I don’t get taken in much anymore, but damned if doesn’t happen from time to time. And it hurts, deeply. Not long ago I was involved with a company whose owner for several years  gave every sign and symptom of being a real friend. He kept this behavior up until, I later realized, he didn’t need my presence to make his company money and off the cliff I went. Brutally painful. Then along comes some people who help me enormously in life, more than I could have imagine or prayed for, and in doing so they profess friendship, one even suggested I think of them as a sibling. This lasted until I told the truth about a situation they were not ready to face and subsequently I was on the receiving end of the shoot-the-messenger syndrome. Easier to shoot the messenger than deal with the message. Again, brutal pain.

Well, I am only eight days away from turning 56, the first birthday my father didn’t reach, and I am looking at and considering some major changes in life. But the heart-and-soul bruising of recent events distracts me and has me wrestling with a hefty dose of sadness, and, to be frank, an equal size dose of anger. All of the folks just mentioned didn’t have the backbone to tell me of their retreats to my face, the sent emissaries, in person, by phone, and, in one case, by e-mail. I am, by nature,  a deeply forgiving person.  Sometimes to the point of forgetting that I have a right to my anger and, by the way, it’s expression.

Years ago, and I mean many years ago, 35  probably, I just would have simply pulverized two out of the three just mentioned. While I have never been a bully in life (I was the one who would seek out and level the bully) I didn’t take shit from people and didn’t take kindly to getting fucked over by people who were supposed to be my friends.  Fortunately for my heart and soul and sobriety (not to mention the physical welfare of two of the just mentioned) those days are long gone. But let me tell you something, if you’re one of those who go around telling somebody you love them or are like a sibling to them when the truth is you’re nothing but lip service, you ought to fucking be ashamed of yourself. Your behavior? It’s pitiful.

Am I going to end this brief missive with some piece of wisdom or heartfelt peacemaking? No. I’m not. I’m hurt. And I’m angry. Maybe some other time.

I step outside and I am in heaven. The air is warm, a hint of humidity, and I am glad for it, need it, it gets into my bones, warms them, comforts them, and me. There are dreams out here and I know it. They may ride the waves of the breeze, or be hidden in the jewel like sounds of one bird singing, or in the soft-shoe-smiling sound of the crow’s caw. Either way, they are here and I am glad for them too.

I hate that it is hard for me to come out here. While this had been a battle for longer than I want to discuss, it is against my nature. My earliest memories include hours and hours in the woods. I would have gladly lived there forever like the American Indians I loved had I not know my father was part of my life, an angel in fatherhood, and thus staying away from him made it, my young mind knew, certain I would perish.

And so here I am many years later out here in the beauty of the day, surrounded by nature, my three dogs eyeing me from their pen, twinkle-eyed all, reminding myself now, in this moment, that not matter the struggles, this world is here, for me, and the peace it brings is here too, for all of us, if we dare to believe it.

It is here too that I am with my father, his arms around me, sitting next to me, giving me a hug, his laughter, the always welcome smell of his flannel shirt when I hug him, the fact he loves me always simply for being me. I love him now always my angel in fatherhood.

Swing that soft moving hip shuffle my way

Sing out the simple things in highway songs

Bring me your glisten skin in rackamuffin rhythms

And ain’t no shuck and jive when you’re getting up

*

I remember the corner boys and back room deals

And Singing Sally down the block breakin’ hearts

While Howie hot wheeled on the Belt Parkway singing

There ain’t no shuck and jive when you’re gettin’ up

*

I remember Mikey on the mic and Frankie on the wheel

In tow truck heaven and  JC’s down at the beach

Catching the biggest fish he can dream cause

There ain’t no shuck and jive when you’re getting up

*

I remember Bobby’s guitar a part of him

Followed by a booze drenched southern day

And the bullet self fired that ended him

…Ain’t no shuck and jive when you can’t get up

*

And I’m thankin’ God for Michael, Leona and Dad

For the days my legs lifted me to then and now

‘Cause when you facing life’s end you know

There ain’t no shuck and jive in getting up

*

*

Shiftin’ rhythms rockin through time

And I’m not trapped between part ways and maybes

Sweet lips ride the back of sweet tastin nights

Mean nothing ‘less your soul’s in the arms of mine

*

New days come and new days go

And I’m not thinkin about main streets and highways

‘Cause magic rides in the belly of love

Turning softly wet sliding in skin to skin embrace

*

Coffee in the morning on sunrise time

Shuffled blankets sunlight dancing on sleeping curves

I hear the soft sounds of love

A word we dream and tarnish and dream again

*

There are no words in my language that can come close to describing the wounds sustained by the hearts and souls of so many in the human family on September 11, 2001. My eyes fill with tears simply writing that sentence. The carnage inflicted on so many lives, physically, emotionally and spiritually is beyond comprehension. The fact it is beyond comprehension is a good thing, a healthy thing. Above all things, remember to live your life. Life, including death, happens to all of us whether we like it or not. We do not have control over everything and we are living a myth if we think we do. However, we do have control over our choices, and it is this truth that can make your life flourish. Follow your dreams. Why not? If not now, when?

Some of us have met the presence of death, and in some cases, our own death, up close and personal. When you are in this experience, how much money you have in the bank, the type of car you drive, whether you are tall or short, famous or not, means nothing. What is real is who you are, and so much of who you are is built on the foundation of your life experiences. If you are falling in love or listening to music that makes your spirit soar or drinking that first cup of coffee in the morning or walking on the beach or bagging a summit, the fulfillment you feel comes from the experience itself, not from anything the culture defines as some kind of status symbol. In fact, the only thing status symbols lack is status. When someone reaches the summit of Everest, they are not thinking about who made their hiking gear, they are fully in moment, just where they’re supposed to be.

Remember to live your life, not the life others tell you to live, unless it coincides with what you want and fosters your ability to be you in the world. You are allowed to be who you are. I promise. Give love to the world you live in, and while you are at it, don’t forget to love you too.

Remember to live – please.