Hidden Gems: A Closer Look

I had a delightful opportunity to spend from Thursday evening until Friday afternoon with two good friends of mine. As is the case when most guys get together there were lots of video games involved, maybe even 10 hours of them. I used to be decent at video games, but it is now unquestionable to me that I am terrible. I spent roughly five hours as nothing more than a moving target for both of them. I don't want anyone to think that I am complaining because, despite my inadequacies, I had a great time . Besides, getting owned in video games only serves as a segue to the actual subject of my post.

In what is becoming my usual fashion I submit to you, the reader, an instance of common occurrence that taught me something profound; an instance where I took a closer look and found a hidden gem.

If you will, cast your mind upon a style of pictures, photo mosaics, you see a big picture that is made up of tiny pictures that are arranged in such a manner that they work in harmony to produce the aforementioned big picture. If one were to only glance at a photo mosaic they would see a grainy version of the larger image...nothing more. However, if one were to stop and actual look and appreciate the photo they would realize the intricacies of the smaller images. This pattern is not only applicable to photo mosaics, but every facet of life. In essence, we need stop looking only at the big picture of life and appreciate the smaller ones, for the smaller ones are where meaning is found.

I discovered this hidden gem, this smaller image, from Thursday evening to Friday afternoon. My friend's house is modest and unassuming. In fact, if you were looking at the bigger picture of the whole street you wouldn't give it a second glance. Once I took a closer look I found myself smiling inwardly. My friend and his wife just had a baby just over two months ago and the baby is absolutely precious. It is as if all the world's goodness was contained in this little baby; hope, trust, courage, and simplicity were among the virtues contained in this little one. I am sure that everyone loves their babies, but these three seemed so beautiful in their modest and unassuming house. It was almost as if I were looking at a picture of perfect contentment. In their home there was happiness, there was love, and most importantly there was appreciation for both. I am not ignorant enough to assume their lives are perfect, but what I feel perfectly comfortable assuming is they don't let problems destroy happiness.

It was a fortuitous discovery that I shall not forget. It happened not because I was expecting it, for I was only there to play video games. It happened because I took a closer look. Perhaps if people took closer looks more often they would see hidden gems; they would discover the most valuable gems are not found buried in the earth, but found in the beauty of life's smaller images.

Might I be so bold to suggest an experiment of sorts. An experiment that we go back and re-read that poem or an article we read this past week or on the way to work we look at life's smaller images instead of the big picture. I am betting that we will see so many smaller images that our life will be richer than ever before. I am positive when we go back and re-read that poem or whatever we choose to do we will find a hidden gem that will change our view of that poem or whatever we did.

Living with a Masochist

I got in touch with a darker side of myself today. I believe some would say I found a muse. I am not familiar with the rules of engagement concerning muses, but I think that mine shall be called Vammatar. She was the inspiration of this experiment in free verse poetry.

Keening begins; shadows creep; the night begins to dawn,

and I am wondering how long?

Tonight, how long before it starts?

I feel my pulse race; the sweat drips.

Every second the pain is terrible; I want it to stop

Do you get pleasure from me?

Oh, Is that why you never stop?

Never cease. Pleasure;

that comes from my pain.

Why is it? Every caress sears the channels

of my heart;

remarkable searing I wish would purge my heart of pain

return me to numb; cold; immune to all feeling.

Your wishing is vain, she says.

Please let me rest...just for a moment? No.

Learning you are relentless, never giving up, always poised to strike.

Every part of my body cries for reprieve, but you keep pressing farther

and farther you dive into my

soul; ripping and tearing as you go deeper and deeper.

Emerging scars now appear; marking me as your own.

Is that your object? Ownership.

Afford me haste; bruise me, scar me. Don't stop. For death is...

my only reprieve

I am now bonded to you forever.

Ornaments, you call them. I am Bruised and broken, scarred and scourged.

Kept in a shell of my former self.

A shell that is now belongs to you, the masochist,

you are my mind.

