If I could

If I could decent the darkest ocean, be in of all things there, I would welcome the deepest thoughts of obscurity beyond all that bothers me here. If I could be all but a sound amongst any morning songbird, be in all them here, I would welcome centre thoughts of Saturns rings, beyond all that likens me here. If I could circum little things, be in of all debted here, I would welcome unto being who I am. If I could fathom purpose, be in of all given here, I would welcome rewarding thoughts and grow bountifully. Against nature all comes up dry, lost of color, searchless, still and amongst inevitably all of everything. Against nature all comes up full, having of light, searching, about and amongst deserving of everything. Against nature all comes up reaching, gainful of identity, served, indelibly as everything. Against nature all comes up inadequate, said of life, sinful, without from as all things are now.

As it should have been.

Today, I am not well, I am like water in the desert, consumed and hiding, clear and shallow, but honestly weak, an angry fire without enough grass to burn. I need so much what should have been, it is all that can cure me, it is all that can make me one person with my true self, as I was before. Tonight, I want to dream, as it should have been.

In this cold place.

We have summer in this cold place and will have summer long enough, I believe this now. I live so very high up on the top floor of a building that follows the sun from window to window. I would often dream about having a travel trailer. I would follow the sun, staying just on approach of the melt. I would slow down if I saw the fall and speed up if I got caught, long in spring. I would pray for snow everyday, large, sloppy snowflakes and watch from a huge, lazy stay in front a wide grin, of course. I could fall in and out of sleep all day, my biggest struggle would be to finish reading Victoria and Veranda magazines. I love vintage cloth, berry jam scones, with pastel Peonies dropping sugared petals by the tray. Little mouthed, fat bottomed bottles of ink and dripping, dipping styles to write on old parchment rolls. I would like that place.

What makes us alone?

What makes us alone? I don`t mean, alone sometimes, but alone all the time? Why are some people always alone? What kind of alone? Well, the ones who are loners, who have friends that are only co-workers, penpals, newsgroupers. Seniors, the old forgotten ones or just second to their children's busy lives. The disfigured, the homeless, the freakish or just the extreames (no legs, retardation, lunatics, them people etc). The depressed or those that just want to be alone or them that just do not know why. What sorts of defenses do these unapproachable behold? Are they so strange looking or just uglificatting? No one would want to leave themselves open to hurt them, or not having to hurt them, or to witness a response from someone who, never responds, so it would be a safe assumption to, just not start anything with a shronic loner. You are the witness, having seen us. Seeing us is in some strange way, seeing your(self).

The park bench and the lamp post.

Its dark at this hour of the morning, alone, here at my computer with an esspresso, with soft music and just the light of the monitor. Outside of my window the whole City seems quiet, except for the park bench, far beneath me and an old lamp post. The bus route running past that park bench has long been cancelled, but the men still come and keep it nicely painted and the grass around it is kept trimmed. That old street lamp shines a theatrical spot around the bench as darkness tries and fights it, just as two old friends should do. The bench can hold three comfortably if they waited as they would have for the bus and the old lamp post would have shone down to ease thier fears. A long time ago, I used to sit on that bench, my son and I, waiting for his school bus to take him to school and I would sit there for awhile after the bus left to ponder and process my day. I wonder if anyone knew I fell asleep sitting on that park bench at times, in the shade from so many towering Elm trees. I was put to sleep as the gentle shivering of its leaves were set sail on the very winds I dreamt of leaving on. Tonight, that park bench beneath me with its old lamp post has drawn out my thoughts for the last hour, having forgetting the pain. That park bench, with its old lamp post, has sweetened a dream, a friend, sharing a peaceful moment.

It is hard to live with what has.....?

