The Strange Curiosity of Memory

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE STRANGE CURIOSITY OF MEMORY ARTHUR ROBERT GOSHIN

POEMS AND PHOTOGRAPHS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE STRANGE CURIOSITY OF MEMORY TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE GHOST RANCH, NM

ARTHUR ROBERT GOSHIN

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Also by author Arthur Robert Goshin: One Hundred and Twenty Four Moons Longing Before Dawn Love’s Cloth Both The Harvest And The Seed Time Changes Nothing

Cover Photograph: Upper Trampas Lake, Pecos Wilderness, NM. Cover Design: Chris Reilley

Copyright © 2012 Arthur Robert Goshin ISBN 978-0-9843461-1-0

TABLE OF CONTENTS

One For All This We Give Thanks.....................................................2 Fading Away.................................................................................3 Sorrows.........................................................................................4 Possessive Memories....................................................................5 ‘We Ain’t Just Passing Through on a Free Ticket’......................6 Don’t Let Me Die Again..............................................................7 The Odd Peculiarity of Dreams..................................................8 The Curator.................................................................................9 For My Daughter.......................................................................10 As Hope Yields to Fate...............................................................11

Two Uninvited....................................................................................14 Regardless of Time.....................................................................15 She Never Would Have Left Me Without Saying Good-Bye........................................................16 A Brief Stop Near Oblivion.......................................................18 An Unreciprocated Presence......................................................20 Untamed.....................................................................................21 Simplicity Counts.......................................................................22 My Nostalgia..............................................................................23 Headlong....................................................................................24 Right Now..................................................................................25

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Three The Fabric and the Thread........................................................28 Nattering On..............................................................................29 The Terrain of Memories...........................................................30 Men Don’t Understand..............................................................31 Rick, Just What Were You Thinking??.....................................32 My Springtime............................................................................33 Wasted Love?.............................................................................34 Unhappiness...............................................................................35 Thoughts in the Night...............................................................36 A Grand Adventure....................................................................37

Four When My Heart Was Full.........................................................40 The Loss of Imagination............................................................41 In the Mirror..............................................................................42 What If.........?.............................................................................44 Alive Elsewhere..........................................................................45 Play On.......................................................................................46 Merging......................................................................................47 Emotional Distance....................................................................48 The Nightie................................................................................49 Retrieval......................................................................................50

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Five Pulling Back the Covers.............................................................54 An Emptiness..............................................................................55 Nothing Left..............................................................................56 Who Dwells Here?.....................................................................58 A Heart’s Affirmation.................................................................59 Insistent......................................................................................60 Each Morning, Each Night........................................................61 Deceived.....................................................................................62 Pieces Being Cut Away...............................................................63 Can You See It?..........................................................................64

Six A Broken Promise......................................................................68 To Soar and to Fall.....................................................................69 A Sweet Revenge........................................................................70 Around the Bend of Time..........................................................71 A Wise Steward..........................................................................72 An Anthropomorph....................................................................73 With My Head Inside Its Noose................................................74 Inside We are All Poets..............................................................75 Left to the Ghosts......................................................................76 Focus on the Living....................................................................77

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Seven I Cry For You..............................................................................80 Redemption................................................................................81 Separate and Apart.....................................................................82 Does it Matter?...........................................................................84 Libido Power..............................................................................85 It It’s Love...................................................................................86 Blown Away................................................................................88 What’s Missing?..........................................................................89 I Should Have Paid More Attention to Einstein.......................90 The Wick....................................................................................91

Eight Each Day’s First Gift..................................................................94 Some Days..................................................................................95 ‘Thank You...........’.....................................................................96 Auditions.....................................................................................97 Time Lost...................................................................................98 I Am of Them.............................................................................99 Love Hope?..............................................................................100 Memory Warehouse.................................................................101 Wounds.....................................................................................102 Becoming Irrelevant.................................................................103

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Nine Holding On..............................................................................106 Is Is Desire................................................................................107 Holy Neutrino!!........................................................................108 Saving the World......................................................................110 Me and My Quiet.....................................................................111 Cruelty......................................................................................112 The Mist...................................................................................113 Nothingness..............................................................................114 Loyal Words.............................................................................115 It Can’t Be You.........................................................................116

Ten Last Moments...........................................................................120 At the End, In the Beginning...................................................121 Life Can Always Surprise.........................................................122 Near and Far.............................................................................123 These Poems as a Remembrance.............................................124 Zero Balance.............................................................................125 A Preying Mantis......................................................................126 A Satchel of Sadness.................................................................127 I Search.....................................................................................128 They’re Always Leaving...........................................................129

TABLE OF CONTENTS

UPPER TRAMPAS LAKE, PECOS WILDERNESS, NM

CHAPTER

ONE 1

FOR ALL THIS WE GIVE THANKS For all we’ve had, for all we have, for all we still hope for.

For the opportunity to remember and honor those who gave us the breath of life, and all those from the before who enabled us to reach this season.

For the unconditional love and trust of our family and friends, and those who wish us goodwill.

For the sweet, treasured memories of those so dear to our hearts who are no longer with us.

For the chance each day to make the lives of those in need better.

For the joy, wisdom, and enlightenment we experience.

For the presence of beauty and wonder in our lives and in the world.

For all this and so much more, we offer our thanks and our fondest wish for the universal end of hunger, poverty, and sadness, and that the days for all, now and beyond, will always be filled with bounty, love, hope, peace, happiness and fulfillment.

2

FADING AWAY As time passed his features seemed to lose their shape.

The deepening lines on his face did not reveal any contained messages.

It appeared that his eyes no longer connected to the vibrant mind that was once present.

He now moved at quarter speed.

He became increasingly indistinct from his surroundings, colorless.

His voice now soundless.

He was simply fading away, shrinking.

Already labeled as having ‘passed’, he was ignored.

A barely living ghost.

However, what others thought they saw was at variance to the sharp, wise, and still vibrant person contained within.

But no one cared, no one wanted to take the time to find out.

He was at the end, and when they saw him they glimpsed their own future and wanted no part of it.

3

SORROWS Sorrows.

To be a collector and then a disposer of them.

All sorrows.

All tears.

Especially those of children.

To be shared with me first in their own words.

Then to be able to wipe each sorrow away.

All away.

Forever.

To destroy all memory of each sadness.

As though they never occurred.

Yes, please, may I be granted that task.

4

POSSESSIVE MEMORIES Some memories want all of my time.

As though I have nothing else to do.

They want exclusivity, are unreasonably possessive.

And often they are not the ones I want to have, to keep.

They act as though they have free will over mine.

I know I lack control.

Have you ever tried to block out unwanted thoughts or memories?

Right, no chance.

So, it seems that their presence just has to be tolerated.

Of course, where would I be, who would I be, without memories?

5

‘WE AIN’T JUST PASSING THROUGH ON A FREE TICKET’ We are what is in between.

A link, an intermediary.

Between then, now, and to be.

Our life, our time, is borrowed, on loan, a gift from the past.

We are not here just for ourselves.

But for what was, and what will be.

Obligations to ours just before, and all before.

