Monthly Archives: October 2008

A SAFE PLACE FROM MARC COHN

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Music leads us many places. Some expected, some not. I was recently watching “House,” a well done television drama about a doctor with the people skills of a bruise and genius level diagnostic skills. The show has some superb music from time to time and I heard a song I’d never heard before called, “One Safe Place.” The show vanished and the song took me over. And soon I was in tears knowing how each of us wants – and deserves – a safe place in life.

I went to the computer to learn what album the song is on and in my research learned that Mr. Cohn was shot in the head in 2005. I also learned he is married to 20/20s Elizabeth Vargas. I wrote them a letter.

As I look at the world around me these days I see too many who know firsthand the non-bigoted blast of trauma. I see too many who think themselves immune to the trauma of life and others who are so steeped in the poison tea of arrogance they believe themselves capable of handling anything with relative ease. I see too many who make money by pretending to care about the badly wounded and less fortunate among us, when the truth is they don’t care at all. None of this surprises me anymore. It is easy to hate in response to all this, but finding a safe place in life means finding a place that is not just safe physically, but a place that is safe emotionally and spiritually safe as well. Hatred never really hurt anyone as much as it hurst the person carrying the burden of hatred. Carrying the burden of hatred guarantees no safe place in your heart and soul. This I know.

And so, while this has been a rambling piece of writing…it is sincere and honest. Don’t forget to live, remember each of you deserves a safe place in life…on all fronts. And, if you want to hear Marc Cohn sing “One Safe Place”, you can visit the link below. You deserve it. And it’s safe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORHqIBit1JQ

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STOKES FOREST JOURNAL: EXCERPT #3

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Note to reader: Some of us who live with a brain injury are sound sensitive. I am. And when I am tired, my sound sensitivity increases. This should explain the first sentence in this journal excerpt.

Sept. 29 – 10:24 p.m.

There is a cricket right by the window making so much noise I’d like to blow his fucking head off.

Midnight

I started to go to sleep and then I heard branches breaking outside and grew suspicious and frightened. Everything is okay.

It dawned on me earlier this evening that other than hotels, where I am surrounded by people, this is the first time I have spent the night completely alone (since I was shot). Always, if not people, my dogs (have been with me). It makes sense that this night would be in a place powerfully linked to my father. Once again he is helping me reach a summit. In a very real way he is giving me a present for my 55th birthday.

Sept. 30, 2008 1:05 a.m.

Having a hard time sleeping. Now there’s a surprise. It’s cool enough to start a fire now but I don’t think I will. I think there is a cricket in the cabin and if I had a shotgun I’d point it in the direction of the sound and fire away. Leave it to me to get pissed off at a cricket.

7:33 a.m.

The lake is covered by a mist and again my Dad’s “voice” helped me. I wanted to listen to Imus a bit to see what was on the news and hear some humor but of course I got on my back (thinking), Silent retreat, Peter. Silent retreat, you must go through with this. Then, my Dad saying, Pete, listen to the news. Do what you want. Listen to Imus. It’s okay.

There are beautiful sounds outside as the world continues to wake up. I am living in a fairy tale.

Oct. 1, 2008 6:55 p.m.

And so here we are, Dad. The home stretch (to my 55th birthday on October 2). In a way it is like waiting for a child to be born. He is due just past midnight. He’ll be a burly little fellow, delightfully animated, and filled with an ample supply of piss and vinegar. He’s gonna need it. We will be his guardian angels you and I. His guardian angels. I will watch out for him from here, you’ll watch out for him from there.

I love you Dad with so much of my heart you are my heart. Maybe it is this very heart that will be freedom born just past midnight. This time he will enter world a mighty heart. He will be seasoned, finely tuned, prescient, and keep of his own blood flow. We will watch him carefully as we loose him on the world. He will not have as much time as you and I had at 55 – but perhaps between us we can guard his freedom to be. If he can be the mighty heart he is, it will be redemption for the two of us. Then, finally, we can rest in peace knowing we have squared the deal.

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STOKES FOREST JOURNAL: EXCERPT #2

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Sept.29. – evening

I believe this will be a good place for me to rest. Someone I love very much introduced me to Buddhism. The idea of learning to be present in the now, be in the quiet, is both scary and delicious to me. I remember when I would go camping I would just sleep peacefully for much of the day in the woods. Sometimes on day hikes, I would (and do) lay down somewhere warm off the trail and go to sleep. Something embraces me when I am in nature.

Later

I can hear (my father’s) voice at times in my heart. My stomach got a little queasy a short while ago after taking my meds. Usually I will have a piece of bread or an English muffing, something to absorb whatever troubles my stomach. All I have here is a Danish ring I’m saving for birthday morning. But I can hear Dad saying, “Pete, have a piece. It’s okay.” And I did and I feel a little better, which is what he would want – though he would want me to feel all better.