I sit with elbows on my knees and my chin on my fist, waiting for my thoughts to break and release my mind from its harvest of desires, intentions and regrets. In a struggle for endless acceptance for all that I could have done. I search for the complex end to quench my thirst for the code of this bitterness. If I could untangle what has happened, if I could undo the damage, as the wreckage entangles me like a yoke. You can imprison yourself within the confines of pain, in its self, you can not break-free of the Dragons claws that pinch you into the earth. No metal is needed to form the realestate of inability, no watch is governed for those that can't reach out. There is no addiction when taken into account the desire for motionless dignity, they look content, beneath the surface of consciousness. I have now, what I have always desired while I was young and overworked, time, space and exhaustive sleep, all that while complaining. In the shortness of time I have found the abundance of endless nothing in the constant, inseparable moments. As a child I wanted to learn, and I found the failures that would better me were the successes that would compell me to except the brush across my face. I proudly stood by the mess I made and stared at the right words cursed. I listened quietly, never letting go of the very brush crushed in my hand as my little fingers cracked, I never let go of that brush. I have painted for some of the most influential people in the world, but can't form the mindset to paint for myself today. I remember angrily ripping up a basket full of old work that I was once so proud of and cursing that which I was, who was I that wanted my old work, years of old work? I can not do what I have done before and am not as I was, why should it be here to remind me of what should have been? I regret that immature moment of time, but regret those beginnings to, I call them beginnings, since those beginnings have an end, before my time. It is hard to live with what has ..... ?

Is there a way back?

This has been a long week for us since I don't get outside enough, this last 2 weeks we've spent most of the time in the house. I really want a balcony, but this wonderful apartment that has an eagle's eye view of the city from sunrises that crest the downtown highrises in the bedrooms to the sunsets over old Avenues from in the living-room. This place has no balcony to sit on for our breakfast and since I really like coffee and would really love to have it on the balcony through-out the day. I look from my window and see all the little patio tables outside on the corner with all the pretty, fashionable people sipping their espresso and all the energy from those walking from the University or from the hospital. Everyone seems so strong and healthy with such drive that I feel pulled by their energies. I fight the urge to mix with them and since, I am not one of them, all I can do is witness, want and dream. Those days are over for me and probably will never be for my son either and its hard to want to be a part of the present on the breaths of the past. I have found great adventures in my dreams, like rewalking the past, its very easy to do, with slow deep breathing and directing your thoughts to your past. I can walk the streets of Croatia again, the open markets in Milan or by the cafe's of Paris or the pearl farms of Tokyo. I miss the sweet butterscotch candy I ate in Ireland and the hot roasted peanuts in NewYork, Old Montreal theatres and the parks of Shaboogamoo or even just simple Banff are in reach this way. Am I going crazy? Is there a way back?

A little of all things.

I am a little tired tonight, even though its late and I can't sleep, I am still sick, a little weak from the pain. We managed to get outside in the sun, which we needed since being inside from the rain and the wind of the last couple of days. I can walk with the help of my crutches, but I like to use my electric scooter so we can go farther into the old neighborhoods. We moved from our usual home, so no one knows how I have changed and that is good, because I am not handsome anymore. I used to be a very tall, strong and noble man with men working for me and friends in the neighborhood, who admired my loyalty to my family. Now, I have disappeared into this new home, far from my past and far from anyone who once knew me well. I now live in a highrise apartment with many disabled people, whom I have never met and who are all suffering, enormously, there have been 5 deaths here in the past few years. In this place no one knows of me, which I am very glad to be able to conceal. I will never be found here and will never be compared, all who remember me, will remember what I used to look like and will never compare me to the past. However, I miss greatly, a little of all things.

I hate these days.

I sleep in darkness and am awake in the same, as the mornings song is taken on winds warmed by the sun, running for darkness, is not unlike what I've done all-night, sought the longer night. This morning, I dreamt of help. I wanted. I should not have been so weak and afraid. This morning the Dragon has waited for me and I didn't have the strength to take his venom, weak from seeking shadows all night, I've hidden in want. Shameful, I am to have wished for someone to make breakfast for my son, shameful, I have wished for warm, strong hands on my shoulders to steal the pain from my blood. I was married for 20 yrs, and alone now, with my son for almost 7 years, although, I do not miss her, at all, I do miss soulfully, passionately, the gift of a women's strength. No hands in life can get closer to you than your mother, but your love can get even closer, her power can give you strength and take from you weakness. Its hard to say this, but loss is a way to appreciate having. Although today I have spent the day in bed, too sick to take my medicine, I did bring grapes, cheese and bread to my son with cookies and ribs in the fridge, which he loves to sneak quietly antways by the numbers of them lsft, I knew he would be fine. Its around 2:00 am and I am up, feeling a little better and very happy to be eating some bread, though my son ate all the ribs and all the cheese, he left me my favorites, grapes and berries. Moj Zlato

In front of me.

