Darkness

I know too well the darkness that I see and feel

I know the comfort that it brings to me

The isolation, the loneliness that seals me away

Yet I long for the sunshine, its brilliance and warmth

Its energy that I lack.

Dare I step from the shadows into the light?

So many things to be done along that path

Can I, do I have the strength to see them done

Would someone reach out, no, it is mine

My track to take, my footprints to make

Put the darkness behind me one last time

Deep inside I sense it will be a fruitless attempt

I know the light dies and darkness returns

I will begin again to struggle to wrench myself from its cloak

Again and again and again

But I will rise against it time after time

If only to see the light in the distance and dream of its embrace

To imagine the passion it holds for my being and soul

Tomorrow, tomorrow is my day, my chance

For now I will lay in the darkness hoping for that tomorrow…

Late August

“Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar… Man the sum of his climactic experiences… the sum of what you have… carried tediously to an unvarying nil… stalemate of dust and desire.” from The sound and Fury by William Faulkner…

Interesting that I should remember that passage just now as the darkness of an August night at home brings with it thoughts and memories in a melancholic mist filling my head. Not far off will be the celebration of another year of my existence, one I hope to keep limited to a few glasses of Irish whiskey, a playlist of decades old ballads and perhaps a fine slab of burnt beef. In the past year the days have seemed to grow longer and more tiresome with fewer shining lights and more oppressive clouds obscuring and dulling the brilliance that was promised with the rising sun. I suppose that’s the price one pays for choices made and paths taken… seemingly to have resulted in the dust and desire instead of something much more rewarding...

Christmas Day

Brilliant sunshine lit the morning, filtering in through the bedroom windows, slipping between the curtains to announce the beginning of the day. Rolling out from under the covers with some trepidation I could smell the fresh pot of coffee waiting on the kitchen counter. With the cat squinting at me from the folds of the comforter, I threw on a robe and slippers. Wiping away the veil of sleep and the results of too many glasses of wine I shuffled my way to my favorite cup.  A sip of warm acrid coffee brought on a change in the senseless stupor and the realization that it was Christmas morning. 

A quick glance around the living room brought on the assurance that my fantasy of having a surprise visit from St. Nicholas was just that – a fantasy. Hmmm hope against hope… Sitting down for a few minutes I was joined by the cat, weaving her way between my feet. Reaching to her stocking hung precariously on the wall I pulled out a newer version of her favorite toy. Tossing it across the floor in hopes of sending her bounding after it I was met with a most catlike glare and indifference.  She sauntered over to the sparkling blob, gave it a sniff or two and then headed for the back door. Dutifully following her I opened the door for her regular morning trek – shortened the last few days by the snowfall.

The ground goodness was beginning to work its magic, helped by a hot shower. Dressed comfortably in a pair of well worn jeans and my beloved pullover sweater I sat down on the couch again. Another slower surveillance of the room confirmed I was here alone, alone on Christmas day. Sitting back I closed my eyes in an effort to rationalize my way out of despair. I don’t have anyone close to share the holiday with, mostly because of my own short comings.  But then I began to recall some of the things I’d experienced last evening, Christmas Eve. I had put on a playlist that included a number of my Dad’s favorite carols – most in Italian and lay back on the same couch with a glass of wine. Christmas candles flickered in the darkened room and as I drifted away images and sounds and aromas of Christmases past filled my mind. I began to remember some of the most vibrant Christmas eves - we would sit around the living room and Dad would play his favorite Christmas music… we’d listen to all the popular artists until it was time for bed. Once we were tucked away waiting for the sugar plums he and mom would put on Mario Lanza, Caruso or Toscanini singing carols in Italian. I can still hear the foreign words being sung to familiar tunes as I drifted off to sleep. Even after we all grew up and left the house to return on holidays, every Christmas morning I remember there would be the well worn record sleeves of Italian Christmas carols stacked neatly near the stereo. In an effort to recreate that feeling I sat quietly in the darkened living room, lit by only the tree lights and a few candles listening to some of some of the same songs. There is a certain beauty and emotion that those songs seem to have that the English version doesn’t always have.

Immersed in the sounds I discovered that I was not really here alone, after all this IS the house I grew up in. Memories sprang from the shadows of the room of Christmases we enjoyed together years ago. Melting into that were remembrances of other places, other people, other Christmases. Lying out on the top of a sandbag bunker in 80degree weather with a group of buddies, then leaving them behind a year later to land in a snow storm at the old Stapleton airport; sharing part of the day serving food to a group of senior citizens, most not much older than me. A kaleidoscope of images filtered their way in and out of mind.

No, not really alone! Shaking it off I moved over in front of the pc, gave the space bar a push to bring it to life. After reviewing the news – nothing earth shattering or worthwhile, I gave FB a click… no, not really alone. Spent some time on the phone with old friends from Viet Nam and high school, a few emails too - no, not really alone. From my post on FB, “I hope that the day has brought you special moments that will become memories that you will covet for years to come.”  Covet your memories, they may turn out to be all you have for a time, but do not let them become your future.  

Hide it with a Smile

            

Some days aren’t the best days; some days are close to the worst

Some days are brilliant and shining, with accomplishments and satisfaction

Most days are grey and gloomy, with little to show for your efforts

Some days the smile comes naturally, filling you with happiness and laughter

Most days the smile is a costume, a mask to hide behind

I don’t want to talk about it; I don’t want to think about it

Leave me alone, don’t ask, I don’t want to, I can’t tell you… how I feel

How do I, what do I, why should I … maybe if I hide it with a smile?

No one would know, no one will realize, no one but me

See my smiling face? Hear my bright hello? Everything is great, everything is wonderful!

Please don’t look beyond, don’t read between the lines

I am hurting deep inside, I don’t have the answers, I don’t have the cure

Hide behind the smile, don’t reach out, don’t ask

Don’t let them know how frail, how weak you really are

Let them think all is well, show them the façade you’ve worked so hard to create

Suffer inside because of it, you’ll get by somehow, you always have

But what happens when a smile is not enough? When there’s no one to reach out to?

When no one understands because you’ve hidden it with a smile

How can it end? How can you stop? How can you survive?

Should you? Should you hide it with a smile?

Is there someone who would understand? Can you find them? Soon?

Or should you let it die, should you stop, give in to yourself?

Or just hide it with a smile for - another day?