Obligations for ours who are next, and for all beyond.

Not a burden, a responsibility.

An exchange for the privilege of life, for all the moments, the time, for the opportunity.

It is a promise.

It is ‘the’ promise that we must fulfill to our long line of ‘what was’, and the future of our ‘what might be’.

6

DON’T LET ME DIE AGAIN Please, once will be enough.

Promise me that.

That you won’t forget.

To tell the stories of me, to remember me, to include me in your dreams, to include me in the stories of you as you pass them forward.

Who I was, what I thought, what I cared about, what I did, how I made you laugh, why you loved me.

So in that way, I will remain alive.

Just don’t let me die again.

7

THE ODD PECULIARITY OF DREAMS You lie there in the dark.

In the protective comfort and warmth of your bed.

Wondering.

There in your self constructed womb.

About the cosmic and the incidental.

Your hopes, your hidden desires, about today and tomorrow.

About your disappointments and your achievements, imagining and reconstructing them.

A participant in fantasies you wish could be made real.

And then you drift off, no longer having the burden of needing to do anything, regressing to the buoyant warmth of that ‘amniotic fluid’, yielding to nights’ sleep and the odd peculiarity of dreams.

8

THE CURATOR (READ WHILE HUMMING THE BEATLES’ ‘ELEANOR RIGBY’)

She was a curator of her days.

Collecting, organizing, observing them as though they didn’t really belong to her.

As though up on a shelf, or hanging there in just the right light.

Catalogued.

Not able to be a participant, an owner of the full body of what life offered.

Floating along, hovering, watching, for what she never had a clue.

Hope, happiness, sadness, intimacy, all irrelevant emotions and experiences for her.

Seemingly incapable of, even disinterested in, connecting.

Just playing out her time, letting the collected days unwind until there was no more string.

Alone.

No one to care about her collection.

How sad.

9

FOR MY DAUGHTER I never had the chance to know you, to love you.

And you never had the chance to be.

But sometimes I imagine you, and even see you.

The briefest glimpse at unexpected moments.

In a park, on a slide or a swing, getting off the school bus and looking around for me.

Always smiling, laughing, with your long hair dancing in the wind.

So very happy, as I know you would have been.

Sadly our eyes never meet, because it never was nor will it ever be.

And just as I begin to call out to get your attention, the imagining disappears.

Always.

10

AS HOPE YIELDS TO FATE Each of my days seem to happily cleave into its next.

With that next lovingly saying farewell to the one filled with wonders just before.

But I have become increasingly aware that there is only an end, not a forever.

That my days will run out.

I find there is so much to remember, and so little to forget.

I now see how hope yields to fate.

11

12

POND, TAHOE NATIONAL FOREST, CA

CHAPTER

TWO 13

UNINVITED Sometimes an idea, a word, a thought, keeps tumbling around in my head.

Insistent, uninvited.

Imploring me to give it a life, motion, existence, a future in a poem.

I try to hide, but it doesn’t quit.

I say, ‘I’m not good enough for you, please leave and find someone else’, or, ‘come back another time when I might be ready’.

But, it won’t be deceived.

It’s relentless.

It wants what it wants.

14

REGARDLESS OF TIME It is a constant wonder to me.

How I remain inexplicably pulled so strongly to you.

Some fundamental force of nature for which there seems to be no counter force.

You might think that such emotions would have been carried away by an unanticipated breeze due to time and circumstance.

But the opposite seems to be true.

That time has only strengthened that bond.

So, know that you are always safe here in my heart, regardless of time.

15

SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE LEFT ME WITHOUT SAYING GOOD-BYE It is strange how I can walk in and out of particular memories that I hold onto, but not just before or just after them.

And after all these years, the truth is that I’m not sure I understand what happened in some, especially this one that I want to share.

They had left me all alone in my grandparents’ apartment.

To go to the cemetery, they said.

They told me that my grandmother had died and was to be buried.

But that I was ‘too young’ to go, that ‘it was not a place for me’.

That’s how I remember it.

Years later, my older sister said she was with me, but I only remember being alone.

It was so very quiet.

I was only five and didn’t understand what they meant.

16

I walked through their apartment looking for my grandmother, for traces of her, knowing she would come back soon.

I sensed that she was still there, I smelled her perfume.

She never would have left me without saying good-bye.

No, not without a big hug, her warm laugh, a kiss, and a ‘I love you’.

No, never.

17

A BRIEF STOP NEAR OBLIVION Suddenly I’m awake.

I sit bolt upright.

Just where am I? It’s dark, very dark.

I’m in a dense mental fog.

Is it early morning or did I just fall asleep?

Was I deep in a dream that has quickly washed away, or am I still in it?

And where in my lifespan is this?

Am I alive? -- the ridiculous thought whips by.

Why the uncertainty, the anxiety?

Is it just the dream that has caused bewilderment?

Am I still who I was, but who, exactly is that?

18

Unsure, troubling confusion.

Is this dementia or only a momentary thing?

Yeah, that’s it -- it’s the possibility of dementia that stirs the apprehension.

Although only brief seconds, the moment seems interminable.

Then finally, gradually, the fog lifts.

Calm arrives, clarity, relaxation.

Whew!

A brief and most unpleasant stop somewhere near oblivion.

19

AN UNRECIPROCATED PRESENCE Do you ever wonder whether those who continue to inhabit our conscious thoughts, who we still dream about, have us in theirs?

I mean, speaking for myself, if they are occupying some of my life I’d really like to know that I do theirs.

If not, I’d want a quick and certain way to exclude them.

Who needs the extra burden of an unreciprocated presence?

20

UNTAMED I can’t take my eyes off of her.

Does she notice?

She doesn’t seem to.

But is it possible that she can tell what I’m thinking?

Because my imagination, my desire, is running wild, untamed.

These thoughts, this uncontrollable lust, as I stand here now, is making even me blush.

Can she see that and then infer my base craving?

Would I want her to know?

What if she does know....can hear, or somehow know my thoughts..... ....and what if she walks up to me, smiles and says ‘..............’?

21

SIMPLICITY COUNTS Sometimes the whole entirety of our world is defined by a single touch, smile, or word.

That allows us to maintain our balance, believe in hope, foretell our future.

In the often cosmic complexity of life it is a marvel to realize how much unambiguous simplicity counts.

22

MY NOSTALGIA It’s a most peculiar nostalgia.

That gets stronger as I get older.

This wish, this longing desire.

To relive some of my child times.

To hear my Mother laugh while helping her grind chicken livers.

To sit next to my Dad at Ebbets Field.

To sneak off with my pals and spend a few hours at Steeplechase.

To fight Halloween chalk wars.

To sit at the counter with my sister and have a cherry coke at Dot’s.

To flip baseball cards at the park.

Play stickball on West 9th.

Go with my Grandmother to Nathan’s for a hot dog and fries, and then see a movie across the street.

Sunday blintzes at the Famous with my Grandfather.

Oh...how sweet that all would be!!

23

HEADLONG Oh my!!

How wondrous!!

Rational, objective thinking had become irrelevant.

We couldn’t help ourselves.

Free will was gone.