I read an empowering post today, which spoke of strength and spoke of such freedom and discovery, in a clear, clean truth. Truth and perception, compassionately discovering life's pulse. I closed my eyes and began breathing, nervously seeking out, this author's strength, but found myself fearful of relenting, everything is in front of me, beyond the Dragon. Metaphorically speaking "the Dragon" is the constant fog of the morphine or maybe its just my being too weak. I closed my eyes and felt him in front of me and circled away from his torment, only to feel him breathing in all the fog and leaving me to my pain. Can I feel this pulse of life, in all that, I sought out the suns ribbons of light, growing, taking, sharing? I hear the words, I have drawn in my mind, what they are saying, but honestly, I only hear my heart beating and the deeper I reach into my inner-self, the clearer the Dragon becomes. I walk in the dragons foot steps and at times, I hear him stop, I smell the broken earth and I almost see what he's done. I don't know any other way to describe something so powerful, so wanted, so hated and so a part of my everyday, that nothing else is in front of me. The Dragon is my light and my darkness, my deepest inner strength and my real weakness. I am being his self and he rules the hours that are left of me. If I could take, again, I would reach past the Dragon for what is in front of me.

My face is nice.

Third day and I'm still tired, feel sick all over, am sick all over, so why not feel sick and tired all over? My vertebrae is fused solid in a stooped over, twisted and stooped sideways position. The sideways is from a cluster of stress fractures at where I broke my back. The cartilage in my spine is ravaged from inflammation and is gone, but in its place is new delicate bone growth from the vertebrae touching each other then fusing together. This fusion is new, baby delicate bone that broke some years ago, and fused itself fixed. So, at the centre of the bend in my spine is the old break, which settled forward. My torso, since I am a tall man, the torso turned as if the spine did a rotated spin to the right and then settled sideways. So that's like bending to touch your toes and turning to the right, bending and stretching sideways to the ground and freezing in that position. I have good large shoulders, a broad chest that now crunches down and is permanently squishing my stomach and organs out of there natural position, sort of down and out, I guess. I have extreme problems swallowing, even water and when I do labor threw a meal, its like one bite begins to feel as though I've eaten a Thanksgiving day meal, this makes standing after eating very difficult. Today, I did nothing, except stare at my thoughts, which I am tired of doing. If I have the operation by my 11 surgeon team, I could stand at my usual 6'-1" again, also all the muscles in my back, that I use to try and keep from falling over or the muscles I strain to pull my head up to look straight ahead(since my skull is fused to my spine so there is no looking left or right or up). The operation, if successful, could leave no trace of this hunched over look, that I am now, but I said, if it were a success. It is a dangerous operation and has a 45% chance of my dieing on the table from blood loss, infection from an open wound that would be about 30" long. The surgeons would have to break my neck and re-attach, break my back and re-attach it, then cut the muscles on one side to twist the spine back to normal, then re-attach them. Once this is done and the steel rods, bolts, etc and if everything goes right. They would then leave me in the hospital upside, strapped to a bed that would be upside down, for a year. If anything goes wrong, I may be a quadriplegic, crippled with a bag to ... relieve myself into and maybe never talk again. Right! What would you choose? I have a severely disabled son who has been with me since birth and we have been alone for the last 6/7 years, the mother just couldn't get along with him so she left a 20 yr marriage, oh and she didn't like me much either, tee hee. I have a 25 yr old daughter, who is grown and gone and an 18 yr old son, they all left at the same time. Anyways, they never much hung around their disabled brother antways. He is severely retarded, but has always been close to me, I named him after me when he was born and spent every minute with him as he grew up. He is handsome like me and tall, strong and so cool to be with, he is extra kind and always in love with life. That's why I won't have the operation, because he will be alone if something goes wrong and I will never let him go into an institution. I'll just stay this way and we can just carry on as we always have. Him and I, and the Dragon, we will make it some how. I know my son misses his mother horribly and she only visits him maybe once amonth for an hour or two, but when he comes back form his visit, he brings the light back with him. He is all I will ever have again and I thank God for his leaving me this much. I do miss a warm hand to reach for, but will settle for wanting, its enough, I mean, I could never let a women see me that way again. I am sure of that, absolutely not comfortable with how I look now, just picture it, now I apologies for compromising anyone's dinner, but I'm not this tall, strong handsome guy anymore. My face is nice.

