Sending Love From Outside the Weather Machine

"The media is like the weather, only it's man made." -Mickey Knox

For the past 10 years I've had the hobby of—oops—not paying the cable bill.  It can be for many reasons ranging from: people not answering me after I've asked them several times what they want for dinner, only to later complain about dinner; to the recent tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, that had America riveted to our tears.  After that I just didn't feel like paying the bill.  Sure I'd miss the next season of Bob's Burgers but, I wouldn't be tuned in to America's latest tragedy.

And anyways, it's mostly garbage, we all know it, but still insist to ourselves that it's a life line, and merely changing the channel doesn't change anything.

Now, let's just say after enduring the last presidential election, my facebook is not very "newsy", so when there's no TV, it only takes me about a week to come to the realization that I don't know a shred of headline news.  Maybe not for some, but I find it a liberating moment.

It's been a little over a week since the last remaining free channel subscription ran out, and little did I know at my latest moment of liberation, that a young boy from Alabama was abducted from his school bus, and the bus driver was shot dead while trying to save little boys and girls.  In fact, I only learned of his capture tonight, after he'd been rescued four days later from his capture, who was killed.  Now I can honestly tell you without meeting him, that I would just love that little boy.  But I can honestly tell you, I'm glad I didn't see it on the news, even though I can not cry with his family, nor can I listen to the praising eulogies spoken by the loved ones of that heroic bus driver.

It doesn't make me a bad person.  It doesn't mean I don't care or were living under a rock.  Here in America, we make relics of everything that finds it's way into the spotlight, and so can't seem to turn away from it.  What if someone or something worthy of the spotlight makes their way in, and we aren't around to see it unfold?  Does it mean we care less about little boys and girls?  Does it mean we don't have the fortitude to face the world? It doesn't.

When we unplug from the latest headlines, we make our already amazing families better storytellers, silly monsters, and scientists; we are better listeners to our friends—people also worthy of the spotlight  We make headlines of other equally important things: something as simple as the discovery of a new freckle amidst constellations of freckles on a daughter's cheek; or something as arcane as the subtle lessons our bodies teach us daily, about blooming, aging, or dying.  We are more present for so many life lessons, that when we are too plugged in to media, we rarely seek to learn.

Blooming in the Desert

For too many years I've had the same New Years Resolution.  This year I realized my goal... for a while.  It was exhilarating to put more focus on other things for a change.  Then I gave myself a couple excuses, obvious ones at that, and went right back in to my old ways, feeling very defeated... for a while.  (The feeling of defeat is such a funny thing.  It only allows for the perpetuation of more defeat.)  But I happened by a little tidbit of advice recently, a beautiful truth that I already knew—everybody knows:  Each time you fail at something that you've given great effort to, you fail a little differently, so lea rn something new about it and move on.

Here's what I learned from my latest failure:  You can't drag everyone with you into your success, because success looks differently to us all.  If you are waiting for the world to follow you to make achieving your goal easier, you are no innovator, and may be better suited to following the rest of the crowd.  (It's just not my style, baby.)   Having a strong support system is nice and all, but I didn't realize in my call for support from others, that I was actually waiting for my world and the people in it to be more cozy—to incubate my growth.  "You see, now everyone here is doing this just like me, all the circumstances are perfect, and now I feel safer doing this!"  How many of us unconsciously tell ourselves this to win in life, and how long have I been doing it?  Because it's never going to happen!

People are all struggling with what they've resolved to do in this world, and we didn't all come in to it for the same reason.  It is unrealistic to want the ones that love you to stand with you.  Even if what is best for you, is best for them.  After all, one of the drawbacks of being human is, we can often only be determined on one thing at a time.

I'm opting out of a New Years Resolution this year.  It's better if I'm resolute every today I'm in, whether I left yesterday defeated or not.  There is no option anymore to start tomorrow.  If I am to truly succeed and leave the day undefeated, then I will cut failure off at the pass, and begin again each today, each right now, that I deviate from my intentions, and above all, learn to bloom in the desert.

Bless you all in your unique vision of success in the coming year.

Of all the ways we choose to get around, thought is the shuttle unseen.

The Tale of Oberon Davy

Oberon Davy, artisan watchmaker, told himself he'd only wait another five minutes for the old man. But, when he looked up again from his wristwatch, he saw him strolling down Acheron St., approaching the park bench, his gaze fixed upon the stars.

"Oberon Davy," surmised the old man.

"That's right, and you are--" Oberon offered him a handshake.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." The old man looked down at Oberon's offered hand. "I'm afraid I don't have much time." He sat down on the park bench beside him. "Shame about your plight, Mr. Davy. A man, young as you are, given such a short time on earth."