I love the freedom of that comes with this style of poetry. You can begin new paragraphs wherever you feel. Start them with capitals or not. Either way it is how you feel and how you want others to know. It is very liberating.

The Best Man: Lessons on Love

I played the best man at my dear friend's wedding today. I have known him virtually all of my life; we are more or less like brothers. I can't remember a time when we haven't been friends. I was honored that he chose me to be his best man, and was super excited to be a part of his wedding for I never have had that opportunity, and as a side note whenever there is an excuse to get gussied up in a tux; I am all over it.

I have been reflecting on some of our conversations that we have had over the past couple months. Two in particular have taught me much about love. The first we had on the way to be fitted for our tuxedos. While we were cruising in his car I asked him how he and his affianced were doing. He responded with generalities of their content, but then opened up a little and told of his worries and anxieties. I being the 'great' friend that I am then inquired if he had all of these concerns why on earth was he getting married. He then taught me something very powerful. He told me, "That no matter how many problems they had she still made him the happiest person in the world." He said, "Problems were going to change, but would always be around. When you find someone that you can be happy with while going through your problems...you don't let them go." That is truth. That is love.

The next conversation too place on the night before the wedding after the rehearsal dinner. We were bidding one another farewell for the evening, when he asked me to say hello for him to my now ex-girlfriend. I smiled and nodded, but he knew something was wrong. He inquired and I reluctantly told him of the events that transpired. He offered me his most heartfelt condolences, and gave me a little slap to my practical face. He said, "If you are waiting to get married until everything is right; it won't happen. Look at me, I have no job and am moving to Wisconsin after I get married. I doesn't make sense, I have no idea how it is going to work out, but I know it is what I want to do." I mulled those words over in my mind for the next hour while I drove home; pondering precepts of love, courage and faith.

Although for this wedding I am titled, "Best Man" it is the groom who is the best. Perhaps that is why he is the groom and I just the best man. Have no fear friend for though you may have thought I wasn't listening, or paying attention. You have taught. I have comprehended. I may only understand a tenth of what you said, but I got the point-the point of life, and today am doing okay.

July 18th. Just Another Day?

Is there such thing as just another day? Shouldn't all days be unique and beautiful in their own way? Why do we let most days slip into the dusty corners of our minds? Can we not find something extraordinary within the ordinary everyday. Are we too busy to lift our eyes from the grey and black streets of humdrum living to the skies, and behold the symphony of color composed by God. Can we not exalt our minds above the ugliness of mediocrity to see the simple nobility of a finch flying through the air or ponder upon a mighty oak swaying in the wind? Life is made up of seemingly ordinary days that mature into the remarkable.

In 1925, a simple book was published on a seemingly ordinary day about a man's struggle and pain. A book that told of, among other things, an evil in the world...communism. It told of a problem and how to solve it. This book began a revolution, no, it began a war that soon consumed the world. The book, Mein Kampf, and the author, Adolf Hitler. I am certain that it was an ordinary day to virtually all of the world. But, because of this one person and his book the world was torn apart; millions gave their lives to fight one man's idea, one man's book. An ordinary man that rose above the poverty of a country ravished by the aftermath of war. Adolf did not settle for any mediocrity and though what he did was a heinous atrocity; an act that the world should never have known. He did it. And just for the simple reason that he was able to revolutionize an impoverished country and make it more powerful than any other country in under two decades is awe inspiring. It all commenced on a seemingly ordinary unimpressive day.

The year is 1918, a child is born in a small village in South Africa. It happens everyday, nothing out of the ordinary. This child attended school like all others. His father died of tuberculosis when he was only nine years-old. He grew and matured and became a political activist in his country. He opposed an entire regime, an entire ideology that made the civil rights movement in America seem like a petty playground fight. He fought for what was right and true. He served twenty-seven years in prison before becoming the President of South Africa. He persevered despite all odds. This boy born on this seemingly unimportant day became the liberator of South Africa. His name is etched into the sinews of time and is synonymous with freedom and tenacity.