Finding what's left.

I closed my bedroom window this morning on the birds wake in song, but not in vain, I love when in the wee hours that song is easily discerned. I was cold, for the first time since I can remember, I was cold from the run of the winds across me. As I lay in total silence, I felt my self searching for what's left of my life. I thought, today I would cook a good meal and since I am an artist, was an artist, have always felt that the palette is - what it is - and today it would be Portabella mushrooms, onions and handmade pasta. On the the side colors of tangerine, cantaloupe, baby carrots, celery, cucumbers and dicon with parmesan curls. I just couldn't enjoy laboring through trying to eat it. After I peeled open the tangerine I was immediately pulled into Christmas memories, neading the flour and egg I felt my mother's hands squeezing mine and with the first lemon cut I heared the ice cubes cracking and clinkling in pitchers brought out to the garden, long forgotten, brought to me, lemonade. will I forget the wake of mornings song birds without searching, what's left of me?

Where are you?

Will you be magic to-night and put dreams in bed with me, now, soon? Fires of, fires beneath, embers. What fuels this constant burn? I will soon call out for the Dragons night, but fear this fire is stronger again, than he. I wish for such strength that is not given me, where are you? I own pain, I am with a hot, iron yoke, too tight and ill fitting that my arms are heavier than fear and even though, I feel all this, it is my stomach that envies constant loss. How fragile can ones ache be that is as delicate as the minds tissue, split, cried and intimatly parted raw, but left breathing in gasps of prayers for defeat. Somehow this can not be what it is with out the Dragons fog, where are you? Bastard, where are you?

Reached these words.

Its taken from me, but I am through the worst of it, we are through the best its given us yet. I've been wanting to write and have written editions in want, but here in front of the white, I am blank. Guilty of what I've felt recently, guilty of certain thoughts, weak. The Dragon is not strong enough, unless I am left defeated, I call upon his explosive relief and chant, ridiculing him, to strike and numb me. Everyday will be better from here on in, it always works this way. It starts out as that small mountain before all I want, through it I fear the climb and throw dares to the Dragon. At the top of the mountain, I look away from the dragon and wait just at the edge, in the fog, hoping to stumble, wanting the Dragon angry. Its been 7 years since anyone who knew me before has seen me since, becoming weak. I am finding comfort in the fact that, to them I have not changed, to them there is no-who I am now. I was in magazines, strong, tall and handsome, happy, safe, invincible and forever. I will never again walk the earth as I did before, from the far East to Europe, from the bottom to the top of America. I think all who experience earth, in suffering or not, will have a thirst for some semblance of it in Heaven. The greater comfort in no more suffering, no thirst, in the Dragons claws the earth breaks. I will fall into exhaustion tonight, breath the fogs of venom and remain still, until tomorrow. Bring mornings again, but not as they have come lately.

What I want?

I know for a fact, that if everyone gets what they want, then I'll get what I want. So, I wait for a trip back to that small mountain I was scared of, over that mountain, its Lake St, Charles - via Devil's Falls. I'll never go on the sunny side of the other mountain, there will be enough sun on top of my small mountain. Devil's Falls always wore out our bathing suits and the girls knew that too, best skinny dipping in the gorge. How I loved my small mountain top, in the shadow side, my eyes wide open and heart aching, I felt such fear in my small, dark mountain. I would dare them to come up out of the water, and slide down Devil's Falls, crystal clear and only deep enough to stretch out and crawl, their backsides sore. To roll over and look up into the clouds while they float on from Lake St. Charles. Never looking ahead, winding back down to Devil's Falls, over and over again. I feel like the hunchback, look like the hunchback, hiding in the shadows, if I could dare to skinny dip again, at Devil's Falls.