Deep, uncontrollable instinct had taken possession.

We rushed headlong into the flames.

To each other.

Seeking the heat, needing, wanting, requiring it.

Consequences didn’t matter.

We were compelled by this basic desire, the need to fulfill this unrelenting lust.

The unanticipated joy and strength of the pleasures reinforced the compulsion.

More the only option.

24

RIGHT NOW It’s warm, humid, a slight breeze.

So peaceful, so quiet.

I’m on my back, floating.

Alone in a boat.

At least I think it’s me.

And I think it’s a boat.

Is it a dream?

I’m not sure.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m being carried along by a gentle current.

Not sure where I’m going.

But it doesn’t seem to matter.

Just myself.

No one, nothing to deal with.

No concerns, no expectations.

No past, no future.

Only right now.

Nice.

25

26

SUN SHOWER, TESUQUE, NM

CHAPTER

THREE 27

THE FABRIC AND THE THREAD Things that we most cherish, both animate and not, have an existence beyond the objective, factual, descriptive.

They are also alive in our imagination, often enjoying a richly textured subjective existence.

One that may be constantly crossing a line between non-fiction and fiction, documentary, and romantic adventure.

The conscious or subconscious script is by and for ourselves, from our internal well-spring of hope and possibility.

It is our fertile imagination that allows us to understand and appreciate beyond the surface, to create a deeper meaning that things have within our lives.

We see both the fabric and the thread -- the objective particular, as well as its context for us.

It is our imagination, always at work, even as we sleep, that provides the enjoyment and wonder of our most special things.

28

NATTERING ON OK, I confess.

I don’t know what to make of it.

There’s danger in even mentioning it.

You know, the risk of being called a ‘sexist’.

I’m sitting here and watching carefully.

Women of all ages, here in this coffee house.

But, it’s not just now, it’s the same wherever.

It doesn’t seem to vary by neighborhood, area of the country, setting, ethnicity, income level, time of day, time of year, or even country.

This fascinating level of animated conversational energy is truly remarkable.

And, if you listen carefully, they can talk, natter on, about multitudes of things, at impressive speeds, in the brief span of a few minutes, even jumping back and forth, diagonally, grazing across topics.

And they seem so interested, engaged in whatever is being said.

So, I’d really like to know whether anyone out there really knows, unequivocally -- how do they get like that?

I mean, is it genetic, socialized in, or just what?

As for me, I like it, am drawn to it, find it one of the things that make women, truthfully, so appealing, so much more interesting.

Well, I think I’ll stay here a bit longer to watch, listen, and sure, have another muffin.

29

THE TERRAIN OF MEMORIES I’m here now, in this place, this park.

Such tranquil beauty.

A place for happiness, for wonderful memories, but not only for me.

It is a portal of sorts.

Where I am transported into a memory wormhole, back through time.

My father took me here.

His father, my grandfather, took him here.

They played.

I remember my father telling me.

And I took my son here, we laughed.

And now I run after my grandson here, and roll around on the grass.

We are linked to places where we climb up and down the peculiar terrain of our memories.

We are people of places that mark our territories, that connect the stream of our memories across generations.

30

MEN DON’T UNDERSTAND Some women understand this and enjoy a truly great power.

Unfortunately, men don’t.

Men constantly misjudge the level of attention women grant them.

Believing there is more, much more, being offered than is the case.

Why exactly that is is speculative.

I don’t think that it’s because men are more hopeful.

It’s simply a little wiring defect.

A trusting of women that comes from our mothers’ love.

It’s not that we’re fools, well mostly not.

It’s just a sweet gullibility.

31

RICK, JUST WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??

Rick, just what were you thinking??

‘We’ll always have Paris’ --??

When you could of had Ilsa?

And you send her off on the plane, gone forever, then walk into the mist with Captain Renault and say, ‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship’!!??

A few distant memories instead of the real thing, that deep love you so longed for?

As I get older I know that memories are wonderful treasures, but can be oversold.

There is no question that sometimes the possibilities of each tomorrow definitely trumps a fading, poorly remembered past.

Carpe diem!!!

32

MY SPRINGTIME You are always Springtime.

Each day.

Your warmth, the sweet morning dew on your lips, your fragrance, all alerting me to what will be.

Days that are always lengthening to offer more light and surprise.

Embodying recurring expectations of joy, the rebirth of love, hope, and the opportunity that we will be, and have, so much more.

Time, age, has nothing to do with you, with us.

My love, my desire for you is as fresh as our first day.

You are my Springtime.

33

WASTED LOVE? Was the love wasted because you gave it so completely to someone who didn’t deserve it?

Was all that without any meaning, without value?

Did you squander some irreplaceable quantity of yourself?

Probably not, I think, although it’s understandable why you might feel that way.

Love certainly can be a renewing element within you.

Now you just have to find the one who is truly deserving.

34

UNHAPPINESS They shared unhappiness.

His was partly her fault, and partly his.

Her unhappiness came from someplace deep inside, hidden, always there, unresolvable.

They were increasingly indifferent, impatient with each other, distant, apart, two not one.

He knew he had a decision to make, but was uncertain what exactly it was.

He never seemed to know what was expected of him.

But he knew he was at the end, needing a new start, a life with hope.

He felt he deserved happiness.

35

THOUGHTS IN THE NIGHT Does everyone have occasional strange thoughts in the night?

Is the mind just wandering, out for a stroll before it rests?

Is it the dark that allows thoughts to float along any which way in the void, untethered?

Searching, perhaps, for a safe harbor to let down its anchor, to rest.

Or is it a dress rehearsal for the flight of dreams to come?

Whatever it might be, I’m hoping that somewhere in my internal cosmos I’ll find you waiting there for me tonight, and every night thereafter.

36

A GRAND ADVENTURE The unforeseen, serendipity.

They play such central, critical, unacknowledged roles in our lives.

And because of that, life is truly an unscripted, grand adventure.

We cannot know in which day, in what moment of that day, the direction of our life will be forever altered.

When it will shift without a return to what it was.

When we become someone a bit different, in unanticipated circumstances, facing new and unexpected challenges.

When we suddenly have a new life script to write.

Yes, a grand adventure.

37

38

PUDDLE, CANYON ROAD, SANTA FE, NM

CHAPTER

FOUR 39

WHEN MY HEART WAS FULL I wonder.

What didn’t I do that I should have, and what did I do wrong?

You know, the errors of omission and commission.

No, not all of them.

But the few that remain on my mind, that I ruminate about.

And what would I do differently if I could?

I seem to be most troubled by the errors of omission, especially things I should have said, or said more clearly.

To have made my inner most feelings unambiguous.

To change those moments when my heart was full, but I was strangely mute.

40

THE LOSS OF IMAGINATION When we’re young we imagine.

Imagine the possibilities of a future, our future.

Our lives then filled with expectation, with hope.

When we’re old we tend to re-imagine the past, in part because our memory is imperfect, patchy, incomplete.

And in part, subconsciously, we edit our stories so that they’re more positive, fitting our self-perceived persona.

Of course, why shouldn’t we want to feel better about ourselves?

