Morning Open Thread is a daily, copyrighted post from a host of editors and guest writers. We support our community, invite and share ideas, and encourage thoughtful, respectful dialogue in an open forum.
I’ve come to think of this post as one where you come for the music and stay for the conversation—so feel free to drop a note. The diarist gets to sleep in if she so desires and can show up long after the post is published. So you know, it's a feature, not a bug.
Join us, please.
So, good morning all. I’ve been away for a while and am slowly creeping back (though it’s been a nice break, actually). Like the end of one of my youthful retreats and a vow of silence, it’s going to take me a while to find my voice and adjust my ears; please bear with me over the next few weeks while I catch up with the touch of your individual silences.
This morning, searching for where to begin, I came up blank. Because, if nothing else, I realize that not being on line doesn’t stop, or even slow, life. It clicks and clacks and steams on from station to station, pausing here and there to take on water and wood before continuing into the unknown. And there’s something heartening about realizing that~even if it’s a bit disconcerting at first. I stoke the boiler, wipe the grime from my eyes, and pull the whistle’s cord in the middle of nowhere just to hear the blast and confirm the fact that I’m alive.
My initial inclination was to fill you in on what’s been going on. But my absence, if nothing else, has schooled me in what absence really means—that background noise is just that. Instead I will do something I’ve truly never done; I’ll share my personal writing from earlier this morning. I haven’t seen my love in a couple months. And while she’s busier and more in demand than I would ever wish to be, she is that mooring in my life that tethers my wandering mind and steadies my hand. She no doubt will send a remonstrative note after reading this, but here is where I am this morning:
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Presently, I'm sitting on my patio/portico/small space. Cold, but happy. The butane heater is on and I have an actual keyboard under my fingers. I would prefer your breasts under my fingers but I'll take what I can get. In another window I have music playing; and while I'm missing you I'm doing so with an open mind and light heart—both feeding themselves on soulfully sung words and finding sustenance in knowing that you are sleeping peacefully and will wake to these words.
Your earlier note on the nature and contours of wickedness has had me thinking much of the night. My waking question, then: have you ever thought we might be here for a bigger reason, part of a journey that's more spiritual than physical in nature? Or even that the spiritual aspect might somehow be more important than the physical and temporal natures of this brief, inconsequential existence?
I sometimes dream of what I would do if I had all the money in the world. Those flights of fancy bring me to lands I've not visited for decades. Sharing with you those lonely beaches I've sat on, alone, listening to angered oceans murmuring stories of man’s insignificance. Those dreams, too, bring me to places I've never been—places that hold special meaning for you (those small unpronounceable sea-side villages of Spain, the rocks off Portugal, the back roads of Mexico)—with hopes of understanding what it is about particular geographies that flavored who you are.
But more often—realizing that I have more obligations than cash—I simply close my eyes (here, where I am) and hear the steady rhythm of your breathing, take in your smell, and loose myself in the warmth of your sleeping form. Mornings like these make me face a basic truth: no matter where I am, your being next to me opens unimagined, unexplored worlds money can’t buy.
This mixture of reverie and reality is a good thing, I think. Such fantastical places bring with them hope and satisfaction and a realization that even without riches life can be so much more than it is at the darker, mundane moments.
Please, don't read this wrong. I'm not unhappy or even sad. I'm just remembering those wildly disparate times we've had together—over these last 46 years—and realizing how much I've gotten from you. More than I deserve. More than I'm due. Certainly more than I've earned.
[I’m listening to Dusty Springfield’s “’You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me,’ just be close at hand/you don’t have to stay forever/I will understand/believe me/believe me/I can’t help but love you/but believe me/I’ll never tie you down.” And smiling.]
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If you have nothing else to be thankful for this morning, be thankful you’re not on the receiving end of one of my gamboling, disjointed letters.
Work has been busier than usual over the last few months and my son has needed some extra attention, but as we approach the holiday season I’m fairly hopeful that my life will be more manageable and predictable. That’s to say I’m happy to be back and hope to be able to contribute some to this community; though I’m beginning to recall how difficult it is to write this post on a regular basis.
;-)
As if to disprove my point almost immediately, I’ll warn you that I won’t be around long this morning as I’m scheduled to be on the road by mid-morning to meet friends in a converted cow pasture for a game of golf before we head out for a weekend of fishing. Cheers everyone and I hope you have a wonderful weekend. All said, it feels good to be back.
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Be well, be kind, and appreciate the love you have in your life.
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Grab your coffee or tea and join us, please.
What's on your mind this morning?