Are days just ordinary? No. There never has been just another day. Who knows, someone born on this day could change my life forever. Perhaps it will be an idea that will revolutionize how I view the world; its people, its culture or its places. For most, this day will slip into the dusty corners of the world's mind. For me though, this day will always be historical because someone was born on this day, this seemingly unimportant day, who may change how I view the world. To that one someone who was born today I say Happy Birthday!

An Observation on Sleep

Isn't sleep funny? One day you can get 8 hours and be just as tired as when you got 4 hours. One day you can get 4 hours and it feels like a bulldozer drove across your head. Sleep is fickle. We are fickle as people. Perhaps feeling tired in the morning has less to do with the amount of sleep you get and more to do with the reason you have to wake up in the morning.

The Y Chromosome: My Patriarchal Inheritance

The Y chromosome is a small, but powerful piece of my dad that, love it or hate it, I get all to myself. Besides the obvious characteristics that I inherited from my father (stunningly good looks); I believe the Y chromosome contains more. I believe on a general level the Y chromosome could be labeled as the destruction gene. I have a nephew who illustrates this perfectly. He was playing cars one day and asked his mom if she would play with him. She graciously consented and started driving the little cars around the living room floor. When much to her surprise my nephew told her, "Mom you are doing it wrong. You have to crash the cars." My sister asked, "Did your dad teach you to play like that." My nephew, "No one taught me it. It is just how you play." A simple example maybe, but one that is almost universal in nature. Practically every boy who has a toy, no matter what it is, tries to either beat it up or beat up the other toys.

Another example is the media and what are often called "man shows". My family was watching Transformers one day and I was sitting on my couch with a girl. She leaned over to me and said, "This is such a guy show." Now I must admit that men have a certain stereotype of being somewhat oblivious, which may or not be entirely accurate. But I never realized that the movie was such a guy show. I got to thinking about it and truly the movie epitomizes what men love; big explosions, attractive women, and non-stop action. It may sound shallow, but for the vast majority of men it is truth. There are countless shows dedicated entirely to those three 'man ideas'. Did I hear anyone say James Bond? Or was it Fast and Furious? Men love these shows because they entertain us at the very core of our being.

It is also thanks to the Y chromosome that men have dreams of being number one, the best, the alpha-male. Now I am not pretending to say we all view 'The Best' exactly the same. For some the alpha-male is in sports, others in business; some want to be the funniest, others the most beautiful. And others more subtle desire to be the wisest, most compassionate, or most creative. It doesn't matter the bailiwick, we want to be without comparison. The alpha-male doesn't come without a price and some call it arrogance or brazenness, and others simply smile and say, "You are just being a guy." And even though females make joke and laugh at us and our prideful games where we try and establish dominance; the truth is that is what attracts them to us.

So sure maybe some of us aren't the most sensitive or caring. Some of us don't care about fashion. Some of us can't decipher a message in an abstract poem even though the key is right in front of our face. Some of us have a hard time making decisions and others have a hard time letting anyone else make a decision. No matter the downsides of my patriarchal inheritance I am glad that I inherited the Y chromosome from my father because it is the BEST!

John Henry

I absolutely love poetry. For me, poetry takes unorganized ideas, chaotic concepts and raw emotions; it refines them and produces artwork that is truly a masterpiece. Poetry is painting with words. In the art of poetry one can find everything from Michelangelo's David to Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles, Da Vinci's Last Supper to Van Gogh's Starry Night.

It is because of my belief that poetry is so brilliant that I tried to organize some of my ideas into a poem.

John Henry

John Henry is haunting me

Ever since I learned his name

I have pictured his face;

Prayed I would somehow see him in this place

I wanted nothing more than to watch him grow

to hear his first words...to see him smile...

To bandage a scraped knee.

I wanted it to be me.

I would look into her eyes;

Tell her it would all work out

She would tell me her fears.

I would dry up all her tears.

He was to be the first in our family

A little boy all our own,

to raise, to love, to cherish.

The thought of him will never perish.

John Henry is only a memory,

wishful thinking...just a dream.

A dream that is haunting me

because I still wish it could be.