Broken earth.

Well, I lost the fight, got caught up on its claw, actually, reached for it, reached into the fog. Laid opened my hand, reached past, then upon. Again, I am with the Dragon, its before me in a calm walk, cuts of broken earth, fallen shallow ruts , angered strikes, deep clawings bitter pith. Calm me for the dragon's near, reasons for giving, excuses for seeking, reasons for taking. I am anything other more than broken earth, claws clearly rest earthened, waiting, clenched, frothing between us, our hate, our desires, our loss.

From a small scare.

Here we are back from a small scare, but were ok and will continue to take it one day, a time, and counting. I prayed for one more day and thank God, we are here. The last time I was here. Every day you can see us in our windows, high above this city, with its expansive view reaching out to an eternal vanishing point. So many tiny, tiny little scurriers running about, following the trails of the same. Do they know I am up here wondering about them? Do they know we are here? I sigh a lot when I`m thinking, almost like I have expressed an opinion. Like an unhappy escape, a given up sarcastic immunity, a system. Can you be patient with the world? With them? Are we patient`s or patient? Is anyone counting on counting on us? To-day, again I feel alone, and I see a lot of them down there, walking alone, standing alone, looking by them selves.

Imagine close enough.

While outside, the smells conjure up memories, the rotting fleshy earth, the leave of whispering steam trails, caught and lost. Something new begins, a thought that lasts motionless. How I wouldn`t mind if I were with someone, again. I, in wondering, would instill this mess of emotions, now. Is it still incredible to fall for someone? Tonight, tonight would be, could be, a good time, now in this cold, small drizzle, here, there, outside? Imagine, close enough, our hands in our coat pockets, our shy rocking, back and forth, rubbing shoulders while we sit here. Loving this, "never time" all too early morning, not wanting daylight, yet. Her purple cheeks and puffy eyes have yesterdays make up, her cold blue lips, drawing tawt across her chattering play and smile. If I could get close enough to her frosted shiver, to warm against her face, to fall into her neck. To be close enough to smell her shoulder, her hair, to have found yesterdays touch of perfume. Small, slender fingers, half out of her big sleeves, covering her lips, hiding that she didn`t expect to be caught without her toothbrush. I never noticed that lamp post over the park bench, nor the fact that we sat under it most of the night. I know her jacket and her faded jeans. Could I remember any closer? Looking into her eyes longer than a quiet search, a kiss left lost in that hope, the time instead, enough. We would've drawn closer, but... we never did, we don`t exist, not her or I... remember? I asked "Imagine close enough". The park bench is 11 floors down from my apartment window and the only eyes twinkling last night, were the city lights and that bench, it never saw us. You know, you have to admit, I have an incredible view from here, such a pretty city, isn`t she? I need to get more sleep, its almost 6:00 am.

Sleep and type.

I can actually awaken gradually, while typing this reclined in my chair as the keyboard lays on my lap and my eyes close, open, close and a little open, now closed. At times like this, I lose the battle and awaken to find a long page filled with a single letter, 5000 letter k`s or m`s. Today, I am watching the sunrise and the first few morningers out there, braving the cold, bettering themselves. I could join them, take out my wheelchair and have my son push me, but nah, it might be easier if I just let him try to keep up with me and my scooter, nah. Well, here he is curled up at my feet like a loyal beast, a friend or like how Berlin used to do before he died on us some 4 years ago (Germanshepherd). I am not sure why, but Sal just wants to sleep in the livingroom with me on the floor, not on the couch, just on the floor and at my feet. I sleep in a recliner, automatic type that lifts me up or lays me down, I need it since I am bent like a hunchback. It just fits the sitting position I sleep in and have done for years now. The day is looking great and the venum is greying the fog, there is little room for light so I`ll just go back to sleep, I`ll melt into the chair while my eyes become assured were safe. Guilty, heavanly and quiet, my son breathes a trusting, comfortful, rhythmic song that leads me to sleep every time. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzz zz zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I am strong.