But sadly, the gift of imagination and the enthusiasm for possibilities seems to erode as we age.

And, unfortunately, it’s imagination that is necessary for hope to exist.

41

IN THE MIRROR She stepped out of that delicious shower, warm, fragrant, refreshed, slowly drying herself off.

Then carefully put on make-up, fixed her hair.

And now stood in front of the full length mirror, naked, admiring, smiling a bit at what she saw.

Certainly a bit different than 20 years ago, but clearly still beautiful, what others would call sexy, desirable, even adorable.

Nonetheless, she was discouraged, feeling strangely sad, empty.

At not being seen, acknowledged, by the one she so wanted.

Who didn’t know she felt that way because she didn’t seem to have the ability to tell him.

42

The very thought of him aroused her so.

She now imagined him there for the night, touching, stroking, caressing, kissing, wanting, loving her.

Sadly, the one who could seemed to be increasingly indifferent, unaware anymore of the woman she still was, what she needed, what she wanted.

And increasingly, he seemed to be fading away slowly, somehow losing that substance of attraction he once had.

What was she to do?

43

WHAT IF.........?

I stood there alone.

In the middle of a vast, empty field.

Nothing visible in any direction.

Balancing on one foot, not moving, eyes closed.

No breeze, no sun, no clouds, no sounds, everything grey, colorless.

My mind, my thoughts crystal clear.

Thinking, remembering, longing, wondering, ‘what if’, ‘what now’?

44

ALIVE ELSEWHERE Even when we’re fast asleep, while dreaming perhaps, we may be alive elsewhere, in the thoughts of someone else.

It may be a place where we’d like to be, would find deliciously exciting, if only we knew.

Perhaps though, it is possible to implant ourselves, somehow, into someone else’s thoughts.

Maybe it can work like e-mails, but delivered magically by unseen brain waves.

So, go ahead, imagine in whose thoughts you might want to reside.

Try to transport yourself there.

Then you could be in two places at the same time.

Why not, you never know.

And, after all, who’s to know?

45

PLAY ON I must play on, mustn’t I? Don’t ask me to stop, because I can’t.

Not now.

It is what is done, what I do, what I have to do, regardless.

Regardless of what lies there, just up ahead.

Regardless of any consequences.

Because there is no other choice but for me to play on, and on, and on, and......

46

MERGING Have we become one, not two?

Has time homogenized, blended, made us mostly indistinguishable?

Are we affixed or separate?

Is it our fate, inevitable after so much time, not a matter of choice?

We used to be so distinct, clearly separate, very different.

I liked that.

Do the years force such accommodation?

Do the currents of judgment, personality, opinion, preferences, after time flow together to create transmutation into the singular?

Has it really happened, or is this just my lively, critical imagination?

47

EMOTIONAL DISTANCE Why do we seem to require so much emotional distance?

Between ourselves and most others.

Of course there’s a lot of surface activity that gives the appearance of a special familiarity, but it’s not real intimacy now, is it?

Do we actually prefer aloneness?

Is it that any eagerness for closeness unmasks a loneliness we don’t want others to know about?

This is a problem with those we barely know, but often, and especially, with those we love.

So many blockades erected to avoid and protect.

Just why is that?

48

THE NIGHTIE I just could not get the thought out of my mind once she said those two words, ‘my nightie’.

No matter how hard I tried.

Well, I really didn’t try that hard.

Why would I when the thought led to such fabulous stirrings of imagination?

My eros dybbuk had now assumed full control, which it often does.

I wondered about color(black, pale rose.....?), material(silk, transparent.....?), length(short, open back, plunging front....?).

And just what delectable treasures would be briefly, but so tauntingly, unrevealed?

And would I ever know?

Ah, the curious pleasures of life often provided by my constant companion, the eros dybbuk.

49

RETRIEVAL Inside, here, all that has ever happened to me, to us, is recorded.

Every embrace, every word, every kiss, everything.

The intended and unintended.

The expected, the surprise.

The wonder.

All the logic and inexplicableness of our love.

Encoded, stored.

There to be retrieved, remembered, replayed for whatever purpose.

Or repressed, forgotten, hidden, for whatever reason.

All eventually erased.

Leaving no record of it all having occurred.

Except as you have stored the same.

To retrieve after.

50

51

52

UPPER TRAMPAS LAKE, PECOS WILDERNESS, NM

CHAPTER

FIVE 53

PULLING BACK THE COVERS The first light of day is once again interrupting.

Intruding into the preferred, detached, pleasures of my wondrous dream world.

It is insistent.

Its radiance has found its way in and is pulling back the very covers of my sleep.

Wiping away, bit by bit, the fabulous make believe and ‘what if’ of my dreams.

Disturbing and unraveling my warm nest, my cocoon.

All attempts to forestall the inevitable, to keep the day at a distance awhile longer, are failing.

That spectacular inner beauty of quiet is dissipating.

Forcing the inevitable confrontation between semi-consciousness and consciousness.

Nights’ delightful passivity is being rudely swept away.

The every day challenge will require renewed, demonstrable mastery over the unpredictable daily rebirth and events of life.

Well, time has now come to peer over the edge and see what today might bring.

54

AN EMPTINESS She stood there for the last time.

Everything that had once been in this house seemed to be gone.

No, not the furniture, not the things, but the memories, the laughter, the wonder, the love, the hopes that the future is boundless.

Inside she felt the emptiness that she saw.

Uncertain now that she would ever feel that way again.

55

NOTHING LEFT There is nothing left I can do.

I’ve done all I could and much more, always.

I’m at the dead end.

Finally, it seems.

Maybe I’ve been at this spot for quite awhile, but didn’t know it.

It is so terribly sad.

I can no longer continue.

Too much has been taken, too little given.

No balance, no prospect for the sharing I need.

Your indifference intolerable.

Your promises stillborn.

Trust, already deeply damaged, evaporated.

56

I gave far, far too much -- my heart --while yours remained hidden, your intent too enigmatic.

I left myself too vulnerable.

I tried to have hope, so it seemed better to have no expectations to avoid disappointment.

But now I see that all I have is no reason to hope.

So forgive me now for avoiding your last kiss.

I can’t give away the remaining love I have for you and be left empty.

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WHO DWELLS HERE? Who is it that really dwells here?

Inside all these words.

Me or a fictionalized version?

Mmm.....perhaps both.

Who is it that is silently whispering such thoughts that are then written down?

Me(the ‘real’ one) or some alter ego who takes possession of my fingertips?

But, does it matter to you, the reader, whether I’m recording or inventing?

Sometime, all the time?

Just how much is fiction, how much true self-revelation?

Don’t assume that I know.

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A HEART’S AFFIRMATION My heart’s memory is indeed short.

As it irrationally fears homelessness, it periodically seeks your affirmation.

It does long for your embrace, the sweet delicacy of your lips, your ardent intent, to feel the beat of your heart against it, to know the tender eros of your touch, to hear the sirens’ call of your song, to share your heavenly passion, and to know that it remains joined with its forever other.

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INSISTENT The past keeps following me.

Always getting closer.

It wants to be in my words.