"Guess word travels fast. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well, Mr. Davy, it's just when you think you've got the whole world planned, you learn life has plans of it's own; it's as if there are no guarantees," the old man mused.



"Everyone dies." Oberon peered up at the stars.

"Exactly why I tracked you down, Mr. Davy. When it's your time to go, it's your time to go." He leaned in to Oberon's ear. "But, what if you could borrow just a little more time from someone who has all the time in the world?" He pulled from his pocket a Nuremberg Egg made of opal, ticking with gears, and tied to a simple piece of twine. He lifted the twine between his thumb and his forefinger, he squinted at the pocket watch with one eye as it softly ticked from side to side. A curious whirring echoed down the empty street, and everything seemed to come alive. It ceased when the timepiece finally came to a rest, square with the moon. Oberon was taken in by the Egg. He'd seen old pocket watch's like it before, but none had ever seen one encased in opal, the fire of it shimmering with every star. The old man muttered, "Of all things, it will not be destroyed."

"Time?" Oberon marveled at the impossible artifact that with abandon hung from the twine.

"Well there's that." The old man began to swing the curio from side to side. The curious whirring resumed down the street, and the old man continued "I meant the watch, actually." He turned to Oberon and smiled, "Nor can it be thrown or given away. It can only be sold, and sold for a most reasonable price. I am prepared to relinquish it to you, Mr. Davy, for this most reasonable price. Though I assure you it is in fact priceless," he rasped, "It can be taken on faith alone that whoever should purchase it will not perish for as long as they possess it."

"I've never seen such a thing." He transfixed upon the watch, the irregular beat of it transfixed upon his heart. Surely the old man was delusional in his tall tale, but was indeed correct in valuing the watch as priceless. "How much to take it off your hands?" Oberon inquired.


"Well in there lies the responsibility, Mr. Davy. All I ask is that you keep the watch in tip top condition, and when the time comes you must find the next recipient, a watchmaker like yourself, and ask no more for it than what you have paid."

Oberon, perplexed, peered deep into bottomless sockets of the old man's eyes, their tell all color; the canyon lines paved into the furrowed chasms of his face; every pock mark, every scar faded into the next. He was ancient, and Oberon was almost drawn into the old man's tale. "You say it can not be destroyed?"

"Will not, Mr. Davy."

For a moment, Oberon felt guilt for entertaining the old man's folly, and the possibility of obtaining the pocket watch for such a pipe dream price. But the moment faded into the opal gleam in Oberon's eye.

"Fair enough." Oberon said, and in spite of his good sense found himself suddenly taking the terms of this transaction quite seriously.

"Well then, Mr. Davy, you wont be disappointed." Then, by the end of the string, the old man flung the egg immeasurably into the air. Before it could disappear into a thicket of stars, Oberon heard a crack, and the egg came quickly down. By the end of the string, between his forefinger and thumb, Oberon caught it, and looking up from his newly acquired treasure, he saw the old man walking away, his gaze again fixed upon the stars.

Oberon, himself, looked to the sky. To his horror, the sky had begun to hatch in many directions, the surface of the night chipped away, revealing a bright abyss that devoured the surrounding stars. Through the cracks the bright abyss ran like candent water, streaking down the night above. Oberon looked up Acheron street, and saw the old man, who persevering in his midnight stroll, was being drawn back by the void. Oberon remained unaffected. Tree limbs snapped upward as they were stripped of their leaves. Surrounding foliage, trash cans, and shingles from the rooftops were sucked up all around him in a whirlwind, further feeding the ever increasing abyss. Large fragments of the night shattered into the street. Shards of pavement tore from the earth and from under Oberon's feet, followed into the void by shards of buildings. He was awestruck, but remained untouched. He looked back up Acheron St. The old man turned and winked just before he too flew into the engulfing void. The earth crumbled as the sky and earth drained into a vacuous white singularity.

All that remained was Oberon in the white hot abyss, with an Opal Egg that too, began to hatch. From it, the universe unfolded, and thus was rebuilt. Thus, Oberon Davy, till his time was up, kept time very well.

My Regards to J.

I try to think of you more often than before, after learning my biggest fear for you has come true.

You traded in your lofty future for a lowly consequence, and all for the prospect of one night of fun; it now cowers in the very real shadows of the life you took away. I think of you more often, in hopes to tip the balance toward people who see you for who you really are rather than for what you've done.

Goodnight, sweet J. Thanks for the kisses and the dances. I hope my thoughts throughout these years have reached your prison, and have somehow kept you warm.