I am.

I am here and so is the dragon.

I can make him bigger and stronger, smaller and weaker, I can hide or ingest more venom. He will shut me down, my insides siezed, no longer do I seek the fog. I can hear you, what are you afraid of?

Whats morphine like?

I heard someone ask "Whats morphine like?" I thought about it, I thought about tears at that moment, how hard I fight to avoid them, but when the shields come down, there is an awakening. For myself, morphine is like you, I heard ask. Its like the way I used to be. It is the Dragon you think it is and the one I have led into my viens. I breath its fuel, it replaces my blood, my blood it depletes and I find him at his will. The dragon is strong and takes my world as it enters me. Morphine has made me, it has become my dream, my wants and my desires to look forward to each day. A reason to get out of bed so strong like a newly entered compositional DNA. Everything is the dragaon now, my smile, my greetings, my impression upon you. Is the Dragon nice? It could hurt no more than when it bit down to when it let go, morphine is without the Dragon shaking its head and having its teeth clean the flesh off my bones. I give in to the dragon, because it is far less painfull then not having to, for without it, is that very question, "Whats morphine like?"

And again and enough.

Its getting harder, the strategy to get me here, to this crisp, empty, and honest morphine moment. Nothing can be more forthcoming than a prayer, a moment between your grip, your gut or your cold quiet room that can take a deep void apart. Is it? As long as it gets you past reality, and that treatment? If the experiment(cheamo) seeks out the quality of your day, give it surrender. I want to stop the treatments... just one day at a time, please. I can't take this stuff anymore!

Happy Thanksgiving Lord

Thank You Father, for all that was given us, Oh Lord. Today we had a meal of great Joy, with love served to us by all the ladies in my building. The nurses and caregivers and staff, Yes I live in a handi-capped housing highrise. Anyway, the supper was good, so good that, of course, I ate too much. The turkey was plentiful, as was the ham and for the first time, I did eat sweet potato with golden toasted marshmallows on top, Oh! what strange things we do, that is so good and just everything else during dinner was good and mmmmm pumkin pie with mmmmm cream. I am not used to this much goodness in my system, so we slept, and slept and zzzzzzzz zzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzz zzzzzzzzzzzzz zzz zzzzzzzzz

Close call..

Not sure why or what it was, but we made it, alone and pulled through. I was real sick this time, real close it was, but big baby I am and Sal putting up with my "can`t leave home yet, this good place" atleast we were together. I can`t just leave and get help, what would I have done with Sal, who would have watched him while I was out of it? We made it though, at home and together, safe. I just maintained the hours and slept like usual and stayed here. I wish I could find someone to love us and take care of us, we could take care of her too. Thank you God for taking care of us. My son was such a big help bringing empty pails to me and cold cloths to fight the sweat. I could not have done it without him or without his love. Thanks son. When I am strong enough, I will get back to my way.

It`s 5:00 am can`t sleep.

I am up, I am up, I am up, two hours of sleep and it was not easy, even with all the morphine! I could ever want, I could have it(comfort is my right). I still can`t sleep, more than a couple of hours after waking, crying. I`ve gone to all the windows and looked at the city from very high above the twinkling, tiny lights and deserted street corners. Some lights out there, in others windows, tell me I am not alone. Someone, tell me. In the highrises across from me and in the distance, I can see you, in your window and may be your looking back at me, are you? I stand in my windows and watch sunrises, the first papers being delivered, our morning reads and the white bakers trucks with our bread. All the air is cold, cleared from above and left along the riverbanks frosted edge. The fogs creeping up out of the water, growing up it boasts, reaching the little houses along the green alleys. Please, Oh Lord, take in your arms everyone sent to you on September 11, forgive us if we fail, show our love if we have not found Jesus, Amen.

Question mark!