To always be remembered, never forgotten.

So insistent.

It wants me there, to always be part of it.

I do understand.

For the past is what, in the end, we become.

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EACH MORNING, EACH NIGHT I wonder.

Does having hope lead mostly to disappointment?

Does a belief in happiness lead mostly to despair?

If one could, would it be better to just take what life offers?

With no expectations for hope or happiness.

Maybe it is best to live one day at a time, not counting on what might be next.

As though what is born each morning disappears each night.

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DECEIVED Why is it so very easy to deceive ourselves?

By the failure, the unwillingness, to look beneath.

Beneath the surfaces, the exterior of things.

Are we so devoid of insight, of judgment, that we are incapable of seeing what’s most important?

Are we just lazy, shallow?

Is that truly possible?

Do we perceive a lack of exterior beauty in ourselves so we seek to acquire it from someone or something else somehow?

I mean, we must know that it’s the beauty within, that inner light that illuminates goodness that we should want, be irresistibly drawn to.

Isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

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PIECES BEING CUT AWAY The dead, your dead.

How many do you hold onto?

That were important to you, that you miss, really miss.

That you think about often, maybe even dream about.

Want to be with again.

Their numbers keep growing, never diminishing.

You feel the increasing weight and burden of memories as these pieces of you are being cut away.

No, not what you expected.

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CAN YOU SEE IT? Can you see in others the child they once were?

It’s there, it must be, even in some latent form.

Many seem so alive, sweet, happy, as though everything is new, constantly amazed by the wonder of it all.

Looking forward to the next dream, always filled with love, with hope.

Yet in others that child is barely alive, or long forgotten, maybe even passed on, buried forever.

Hold onto your child inside, let it out to play, try to see the world through its eyes.

This seems to be one key to a life filled with more happiness.

Don’t you think?

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65

66

RIO EN MEDIO, SANTA FE NATIONAL FOREST, NM

CHAPTER

SIX 67

A BROKEN PROMISE? So, when did my body start to turn on me?

I thought we were friends.

That we had a bargain.

That I would be a good caretaker.

I began with pretty good genetics, then made sure to have plenty of rest, lots of exercise, no smoking, no drinking, no abuse, decent nutrition.

OK, not perfect, but who is?

In exchange my body would be a good and loyal partner and last, without much deterioration, for a long time.

Be around and in optimal working order, for its age, when needed.

Instead, I now get the vague sense that maybe it wants to move out sooner, that it’s beginning to fray at the edges, even perhaps abandon its promise, sneak off in the middle of some night and go elsewhere.

But, where would that be?

I mean, don’t we have to stick together?

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TO SOAR AND TO FALL I never realized that my days would wind down.

I know that sounds strange.

But I now know they do.

I seem to be on a journey.

Towards a more complete understanding.

Of myself, of a deeply embedded truth, previously obscured.

About the nature of life, about meaning and purpose, about who I am, who I was, and who I might yet be.

It’s surprising, refreshing, actually invigorating.

No, not dark at all.

There’s a sense that I can still achieve some sort of completion, a mastery, acquire an elusive wisdom, satisfying insights, about life and purpose.

A closure.

Oddly, my spirit, my soul, does soar as the days fall away.

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A SWEET REVENGE Have you ever wondered about the ones you loved, or thought you loved?

The love crushes.

The ones you so wanted to speak to, to notice you, to acknowledge even that they knew you existed, hoping that somehow they would want you, but never did.

To see them now as they turned out, no longer who they were, not in that moment in time, but in this.

Perhaps, especially, the ones who knowingly rejected you then.

Of course, they are no longer who they were, anymore than you are.

All disappearing -- cell by cell, molecule by molecule, neuron by neuron.

But what you might wish for is for them to see and acknowledge the wonderful and desirable person that you now are and that they could of had.

Yes, some small pleasure and a sweet revenge!

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AROUND THE BEND OF TIME Sometimes the future seems just out of reach.

Doesn’t it?

You desperately seek forward motion in your life to what’s unseen, unknown, just around the bend of time.

You are convinced that what is next will always be better than what is, what was.

But the future is stalled, in limbo.

You do sense it is coming.

You wait with anticipation.

Believing that it will be, has to be better, even when now is really, really good.

You’re filled with hope because that’s your nature, always dreaming for what might come.

But, too much waiting disheartens, undermines your confidence.

The past, the present, keep ahead of the future, blocking its arrival.

So, you wait.

What else is there to do?

Because you can’t give up hope.

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A WISE STEWARD It’s my time and I want full control.

All the hours, all the days.

My decisions.

Oh sure, I’ll be considerate, willing to ‘collaborate’.

But, I won’t be ‘on the clock’ for others, to simply serve their minor preferences.

Maybe that sounds a bit selfish.

Perhaps.

But since I’m increasingly uncertain about just how much is left in my hourglass, I intend to be a wise and controlling steward of my days.

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AN ANTHROPOMORPH Are you one of those?

An anthropomorph?

And a self-worshiper?

Believing that, indeed, all is in orbit around you, the center of the universe.

A minor sun god.

While everything and everyone else is there to entertain, to serve, to meet your expectations, your requirements.

That the plight and situation of others is of no real concern.

That your fulfillment is all that matters.

Well then, that is so sad, so pathetic, so truly pathetic.

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WITH MY HEAD INSIDE ITS NOOSE The monster.

It just sits there.

Entombed, asleep.

Inaccessible.

Quietly coiled.

If it so chooses, able to strike at any moment.

And create chaos.

At its option, all it needs to do is awake, squeeze a bit, grow, destroy.

Nothing to stop it.

For now, resting, seemingly hibernating.

Why it hatched there, how it grew, why it stopped, whether it will reawaken and have its way, all unfathomable.

Hopefully, it is a forever sated herbivore, not a soon to be gluttonous carnivore.

Meanwhile, my head is inside its noose.

I pay it no mind.

There’s nothing to be done.

So why worry?

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INSIDE WE ARE ALL POETS Everyone, everyone, has things, thoughts inside them that are just out of view, tucked away, resting in comfort, hidden, content where they are now, there maybe forever.

Stored, waiting perhaps, to be shared on the outside.

Things then for the telling.

The private, unrevealed, is precious, treasured.

With so much of everything else being public, shared in peculiar ways via social networks, these unrevealed treasures are our special, secret possessions.

These are feelings, beliefs, passions, observations, reflections.

That could be translated into our own individual language, then communicated, if we so choose.

These are our poems, revealed or not.

Inside we are all poets.

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LEFT TO THE GHOSTS Have you ever had to clean out the home of a recently departed loved one?

The place they’ve inhabited, their things, that once were imbued with life, vitality, meaning, that now seems barren, empty, abandoned.

Without their owner the places seem discarded, lost, forgotten.

As though our loved one simply vanished with hardly any real trace of them left.

And after such long, full lives.

You can almost see tumbleweed and dust blowing aimlessly through.

The place now left to whatever ghosts want to inhabit this deserted space.

If only there was a way for us to perform this task before we, ourselves, departed, so that others wouldn’t have to endure such penetrating melancholy.

