Who Dad?!

In the Mind of a Writer

I have long been curious about mythology and consciousness, paid attention to the wisdom of others, took notes, heard Pan whisper, "I need containment, not expansion."

On a river trip once, teamed in a small boat with a male scientist, my narrow insistence on knowing something was exposed in comparison to his habit of inquiry and open mindedness. I was constantly throwing anchors while he floated in curiosity.

Then, one day, I married a scientist.

I've known Susan for 32 years, have been married to her for 22 of them, but have only lived with her for the six most recent ones. Early on, we came to understand and appreciate the slow winding river of love and intimacy. There is no guidebook. It's something that can only be mapped together as we go.

Nowadays, we don't have to travel to know what is happening around the world and in the lives of others, past, present, and future. Such is the universe of social media.

We've been transported into physicist speculated simultaneous realities where those from old neighborhoods, schools, and jobs intermingle with those from today's.

Relationships resurrect. Fade away again.

And, the collective memory reveals everything.

Even what never occurred.

Figure it out.

We have all become time travelers arbitrating our existence. Remember when life was lived sequentially? It was simpler to interact with those with whom we shared a particular stage rather than this current cross-section of every theatre with so many performers and audiences.

I think of long ago trade routes spreading the seeds of the modern world. Might the internet, at ever-increasing speed and with greater reach, be the catalyst for something yet unimagined? Might we be on the bumpy way towards a global consciousness within a now electronic neural network?

I like to entertain such thoughts, search for the uplifting, while cultivating an understanding of different points of view. And so, I participate in social media. As a retired educator, I have the time to craft posts. As a lifetime writer, I've been thrilled to have immediate access to an audience that responded on the same day as the writing took place.

I was once old school, carrying a manual typewriter to remote places, pounding away for hours every day. Each revision meant retyping everything. My first novel (unpublished), Bringing Back God Alive, took nine months to complete and was read only by a handful of people.

Historically, the retreat into novelist mode shut out much for great lengths of time. For me, that no longer fits with the urgent need for elevating our collective response to the problems facing us. I want to be part of an active exchange and discussion. And, as much as I love novels, I will not make the retreat to write another. Instead, I will stay engaged and present, observe and report, utilizing and mixing essay, poetry, and narrative in what follows.

Morning Ritual

Awake with first light, coffee brewing,

pen in hand hovers over a yellow pad

waiting for the right words to emerge.

Some urge of aging perhaps

to want to share what one has learned.

A hummingbird in the yard

competes for my attention.

I'm in no hurry,

but as senses diminish with time,

a vigilance is needed.

Words, like perfume, should be used sparingly.

I imagine an elder who can say much with a gesture,

a tip of the hat, a knowing glance, a helping hand.

If our stories are wise and true

can they not also be revealed in how we shop, cook, and eat?

In how we move in this world and interact with all that is in it?

The hummingbird, now at my window,

appears to be suspended, motionless.

I smile, appreciating all the unseen force and effort

of this illusion.