What does it mean to be a part of the human community? What does it mean "the human spirit?" Do we all belong to this community? Those that see, hear, know and acknowledge the existance of seperate views, do we all have answers to those questions? If only someone where here to discuss this with me, like my window, distracting, besides it speaks in parables and its moody. I know, kinda in a dark mood, being that its 4 a.m and were both sort of on a different pane right now. On a completly new topic, I will be going to the lake this afternoon, Half Moon Lake to just sit on the beach. I might, maybe, I will bring my watercolors and do some much missed meditating, thinking and fried chicken. I love to be "plien air", dipping my brush into the lake, imagine it with me.

As far as I could stare.

Caught myself stairing out the window, far too long these times here, again. I blessed the joining of the sky to the earth, its mix of oceans and light, vast is life, gentle and deep is my profit. Who is aware, that I had been dreaming? Who could not see my hands pressing through the glass, harvesting? Awaken me. It has been raining all week and the clouds parallel my mood so in through the fog this share of nature is on its way to me or on its way from me. I wonder, every morning we are safe and warm, our coffee cups, our bowls waiting empty on the table and waiting.

The least recieves a miracle.

The other day, Sal and I headed to Safeway for our groceries and we could hear this awful chattering from a squirrel. Curiuosly, every time it shrieked, it would lift its front paws off the elbow of the tree limb it was squared off on. The smallest warrior didn`t seem to notice or even care that we were beneath it. In with this strange fight, its stance lifted its screamming higher and higher. We could not see if it was warning a mate or was this his cry of terror? Was a cat or maybe a bird or snake, serving up its young? We just couldn`t see his concern, what had made me invision this horror? I closed my eyes and prayed, Oh Lord, I have walked into of this day one of your least, and, I would ask you to give it strength and quiet his anxiety, Oh Lord, place a miracle as his prayers of mercy are pleaded before us. Oh Lord, on all that it cares so deeply for, as today the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the air is so warm, please leave a miracle before us. In faith, we walked and slowly, the squirrel stopped, calmed our hearts, so together we never heard another sound from the little warrior. I felt the presence of our Lord, smiled and felt a safe, our prayer was answered. I am telling the truth, I will never forget. Thank you Oh Lord, Amen.

First time this has blogged me.

Well had a long, uncomfortable weekend, seems I am a little closer to the ground and finding it hard to straighten out. I have a condition called Anklyosing Spondylitis(inflammation of the spinal column which leads to total fusion of the spine in a hunched over position). I have recently been diagnosed with sculiosis as well, and have a new curve to deal with. I can`t walk and see forward at the same time any more, but I do walk with the special canes. I`ve slept for the first 2 yrs in my wheelchair because it reclines, and since I can never lay flat again. I now sleep in a specially modified recliner that lays me down from standing into a sitting position to sleep reclined. Now, everything in my apartment is one level with no stairs, hardwood floors and huge, low, wall to wall windows. I can see out from my chair and its on the top of this highrise, which I love. I really need things to enjoy, to love, since there is not much out there for my son and I to win over. The whole place is automated and modified, in ways we can easily reach and grab. My Son is severely retarded, that he is 20 yrs old and has the reasoning of a 5 yrs old. He has a hard time walking and is underdeveloped physicaly, besides all this, we rely on each other. As he does what I physicaly can not, and I am his reasoning, to a certain extent. He suffers from mild autism with varied fascilations and unique, gift like abilities, all are a joy and a blessing . His vision is incredible and his hand strength is that of 2 men. The learning is still everyday, and that is what continues to be an honour. The gift of being a father. We both are on permanent disability and live in a special, love of forgiving each other for breaking promises. I have to sleep now, since I started writing this entry, I have fallen asleep at my desk a dozen times.

Passages of Acts.

I spent most of the weekend inside, I feel alone and quiet. I am alive and counting, one day at a time. I like sleeping in, not exactly sleeping in, since I don`t sleep well and I am always up in the wee hours of the morning. I am up around 4:00 am and stay up for a few hours playing around on the computer or looking out our windows. I will read passages of Acts until Sal finds me asleep and curls up at my feet, he is now holding my Bible and socks, cradled them under his chin, drawn his knees close under them. I see his stuffed gorilla looking away, dejected it seems, but together we have found the good sleep. The same good sleep.