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FOCUS ON THE LIVING Maybe we get too worked up about our greatest fear, dying.

I mean, we never will experience our own death.

Our greatest loss will really be the death of those we most love and cherish, not our own.

Also, why do we worry so about how we’ll be remembered when we can never truly know?

Perhaps it’s better to worry less about those things that we will never know or experience.

Yes, just focus on the living, especially the ones we most love.

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POND, TAOS, NM

CHAPTER

SEVEN 79

I CRY FOR YOU When you see me cry, it will be for you, not for me.

After, later, I’ll be gone, but you will still be here.

To be guardian of our memories, to be the us for them, to carry the burden of emptiness and an always ‘what if’.

Yes, I cry for you.

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REDEMPTION ‘Come Angel.

It is time for you and I to wrestle.

It is for your redemption and that of The Master.

You will not be released from my grasp until you acknowledge and ask for forgiveness for the neglect and cruelty allowed to Your People.

Until you fully restore the covenant.

I wrestle not in the name of our patriarch, Jacob, but for the remains of our scattered peoples.

You can no longer hide in silence behind folds of the shadows of the shadows.

I will meet you at Peniel when night arrives, where after I grant your release you will be given our eternal blessing, and you and The Master will be forever and forever guarantors of the covenant.’

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SEPARATE AND APART I’ve always felt somewhat apart.

Separate, a bit different.

An outsider of sorts.

Believing that there may be others, now unknown, who like before, will want to do us harm.

Harm because of who we are.

Yes, of course I now feel safe.

But didn’t we in all the pasts?

It’s not a fear, it’s a guarded anticipation, because evil stalks, especially this evil.

No, it doesn’t preoccupy my thoughts.

But hasn’t history regularly repeated itself for us?

Haven’t we been discriminated against, tortured, enslaved, murdered, even within the brief

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span of my days?

Just because of belief, culture, genetics.

Why should I assume ‘never again’, where is the experiential rationality in that?

With the Holocaust so recent, and it having emerged from, and been embraced by, ‘cultured’ societies, and with new Holocausts being called for, hoped for, by so many, the thought is not so irrational, is it?....is it?

83

DOES IT MATTER? It’s late afternoon.

The light is fading, the sun balancing precariously on the far ridge.

I’m out here on my porch.

Watching, struggling.

Struggling to locate the words I want.

To put them down here on paper.

To share a piece of myself with others.

If I move now, I know the thought and momentum embedded in this moment may be lost forever.

But I wonder, if unwritten, will it matter to anyone but me?

And does that really matter as long as it’s done, completed, and I’m satisfied?

84

LIBIDO POWER Can’t I harness and reign in my libido somehow?

Perhaps convert it into electrical energy and help alleviate the energy crisis.

And will its ever present close collaborator, desire, ever whither away?

No, I don’t think so.

Surely not as long as you’re around and so close.

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IF IT’S LOVE If it’s love then it would be fully revealed, not obscured or hidden from your other.

If it’s love then it would be fully active, not passive.

Active in daily, endearing words from the heart.

Active in all intimacies, both physical and emotional.

To discover and share, as one, all the pleasures and joys.

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If it’s love then all reasonable, mutual, expectations would be shared, and then all best efforts made to fulfill.

Love -- fully revealed, fully active, with all intimacies and reasonable expectations shared and met.

Otherwise, no, it’s something else, maybe the potential of love, but surely not love.

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BLOWN AWAY As she stood to leave, perhaps for their last time together as one, she turned and faced him.

They looked at each other with a very great sadness.

Each with their own remembrances.

So many happy and intimate times together.

Surprisingly, in all their years, there were no truly negative memories each could recall, except for this.

It all seemed like a preventable tragedy which they would both come to regret.

Nonetheless, in spite of each still professing the deepest love for the other, they were allowing the most vital and fulfilling part of their lives to be blown away.

Somehow this single moment seemed to outweigh all the others, and they were each incapable of seeing that.

Later, they would come to painfully realize that the grass would never be greener elsewhere.

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WHAT’S MISSING? What more could I possibly want?

Don’t I already have everything?

I’ve had every bit of joy and happiness that I ever could have imagined.

Actually, even far more than that.

But yet, periodically, a little sliver of emptiness, incompletion, seems to seep in.

Because something seems to be missing.

I don’t have a clue what that might be.

I can’t determine its source.

It’s sort of a small shadow that covers a small edge of my sun.

But, if I don’t know what it is, how will I know what to do about it?

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I SHOULD HAVE PAID MORE ATTENTION TO EINSTEIN I should have paid more attention to Einstein.

In your life you function with this belief, this perception, that actual time for everyone is the same, an absolute, measurable, predictable, constant quantity.

But, I began to wonder as I’ve aged, ‘why does it suddenly feel as though it is now moving much faster for me, but maybe not for others?’

Have I tripped into a wormhole of sorts, with the result that I’m now moving faster through life?

So, I went back and checked, and now have my own interpretation of Einstein’s ‘special relativity’.

Motion, in this case the motion of life, coupled with the different position of observers, in this case me versus others, in fact results in a space time variation.

And time, then, has a ‘relative’ nature to it rather than being a universal absolute.

Surprisingly then, perhaps the answer is perhaps.

I guess then I’ll just tumble along now and see what’s at the other end of this wormhole.

I mean, what choice do I really have?

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THE WICK The dead and our past are our special treasures.

It is our memory of them, and that which has already occurred, that are our most vital possessions.

It is what we will last let go of before we leave, for there is nothing else we can take.

Memories and the past, and the hope for ours who remain, are then all we really have.

Hope and a future for ourselves are no longer relevant as our life burns down like a yahrzeit wick.

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NEDRA’S POND, SANTA FE, NM

CHAPTER

EIGHT 93

EACH DAY’S FIRST GIFT Now I know why sometimes I wait.

Before the morning, in the dark.

Watching, while the world is still unformed.

Instead of being warm, dreaming, nested in nights’ womb.

It is before the sun, before there is light.

Before the birds’ sweet song, before life moves.

I sit, I watch, I wait.

Time seems suspended, hovering in mid-air, trying to decide what to do.

I wait.

Then the light, pale blue.

Each day’s first gift.

I sense hope, excitement, the grandeur, the majesty to come.

That there is a next, that tomorrow is now today, that another genesis begins, that once again there is a new start.

So, each day I wait.

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SOME DAYS......

There are some days that overflow with life.

That have hypnotic vitality.

Days that keep expanding, full of a creative force, their own ‘big bang’.

When you are part of both the sunrise and sunset and every moment in between.

When you bathe in that day’s warm light, and the world, its beauty, is so plainly visible to you.

While there are others that seem to stand still, go on forever, not radiating but only absorbing light and your life energy.

Days when being abducted by aliens would be welcomed.

You know what I mean, don’t you?

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‘THANK YOU..........’

I thought I knew about the beauty and power of words.

But it was a young child, an HIV/AIDS orphan, living at a school in rural Uganda, that has taught me that there is so much more for me to learn.

At the school that I have the privilege of assisting in many ways.

In his letter to me he said, ‘thank you for loving me’.

