On A Night Long Ago

Recently I came across this poem, buried for over a decade. Amused in an embarrassed mind, regarding the solid colours of my then emotions, but also cherishing those unplanned moments when passion blinded judgement, and pen made permanent my fears. I do remember.

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My slightly open window pouring out
Into the void, black night of summer air,
And all my thoughts are her.
The darkness speaking silence.
But all my youthful being begs for answers,
Just to know
     Will she be safe, all those years
     The fear of dark felt harm on her seizes my chest
     Will she find something that she'll smile at
     Her eyes are not meant for stinging tears
     But laughter, dancing brightness, child's joy
     Will she have that
     Will she hurt
     Will she grow hard to eat that hurting stone
     Will she be driven deep into the cave of isolation
     Will she feel alone
Tell me no, tell me never
Tell me that crazy world where she is headed will not poison her,
  Will not stab or scar her, will not do her harm
Tell me she will be fine
  And that she'll grow in all the ways she seeks
  Some ways I may not understand, but she so much desires
Tell me she will always feel my love for her
  And that its endless threads will wrap her warm at night
Tell me, night, that hence you will look after her
Tell me, oh please tell me, she'll come back to me,
  And that somehow some distant night like this,
  She will rest,
  We will rest, in each other's arms again,
  Safe together from the chilling world beyond the window.
Tell me.
But this silence,
Only silence.

Open Those Eyes

Always bouncing back and forth between perspective and focus.

I'm lured into focussing on recent events. But I fear losing perspective. But then, doesn't perspective just make everything seem less important?

An Hour's Difference

I've recently been reminded, if you change the time at which you head out to work in the morning by just one hour, the city, the world is entirely different. Quiet streets are bustling. Dark is light. Cool is hot. People look different, dress different, move different. Everyday the trek to work, the brief glimpse outside of home and destination is just a snapshot of the world. That snapshot colours my entire belief about where I live. And it can so easily be changed.

Unchained

The weekend before last, I finished my last call shift for the next two years and the last in-hospital overnight call for life, potentially. Being on call is something we expect to get used to. Five years of arranging every aspect of one's life around a minimally flexible call schedule is enough to orient one's attitude to living life that way. And while many in this profession will continue to do so, I am treated to a two year escape from it. A return to life amongst the people around me. To remember how to manage the responsibility of being the one deciding how I will use my time. To learn how to be a person to the people I care about. Every family reunion skipped, every friend in distress neglected, each wedding invitation declined, each acquaintanceship allowed to wither is because I decide it so, no longer simply because the hospital beckons and pulls on the chain around my neck. In this moment of rapid transition, I'm caught with the fear that it was never the hospital or the chain at all, but only my own nature that has kept me apart. Goal: show myself that to not be true. For years now, feeling useless to care outside the hospital walls, but now... this chance to balance, to care for those within the walls who need it, and to care for those outside the walls who have long cared about me. Seize it, take it and run. Dwell no longer on the past and those who cannot forgive me for it. Cherishing those hearts and joys that have endured through, and opening my own eyes to more to come.

Old And New

I am just a little mystified by the comparison between old friends and new. And the last few weeks have highlighted the contest. There is such a comfort in falling into the company of those people who know you, have known you, seem like they will always know know. There's not the slightest urge to impress them, you know you never could by now. Their impressions of you have already grown such long roots, another single day's gusts will not topple them nor lift them skyward. There's comfort in discovering reciprocated motionless affection can persist the decade, though the persons themselves may be distant at times, closer at times. The dynamic between any people is transient, but gratitude and the acknowledgement that significance once occurred can be permanent. An unexpected phone call from the east coast. A lingering chat under the rain creeping in. A meet-up after half a year without face time. And I'm reminded of my own good fortune.

But the new face. The vanity that goes along with it, curious what the other sees when looking in our direction. Which is funny. A new audience today doesn't suddenly make me anything different than I was yesterday. So why do we wonder? Maybe because it actually does change us. Maybe, because we identify ourselves partly by how we relate to our world, when a new face arrives and is allowed to enter, it changes our world just enough for us to re-evaluate ourselves. I've often felt before - the difference between knowing someone and not knowing is a universe. Plainly, today I know someone I didn't know yesterday. And as a result life is different today than it was yesterday.

The mysterious woman who sat down across from me at Starbucks, with whom I ended up discussing career, dreams, family, love, and hope. A complete stranger and in the span of a few hours a friend. Never to meet again. But never the same from the encounter.

The manically forward custodian who leapt in front of me, only to start whistling classical masterpieces to me. He confessed to being a championship whistler in Europe. Detained here in Vancouver only a few more months before being reunited with his family. He really was an excellent whistler. Passionately preaching to me the importance of doing what I love, being who I am, and embracing people. He made me late for my meeting, but I could only interpret him as a godsend. He lifted me.

Open Eyes

And a day spent in the sun, walking the city. Thankful for the sun. Thankful for the infinite sky. For coffee art. For public art, both appealing or not. For digitized marine life. For the power of a new face to teach me something new about all of it, and about myself. For unknowingly helping me realize I'm opening my eyes again, looking, thinking, and wanting to do something with it. And with the nostalgic feel of depressing the shutter button, the sharp snap of the shutters, knowing it's time to pick up my camera off the shelf again.

Photo taken courtesy of a Canon Rebel, not my usual. My trusted friend, my old Nikon, isn't it time we got together again?

Reaffirm

There isn't a photo to accompany this entry.

It's been exactly 10 months since my last post. As time goes on, I seem to have less to say. Or maybe life has been good, and my mind has been content. So there's been no need to question the existence of the universe on blogspot.

The Olympics are upon Vancouver, and downtown is a non-stop party zone. In particular, I notice more street performers, roads exclusively for pedestrians, and longer line ups for everything. The line up for Japadog on Burrard and Smithe is nearly a whole block long. It's fun. Festive. Cities, crowds, and parties have a way of altering our calibration of worth. How else could people be convinced to stand in line for 40 minutes for a hotdog.

And I like this. I am touched by life when something, anything, means so much.

It was a little over 10 years ago I decidedly left behind a music career. And though, despite all my whining, I do not regret my last decade of choices and actions, it grows more and more apparent with each nightfall that I cannot leave behind that part of me. If I ever had any skill with a musical instrument, it's long left me. I'll sing to myself in the alley. If I lose my voice, I will still stamp my hands and feet. Take that away, and I'll still hear the world in my head. I don't know how to feel alive otherwise.

So let me promise myself... that I will not let myself lose touch again.