I think we could go far.

I am thinking of doing something with Sal, like go somewhere camping . I don`t know if I can, if we can do this or should just stay home. Can we carry ourselves, all the camping gear and the scooter? Maybe we could go somewhere and just rent a hotel room, we could still hike, I think we could. We could go far into a forest or the beach and bring a tent and make a fire on the beach or by a river or a lakes edge and fry bacon in the morning, couldn`t we? Could I breach the fires and make warmth? Maybe I am just stupid for thinking it and how will a father in a wheelchair/scooter make any great moment, and try and go with his disabled son on such a journey? I guess its just as stupid as my thinking that I can go looking for a memory, a memory for Sal, who likes being read to, who likes to play ball barefoot in the grass. His face would look at me with a sudden smile, I could, cause Sal to smile, wide in wonder or squint when I have been silly. Love and trust. That what you do with them, you will have done for the father. You think we should go on a trip?

alone and in a lingering sweat,

Again, I am up, alone and in a lingering sweat, thick with pity and cold. Anger clenched in my beard and at the back of my neck. 02:39 a.m. and I have only been asleep for 30 minutes, not a single twitch, just deep sinking deep. Looking out my window at the biggest room on earth and its sweet dark silence. Its lost its hustle, lost its color, but its has gained a calm and moved its resolve before me. I belong, to-night is a repeat of last night. Our Father Who...

I wish our dreams would,

I wish. I wish our dreams would. I wish our dreams could come true, yours, then theirs and then mine. We wouldn`t be alone, us who are alone and we wouldn`t be hungry, us who are hungry. We are not. We are not afraid. We are not afraid, because we are with God. We want and we are sometimes afraid we won`t want. We want...

Slowly, I hope I will be here everyday, I love.

Slowly, I hope, will I be here everyday? I have such thoughts. Its been a number of years and I am still unpacking reasons to belong. Its been raining hard and the wind is a songs thoughts here, my rooms eye looking out over the storms mightiest, lightning strike thrown rumble, to lifes groans. It looks into my face, waits for my yell and screams back at me, together we grumble, pain.

I fell asleep again.

Hmmmmm, I fell asleep, again, and at the keyboard. I am tired of backstroking a trail of letters only 600 lines deep. I have rested my hands in holding down the key of f, like so... ffffffffff, and of course, there have been times when I have held down letter after letter and filled many pages, some paragraphs made sense. What do I do when this happens? Like now, I got up from a well molded office chair and made a pot of coffee. This is the part I don`t understand, I fall back into sleep while holding my coffee and you guessed, I am now wearing it, in my lap, on my feet and I never let go of the cup. Just like I never let go of the keyboard, ever, when I fall asleep at/on it. I like that line, I fall back into sleep, exhausted, actually fallen back into sleep. Oh yes, for the first two or three times, I`d jump up! and try to land on my feet as I was falling off instead of falling back into, falling off to sleep, off what? Conscienseness, never seems to let go its grip on an awakening grasp, the sudden loss of that grasp, which should have anchored me is now an attempt to re-establish grace, in the moment. I`m not making sense but, the lost coffee was the way.

My mp3 player

I just purchased an mp3 player, a WaveX 128mgs and I like it of course with the radio and voice record, its a nice toy, my mom got it for my birthday in April. Its 4:30 am and I`m staring at the big view of the big city and listening to the birds waking up. There are times I will sit here and in the mornings betrayal of darkness, close my eyes and let the songs of the cold air keep me, asleep. Right now, there are sirens and screaming tires adding to that huge rooms colors. Seeing the, "out there" I call the biggest room in the world, with the highest ceilings and of course the most corners. The room of which most of it, I have never entered into, that is I am not sure if I should excuse the mess but, I am not cleaning anyone of them. Just an hour ago, I had my morphine so I won`t miss it because I was doing something good like sleeping, rocking. I am so tired right now, a feeling I like and if I only could I would wish to dream.