Imagine that!

‘Thank you for loving me’.

Him thanking me for his gift to me.

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AUDITIONS Oh, come on.

Go ahead, tell me.

You know you want to.

It’ll be just between us.

Yes, about your desire for, and belief that, you will still have a ‘meaningful’, but as yet undiscovered, unrevealed, love.

The belief is maybe a bit unclear -- could be ‘an in addition to’, or perhaps ‘an instead of’ love.

Oh, you do secretly long for it.

Perhaps imagine how this wonder could unfold at any moment.

Some days this fantasy preoccupies a chunk of your time.

Potential candidates float in and out of your awareness.

In the quiet of your thoughts you regularly ‘audition’ candidates.

Now, now, don’t worry.

I’m very sure that you are not the only one harboring such a secret.

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TIME LOST Have you ever noticed that there is a time in your day when nothing happens?

Absolutely nothing.

When time is suspended, in limbo, unable or unwilling to move.

When nothing is born, nothing dies.

No ideas, no work, not even daydreaming.

A complete blank.

A black hole in your day.

While immobile, you subconsciously wait for next moments to occur, for renewal, for your resting life source to reawaken.

When forward movement, and even the possibilities in your life you so hope for may again return.

And, it is only when momentum returns that you realize that this most peculiar daily reoccurring time has been lost.

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I AM OF THEM I am of them.

My source of life.

My beloved parents of blessed memory.

It is for me to remember, to reflect, to sing their praises.

My love and gratitude is boundless for the light, for the goodness, that they so carefully nurtured and placed as an eternal flame within my heart, within my thoughts.

Without this, without them, my soul might be dark, empty, without purpose.

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LOVE HOPE? Tell me what you think.

Is it a waste of a life’s precious time to pursue, in silence, an unrequited love?

Is it sort of like expecting to find treasure at a rainbow’s end, or believing the reflection of the moon in a river is real?

You know, a romantic, but obviously false hope.

To have words rehearsed, but never spoken, just stored away, in case.

To wait and wait for the love you so desperately want to be claimed while it sits in your heart’s warehouse, up on a shelf, lonely, gathering dust.

Is it better to be an unrealistic, but a forever hopeful romantic, or do you believe that such love hope, against all odds, has no place in a life?

Yes, tell me, please.

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MEMORY WAREHOUSE I loved them all, each one, although I can’t now remember many and all of the details and pleasures from others.

Some I have lost touch with, but I hope I will find again.

Some seem lost to me forever.

But they are there, all of them, stored in my memory warehouse.

And I still desire each special one, undiminished.

To have each again, if I could.

Each special memory and remembrance is indeed a treasure, a caress for my heart.

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WOUNDS We all have or have had them.

Some deep, some superficial.

We carry them with us, in varying ways, as extra baggage.

Usually inside, private, unshared.

Wounds.

Inflicted, self-inflicted.

Accidental, intentional.

Sometimes healed, a distant memory, other times open, festering.

Once in awhile a wound is so deep, so insistent, that it preoccupies a whole life.

Some can’t alter, alleviate, what has happened.

Others actually encourage their continued presence as a badge, a reminder, as some dark motivator or excuse to justify certain behaviors.

Best to allow them to heal, to be forgotten.

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BECOMING IRRELEVANT You come to an age and wonder, ‘who is it any longer that really wants to hear what I have to say?’

Even though you correctly know the unique and special value of your words as the result of the knowledge, wisdom, judgment you’ve acquired.

But, you’re retired, mostly alone, no longer engaged in the world of work.

Others, perhaps even your own children, former colleagues, just seem less interested since you no longer have standing in the flow of that past life.

And they used to hang on each syllable you uttered, sought you out for input.

What then is the link between age, position, and perceived human value?

What do you think?

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104

CORKSCREW SWAMP SANCTUARY, BLAIR AUDUBON CENTER, FL

CHAPTER

NINE 105

HOLDING ON It doesn’t stop.

The dying, the funerals.

There is this invisible, dark threshold you cross at a certain age, and then it begins.

Your grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, friends, spouses, all continue to disappear.

Swallowed up into the unknowable void.

You tighten your own grip onto the edge and avoid looking down.

Sometimes your soul gets restless, yearning for those who are gone.

You’re surprised at how quickly those who you’ve lost recede from your memory, and sadly realize it will also be your fate to be quickly forgotten.

Nevertheless, you hold on.

Because you want more, you need more.

Because maybe there is still time to experience more of your dreams.

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IT IS DESIRE Desire.

I am propelled forward by desire.

The desire for love, meaning, intimacy, knowledge, joy, creation, wisdom, inner calm, truth, happiness, a life that makes the one for others better, that extends my line safely forward.

When I seem to obtain that which I seek the desire is only momentarily fulfilled.

It is in a never ending supply.

An endless cycle that anticipates a completion that never occurs.

It is desire.

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HOLY NEUTRINO!!

Uh, oh!

Wait a second!

Hold on!

Holy neutrino!

What if Einstein’s theory of relativity isn’t exactly correct?

Recent studies show that those little neutrinos may travel faster than light!

Nothing is supposed to do that.

The theory of relativity depends on that fact being correct.

Messages, etc. via neutrinos could then arrive at the recipient before they’re sent.

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Think effect before the cause.

The possibilities.......

Orgasm before the sex.

Sated before the meal.

Punchline before the joke.

Well, you get the problem.

Hey, maybe there really are other dimensions and parallel universes we can’t see but will soon learn how to experience.

Maybe even travel via wormholes to who knows where.

And we thought the internet, 3D, Xbox, Wii, etc. were cool!

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SAVING THE WORLD It is a terrible thing to see, to know, that there is only gloom, hopelessness, even a premature death, lying on the life path of others.

And to feel powerless to alter the essential finality of that fate.

Yet as part of the human community, if we ignore it, if we don’t at least try to change the outcome, aren’t we somehow complicit in allowing its continuance?

Aren’t we obligated to scream ‘fire’ when there is one, and aren’t we obligated to try and put it out?

‘And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world(Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:1(21a)).

To have saved an entire world -- now, that is truly a most worthy aspiration for each of us.

Isn’t it?

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ME AND MY QUIET I confess.

To being overly attached to my quiet.

Possessive of it actually.

My special place, state of being.

No one else allowed, ever.

My rules, my creations.

Sometimes a serene vacuum of empty, exquisite nothingness.

Other times a boisterous three ring circus of an inner life filled with exotic adventures.

And sometimes as a vast expanse stretching across brilliant horizons, while at other times as a microscopic speck in a never ending, mysterious, cosmos.

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CRUELTY Lovemaking.

One of the marvels and rewards is how you so quickly become removed from the often less pleasant realities of the world.

And enter a fabulous, ethereal place of ecstatic joy.

That you can revisit when your good fortune allows it.

But, one of life’s cruelties is how relatively brief the journey, how quickly you are returned to the same place you started at, and how rapidly the memory of the experience fades.

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THE MIST I am this morning’s first moment.

A weightless mist, rolling across a serene, soundless lake, just before the birds wake.

Searching desperately for you, my shore.

