Teaching...

Today is day TWO of adventures in homeschooling. We have made some progress and today will offer a full agenda of school work for my 10th grader. My challenge is to be relevant and help my son keep his attention centered on the work at hand.

If there would be anything I would like my son to achieve it would be... to take charge of his destiny. Everything else would be icing on the cake.

December Travels...

I never know where the road may lead in a week's time. Last week is different from this week. Last week I merely repaired machines and this week not only do I repair machines but I've become a teacher.

Circumstances often necessitate change. Change often creates circumstances. It's a chicken and egg kind of relationship. This can often leave me wondering, How on earth did I get here? It's like this photo. How did they ever get those crosses on that little island? I know they used a boat end of story. Those crosses mean something. Some one started the practice of putting three crosses in deserted fields and hill sides and thought to include this little island. I have a fondness for the significance. I know these are representative of the three crosses on Golgotha. It's a reminder to all that something extremely significant happened and we should reflect on our eternal place beyond this universe. I think about how my reflection would look from the vantage point of the crosses. I worked hard to capture the right light and compose the shot. I know the creator composed all of it, I merely record it with my crude instruments. Even so, I know I'm observed even if I'm some small imperceptible dot in the forgotten regions of my galaxy. How did I get here? I drove my car here. But even that act was predicated on other events. I just need to understand that, I'm always... here. Here ... constantly changes and so do I. Therefore I will reflect the ever changing scenery of my surroundings and of my heart.

Where will I end up next week? Here, but it will be different than this week.

The Anchor

There are plenty of distractions in life that could cut me loose from my moorings and set me adrift in the sea of a stormy life. There is a wonderful relationship between that which is fluid and that which is static and solid. I've come to learn that even the foundations of the earth can be shaken and if viewed in time lapse photography can be seen to move quite easily. The static can impede the fluid and the fluid can erode the static.

I have to ask that question in my heart. What moorings are gradually moving? Are the underpinnings of what brings meaning to life still there or have they become unhinged? What does it mean to all that I have known when a new discovery results in negating the truth of an unquestionable past experience?

It's similar to "knowing" that the earth is flat and then discovering that it isn't. In order to understand the far reaching ramifications of the new understanding one must accept the idea that understanding grows over time. The problem is that we humans tend to cling or desire to cling to things that don't change. We long to live in a world that has order and when that order is disrupted we find ourselves falling down the psychological hierarchy of met needs.

Finding Focus

I find it more difficult to do one thing as I age. That is to focus. I'm wearing trifocals. You may be familiar with the kind that have no lines and provide a gradual shifting of focus. I keep my neck busy as I am constantly adjusting my gaze up and down. Huh, now that I think about it, that could be the reason for my headaches!

The marvelous moment occurs when I can establish the focus. It's like everything else fades away and I can allow the focus to draw me in. There are certain tricks to find focus. Everybody has their own method. For the visual, I usually allow a camera to remain on auto focus. That is until I find I can't get the camera to focus on my subject. Then I use manual focus and wait till I see the funny little red flashy thing telling me it's in focus.

If the focus I'm attempting to achieve is about writing, I often find myself pacing throughout the house. I gaze out windows and then I return to my seat. Strangely enough things come into focus in my mind and words begin to flow. Some days the amount of writing focus is proportional to the amount coffee in the pot.

Emptiness...

There is emptiness in space. The volume inside this glass is filled with the atmosphere. Travel a few hundred miles up and nothingness would fill the glass.

What happens when this condition exists in the human heart? Has the person died in such a condition?

It is a metaphorical question. It concerns the seat of emotion when the universe implodes and reality is shattered into a million unrecognizable bits never to be reassembled.

I always say, "Live and let live." Not all would agree. Apparently they believe death is necessary in order for life to proceed. So be it. Before a glass can be filled it must be emptied.

Allowing Peace to Prevail

The chatter and clatter of the world can be overwhelming to a tired mind. At least that is how I feel now and then. So I seek moments of retreat to allow my soul to draw energy from simple things like a sunrise. The natural pounding of the surf beats the tension of my heart into submissive bliss. The yin and yang nature of course and soft sand beneath my bare feet helps to melt the coldness of an artificial world.

Just watching the unbroken surface of the ocean is a calming experience. Then to see a dolphin break into the air and others to follow stirs my imagination of other worlds. We are all part of the same world, yet we live in totally different environments.

Often times I'll venture out into the salt water and float for hours allowing the ebb and flow to move me. It reminds me of the relationship between large bodies of the earth, the moon and the sun. Wave after wave oscillate as the most natural metronome I know. There is no synchronization here. Rather, it is a simple transfer of energy. I release tension and my body heat in exchange for peace. The ocean gives if freely and generously. It is vast and infinitesimal all at the same time.

It is here that I remember just how small I really am in comparison to the scheme of the entire universe. I'm merely the speck of a sand upon the thousands of coastlines of the earth. Even so I have a voice, am sentient, and connected in so many ways to all of it.

Currently there are 6.94 billion of us on the planet and a few in space. How marvelous to know that I am not alone. As the population continues to increase it may be more difficult to find these moments of quiet.

We share the same air, same planet and have a need for this quiet. We need peace to prevail. Can you hear the ocean? Can you see the dolphins? Can you hear the seagulls? Can you feel the sand? Can you feel and smell the breeze? I can. I have peace.

...I draw energy from that.

The Writer's Bridge

Every year about mid October they shut down this bridge so people can jump off. I don't think they let them jump off without a parachute! Thankfully, that's a springboard for another story to be written by someone who makes a practice of jumping off perfectly good bridges.

I have to cross this bridge many times in the course of a year. I've become a huge fan of this bridge. It helps me span the gaps of reason in my mind to build on imagination. For years people had to meander down a treacherous winding single lane road to the New River far below. They would then cross a rickety old style bridge and wind their way back up the far steep mountainside to get to where they were going.

Now, taking either pathway makes for great writing. There are adventures the old way and thrills driving across the new bridge. The bridge was completed back in the 1970's. It's birth had to happen in some one's imagination and be sold as a solid idea that could be achieved to government officials and tax payers. Once the money was earmarked companies had to be informed, bids received and the workers hired to do the job. It took a lot of work and community cooperation to build this tallest bridge in the Northern Hemisphere.

People drive across the bridge every day. Except for the feeling or fear of falling they don't give the bridge a second thought. That's the job of the writer. Their job is to build structures to help bridge the fiction gap so people don't have to experience building the bridge themselves. If they have to do the work, they would rather take the old scenic route and escape the labor. Of course if you are writing about building a bridge then yes, put the passenger in the construction worker boots complete with hard hat, shovel, bull dozier, welding hood and whatever other tools you may need to assemble this complex yet elegant bridge. Then as they drive across and see the other bridge crossers they can move with pride of achievement.

Sometimes I stand at the precipice of writing. Everything seems well constructed and then I find a huge impasse, a gap that needs crossing and I find it's time to build a bridge. At that moment I have to make a decision. Do I take the road less traveled? Or do I jump the gap with super human ability, or do I build an elegant bridge? Or, do I hollar "Geronimooooooo" and dive into the canyon below? Don't rush me, I'm thinking.