This is a beautiful night. And I am sleeping in the lower bunk! I don’t have a fire going. It’s not cold enough. Okay by me. I’m happy just to be here.

8:07 p.m.

Damned if I don’t get WBGO (a jazz station) here. Nice jazz for the background. Not bad. Just read some of Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”. The man wrote a universe.

8:52 p.m.

My pen grows still when I think about how to write my love for my father. No words on earth can ever come close. I could say to a passerby, Look at me! Do you see? I am feeling all my love for my father. Don’t you see me glowing? You must!

Were there a just God he would let him come back to me, even if just for my time here (at Stokes). Why would that be so bad? I would promise not to tell. What is the point of death? What purpose does it serve? I suppose the answer is to make way for the new. Yes, we would run out of room eventually if no one died. But if there is an afterlife, if there is an existence beyond this one, why can’t there be communication, contact between those on both sides of the border?

Am I expected to be satisfied that my father helped me get up off the ground (after being shot) and without him in that moment, I would have died? I am not satisfied. I am deeply grateful, but I am not at all satisfied. I want to sit and talk with him. I want to hug him while he is wearing one of his flannel shirts. While I can’t describe it, I can remember his smell. His was the smell of love and safety – the scent itself cannot be expressed in words. What the hell would be the harm in giving us a little more time together? Time for us to go for a walk. I could talk to him about how things are going – and thank him for all he has done for me before and after his death. I don’t know what God’s game plan is, but I don’t like it one bit.
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STOKES FOREST JOURNAL: EXCERPT #1

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Note to the reader: I celebrated my 55th birthday this October 2 in a cabin in New Jersey’s Stokes State Forest. My father and I went there when I was a boy. I arrived on September 29. His 55th birthday was his last birthday, so it seemed fitting that I spend mine in a place where he and I shared precious time. I will put some excerpts of my journal writing here in the blog. Before I end this note to you, let me say one more thing. If you love someone, don’t forget to tell them. And, if you love someone and find yourself afraid, don’t let the fear scare you. Love them anyway.

Sept. 29 – 5:24 p.m.

In cabin 6 at Stokes.

I am arrived. The cabin is small and beautiful….As I unpacked the car I had several bursts of handclapping. I was overwhelmed with joy – and proud. As I settled in, I realized that coming to a place like this is something my mother never would have done. This tells me very clearly that there was a part of my father she was unable to know. Very likely several parts.

As any reasonable reader might guess, you can’t come on a trip like this without forgetting something. I forgot a pillow and I could care less. It is the quiet I want to encounter, the quiet I want to learn from. It’s interesting how my instinct is to run from it, drown it out if you will. But if I do that, I am, in a very real way, running from the relationship the real me has with the world as it was intended. If there is a God, I doubt very much he intended us to develop television and video games so that we might more thoroughly fulfill his hopes for us, that’s for sure.

7:27 p.m.

I am getting glimpses of what I hope for here. Moments ago, I thought of ghosts and if they were real and I hoped beyond measure that my Dad’s ghost would appear. Then, as I entered the main room from the kitchen after having these thoughts, it hit me. I am trying to bring him back. I come here to bring him back. I do not think me silly for this; I think me a son.

There are moments beyond words, beyond the reach of thought. Moments where what to do is to be. I am blessed to have made it to 55. Given the shooting, homelessness and probably more close calls than I realize and remember, I am blessed to be here in Stokes Forest with my father.
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A WORD (OF CAUTION) TO THE WISE

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Over the next day or two I will publish a piece here in the blog about my stay in Stokes State Forest in New Jersey. But before I sit down to work that out, I wanted to make a bit of an announcement. Over the past year or so I have tolerated people making some slanderous, and I mean slanderous statements about me. The toll it has taken on me personally and professionally and on my health for that matter has been huge. I have withheld my fire on the legal front for several reasons. I will mention some but not all. First, there is a friend of mine that would get caught in the crossfire and I would rather absorb the blows than do a single solitary thing to wound him. Second, I am trying to find peace and serenity in my life and so I would prefer to avoid firing legal rounds or bringing things to the media. I do not want to wound or hurt anyone.

But here’s the thing. Over the past week I was told that an individual told a blatant and dangerous lie; one that at first glance looks like it was intended to wound my friend referenced above, yet, on further inspection poses far greater risk of damaging me. Let it be known that I have had enough. My sobriety is the most precious thing in my life. I know that anything I put before my sobriety I will lose. But I am no fool when it comes to the legal front and underestimating my capacity to pull that trigger if the lying continues would be foolish.

All I want in life is to write, help as many people as I can discover that they are valuable and wonderful even if they are having a hard time seeing these truths. I have had enough of being pushed…it would be unwise for anyone to push my me and more. A word to the wise, as they say.
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