I must find you before the sun brings its warmth.

Otherwise I will evaporate, then lost forever.

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NOTHINGNESS Try it sometime.

Although I’m not really sure it’s really possible.

To do nothing, think of nothing, be untroubled, and have a moment of absolutely exquisite, blank, calm nothingness.

No thoughts of what could have been, what will be, or even what is.

No hoping, recriminating, caring, reflection.

No creative insights, no search for ironies, no neurotic pondering, no desires, no fantasies, no worrying, no what ifs.

Just treasured moments of truly serene nothingness.

Wouldn’t that be nice, so nice, ay least once in awhile?

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LOYAL WORDS So, do you think our own words pay singular attention to what we say and write?

Or do they have a life of their own, perhaps continually commenting about us.

You know, like, ‘ha! he says it, but doesn’t really mean it’.

Or are they always loyal servants, believing everything we convey, doing whatever we want?

But, sometimes, don’t words just escape from your mouth as though you lack input, control?

See what I mean!

It’s probably safer to treat words with great respect, just in case.

We don’t want them angry, out of control, rebelling, causing us all kinds of trouble.

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IT CAN’T BE YOU I know you say it’s you.

Maybe you really think it’s you.

But that can’t be true.

Because this you is just too different from the one I’ve always known.

Where then did all that loving warmth, honesty, openness, affection, trustworthiness, vanish to?

Or is it conceivable that somehow over all this time, I was intentionally deceived or self-deceived, and all of that was never really within you?

But, if so, to what end, and why?

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118

UPPER TRAMPAS LAKE, PECOS WILDERNESS, NM

CHAPTER

TEN 119

LAST MOMENTS I’d prefer it to be when I’m holding you close in the night, feeling your tender warmth, sharing times’ memories, whispering words of love.

Or maybe when we’re sitting outside holding hands, feeling the cool air of that night’s approach, watching together the glories that dusk brings.

Whenever, wherever, are our very last moments together they can only be an inadequate coda for a spectacular, grand, and wondrous symphonic life lived together.

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AT THE END, IN THE BEGINNING Strange, now as I slowly edge closer to the end, I think more about the beginning.

I wonder whether that was also true for those in my long line before me -- my father, my grandfather, his.......

I wish that I could travel back through a wormhole of memory and gather up all their most important memories.

Because memories are great teachers, and maybe they don’t really disappear, lost forever.

That they are there, somewhere, lying around, hidden, forgotten, waiting to be found.

So that we might follow back our own trail of existence through time.

To know for completion, to learn, and to know how we came to be.

Our story.

And to share with those just ahead, for them to understand that they, too, are part of a continuum, an unbroken chain, one that stretches far back before time, and far forward beyond what will be time remembered.

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LIFE CAN ALWAYS SURPRISE I always thought I knew.

Precisely.

But now I really think I do know.

Who I am.

I realize that may sound a bit strange.

I’ve found that time, experience, reflection, maturation, do yield wisdom, and enlightened self-perception, if one pays careful attention.

However, what I still remain uncertain about is who I may yet be.

Not that I want to change, since I’m extremely satisfied now, surprised and pleased with who I’ve become.

Perhaps ‘change’ is the wrong word and ‘evolve into’ is a better one.

I continue to be amazed by the options, the possibilities that seem to emerge when you look.

Life can always surprise when you allow it.

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NEAR AND FAR How is it possible to be so intimate and close and suddenly so far away?

So physically and emotionally blended as one, then suddenly separate and distinct as two To have completely known the other, but suddenly realize it couldn’t be so.

To know such things are, of course, possible, but not believe it possible.

That your other’s heart can seem so visible and yours, but sometimes invisible and whose?

Confirmation that nothing, no one, is truly knowable.

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THESE POEMS AS A REMEMBRANCE All those other pieces of life I’ve lived are gone.

The ones before, gone forever.

I mourn their passing, their innocence, their unexpected wonder, their irretrievability, that they were blessed gifts beyond my expectations.

My childhood and after, those until a now unseen conclusion.

My great regret is that my parents and all those others who played such treasured roles, and who have now passed on, are not with me to share the joy and happiness of the recollections from those lives.

To them I offer these poems as a remembrance to their blessed memory.

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ZERO BALANCE You always have to try and balance it out.

Those love inputs with those love outputs.

To try and be fair, equitable.

To have the balance be, or approach, zero.

Because it’s better that way.

To be both the giver and receiver in equal portions.

Maybe not each day, but over the long stretch of time.

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A PREYING MANTIS Yes, I think that describes her, from what I know.

When I heard about the behaviors of this unique insect, it sounded right on the mark.

She was, in fact, just like a preying mantis.

OK, metaphorically(sort of).

Devouring her lover while he loves her.

What kind of thing would do that?

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A SATCHEL OF SADNESS Someplace within, we all, some more than others, carry around some sadness, some darkness.

Usually it’s tucked away, in a secret spot, hidden, sometimes even from ourselves.

There is no shame in that.

It is, after all, a universal human condition.

On our outside, all seems fine.

And, most often it is.

But once in awhile, this weighted satchel can be a great burden.

Can’t it?

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I SEARCH I search.

Constantly.

For the memories I know are there, stored somewhere.

But, the ones I most want seem irretrievable.

They are at the very edge of recovery, seemingly cloaked in a shroud.

I need those memories so I can have my parents and my others close to me again.

To see their faces, hear their words, feel their touch, to tell them what I hadn’t, for them to tell me all again, for me to fill them in between then and now, and let them know the joys they missed.

The dreams of them I have aren’t recalled moments, just cruel inventions that also slip away.

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THEY’RE ALWAYS LEAVING Our lives.

So surprisingly frail, delicate, unpredictable.

The slightest turbulence affects our core, our centrality, can create such chaos.

We try to, need to, maintain stability, certainty, but people who we care deeply about are always leaving.

Challenging our ability to maintain balance, constancy, harmony.

And without this our capability to adapt, function, survive is diminished.

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ABOUT THE BOOK The Strange Curiosity of Memory is my sixth book of poems and the first to contain my photographs. Those selected come from a recent series of reinterpretations of surface reflections, with all but one involving water.

Many of the poems consider aspects of memory and life transitions.

Others contemplate topics such as love, separation, personal aspiration and obligation, and identity. Several are very deeply felt and were, candidly, a challenge to write. As always some are musings, complete inventions, while others stem from observed or personal experience.

I do hope that you find enjoyment within.

- Arthur Robert Goshin

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dr. Arthur R. Goshin first began writing poetry as he turned sixty. Educated as a physician and in public health, he’s had a forty year health care career, first developing health centers based in communities of poverty, then developing and managing large not-for-profit health care programs. He currently serves as a board chair, board member or advisor for a range of entities including private companies, organizations, foundations and academic institutions. As he retired from ‘employed work’ (as he puts it) and began writing poetry, he also became the founder/funder/president/ceo of his own foundation (www.healthyworldfoundation.org) engaged in numerous health projects in Uganda and India. ‘Art’ splits his living time between Buffalo, New York City and Santa Fe with his wife Renée.

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