where a comfortable owl’s talons have securely found his perch on what has been identified as a most sturdy beam. Unbeknownst to this owl deep into slumber, the restfulness of his posture is his alone as is the timing of when he’ll decide to take his leave.

Thus, in hesitation, the pit in my stomach is quietly preparing for a stir of which has a likelihood of growth; the uneasiness only enough to be ahead of itself so it may have sooner departure due to already being on it’s way out from a worn welcome. Yet this same stirring is restricted in such a way that I’d remain capable of exchanging such anticipation for the lightness of which can only come from a countering pleasant surprise.

I am still hopeful that surprise will be more than pleasant as such will be the sight of three perfectly arranged freckles on the nose of the most beautiful countenance created as she’s gracing me with the privilege of being the cause of her smile.

I pray mine own riveting causes not similar discomfort as she has been so kind, so selfless, as to take upon herself the weight of my beam.

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2016 in Purpose

 

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Writing Solo, with Help

journalI’ve always had this sense that my writing is uninteresting or horribly composed. I’m not sure which is worse–except maybe both. So when I write, it’s more of my own journaling, internal monologues, poetry, observations, and quickly articulated musings after the moment. I also write letters to those who have passed away and pen pals living in crowded isolation. Often, I write letters I’ll never send as a form of emotional release, regardless of the type or magnitude of my feelings; experiences I’m unable to verbalise just flow into tangibility.

When I do share them with people, that too has been a consistently good experience. Those who harbour negativity will continue to do so, but sometimes they’re inflamed for some reason that I’ll never know. People who don’t know me have been kind in their commentary. Those who love and care about me give me advice or ask questions, wondering what the ‘real’ inspiration was and why. They always know there’s something more below the surface.

So, why the hesitation? There’s no lack of material. No lack of positive potential. But, when it comes to blogging or any other material for an undefined audience, I stop short of the publication line. That is, until someone else gives me a good shove, and *presto* it is done. Someone close with me would edit and format my work, which also ensured that that particular head dump would be turned into a properly published swan. Not only did she write more eloquently than I ever could, she usually knew what I was attempting to convey without needing to ask me anything.

When she passed away, I didn’t know what, if anything, I’d be doing with this blog; especially since I don’t post that often. I’ve heard a lot of blah blah about ‘she would have wanted you to continue’, ‘but you do so well anyway’, and similar yada yada, which I feel is unnecessary and inappropriate.

Bereavement is such a layered complexity. There are many concepts to consider. What part of the journey still remains? Which trails were lost in the emotional storm, and which course will take me in the right direction? These, and other questions arise with such intense concurrency that it’s impossible to differentiate between each train of thought. Ironically, the most necessary component required to even have a chance of making sense of death is time.

So, now I’m back to clearing up a point of hesitation. Making a leap is not something unknown to me. Leaps have all had their many forms. Before I was old enough to learn how to hold a pen, I moved from everything I knew into the house of two strangers I knew nothing about. Very peculiar to call this concept “adoption” since there was no real acceptance. Other leaps have been in quieter acts such as a held hand during another’s last breath, acclimating to new languages, unexpectedly packed duffel bags, a kick off of a high dive… Which leads me to believe that I can do this, too.

PS: So much love and thanks to Star Brady for helping me through this entry as well as many others who are always rooting for me. Your love and kindness is appreciated more than I could ever articulate. Thank you.

 
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Posted by on November 3, 2016 in Purpose, Uncategorized

 

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Recognising Today

I suppose I’ll resume this blog by starting out with the same type of post as most do in their beginnings: a blog entry about future blog entries and what it all means to me, etc.

I have thought about this for a few weeks now and have decided that I’m not going to take this in any particular direction but forward. After all, the title of my blog states the intention of writing about things in my life so I’ll post about a variety of perceptions and events that are going on in my world. Some will be happy, sad, frustrating, discovering, simple, complex…such is life.

So many people have been kind and encouraging to me. Most people tell me that I should write a book, or at least have a blog or three. I don’t always find myself to be that interesting, but I am humbled by those who do. Some aspects of my life are unique, such as being a gender variant man and adopted, but most aren’t. Methinks a big part of my influential stamp on the world is how I am able to cope and see myself, and others, in a way that most would not think they would consider themselves. I hope others realise that my conversations and experiences with them intrigue me, even if they don’t think they have too much to say. I know how that feels. Maybe I should encourage them to write a blog too. 🙂

I enjoy talking with people and sharing ideas, so why not publish things to reach more people? I recently confided in a friend saying that I have written a lot in the past and journal often, but have a fear that those who have been negative, and downright hateful, would be more motivated just by my having more of an open presence.
Anne Lamott

Sure. Some would say to just not write about them, but they too have moulded how I experience things in my life so it is only fair to allow them the credit that they deserve. There have always been others who pull me through and they will always have a greater place anyway.

So today, I am going to face those fears and not be held back by the possibilities that might come from negative reactions. Today, I am recognising that by allowing to be censored is just another way to miss out on the goodness that others may have to offer. Time to make good on that.

 
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Posted by on January 28, 2013 in Purpose

 

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