Author: tomgrasso (Page 31 of 38)

It does seem that in the current of human events that one often loses sight of the truth for need of correctness. Do we entangle our selves so strongly to the subject of thought that we cannot reach for the ideals of truth?

It would seem as if we have lost our way in the myriad of conquests offered to be right, not honest. To such endeavors we persecute the greatest aspect of our Being, the way to Truth, the part of us that seeks not praise or profit for just Being “true”. To share such a breeze of honesty onto the fires of our lives may see the embers burning brighter, blazing a scene of righteousness into the tapestry of our souls. Be such honesty, hold that which is true close to your heart, and offer that which is found there to all who surround you.

Study the things you now value, seek in them that which shall cause suffering and weed them out like ivy in a pumpkin patch. Learn about your self, in that there can be no greater truth, and in the study do not leave a single page unturned. Strive in isolation to know that same self, to seek in it the sturdiness of the individual, the calmness of Being, the wisdom of the ages. Be strong, be brave and be wise my friend, and in this you shall find the end of suffering, the extinction of need, and the foundation for which life itself was created on.

Today we learned of the death of a loved one who lived far away but was not far from out hearts. True, she had lived a relatively long life, and left as as another example to what ends habits like smoking will cause, but still the faint tinge of pain reaps at my soul at the thought of her passing. One must reach out to her husband, a decades-old meeting of two minds and spirits, for no deeper pain can be felt at the knowledge that you shall never again touch the hand of the one you love (in this existence anyway). One must seek out those who pain greatly at such loss, for death does not effect the dead as much as it effects the living.

But such lessons can be learned by the living, those of us who can take such moments for granted and waste them with the pitiful arguments spawned not of love but of the folly of fools. What moments did those two waste with irrelevant spawnings of the temporary suffering self-inflicted by anger, jealousy, or other emotions known to ego? What would they give to have those moments back to share in the love they felt at their final moments of passing?

I am sure the price would be high, just as I am sure they would pay it.

So do us living fools dare take this lesson to heart that shed our selves prone to such waste? Most likely not, as we feel the need to live in such disharmony from time to time. Storms, it can be said, are necessary to clear the air, to wet ground left fertile but dry, to unseal such a surface hardened with time. After such storms, life can spring anew, time can be restarted with the crisp and tortured sound of Thor’s hammer as it springs to life even the most deaf of souls. Nothing, it is said, can dare sleep during such storms.

It would seem to be in our best interest to seek the limit to these storms, for as some things may benefit from their birth, they surely can leave destruction in their wake. The floods of pain and agony can leave many a soul buried under mud so deep that only darkness can survive. The winds of suffering can howl greatly in the ears of the passionate, causing the heartiest among us to snap and splinter in the midst of it all. Yes, some may see life anew once the storm clouds clear, but others may see destruction so great as to never recover.

As the end comes, and we are drawing our last breaths, it seems implausible to believe we will see value in the storms. Nay, we will cling ever so desperately to the last vestiges of sunshine and wish the storm clouds away. We will bargain for the time wasted seeking shelter in the storm, and we will beg for the second chance to live in such harmony as to never need those clouds. We will grasp for the ones we love, pray for those we cannot reach, hope that they remember not the storm but the blue skies. We will wish the storms away, and we will have wasted time better spent in love than in anger.

Remember then dear souls, that when you wish away your love in favor of the darkening clouds above, that this may be your most brutal mistake. It shall not be your last wish, but it will be the wish you cannot change at any price, yet the one you will most desperately seek to change. Touch the one you love this moment, and never let go of the sunshine. Speak but true words of love to those you cherish, never let them forgo the chance to hear such promises. Allow your heart to open, and reach out to those who share so much with you in the time you have this moment.

This moment – it is all you are sure to have, it is all you will ever know. Be true to it in love with those who seek it in return and share it with those who do not know they seek such truth. You shall never regret that moment when the chance of rain is replaced by the surety of the sun.

Such a gorgeous day, and to share it with family on a lovely beach is simply precious. Such a collection of moments shall not be forgotten, and may truly serve as a standard of all such days to come (assuming, of course, that they shall).

To lay on such sand, one can be transported into oneself quite easily. Soft, supple earth pads the body along and allows such root to Creation as to not find evidence to deny it. The mind becomes still, tempered only by the soft ocean breeze, the warm sun, and the sounds of waves crashing innocently into Earth. One can feel such beauty as to not have a need to feel any other, as each moment becomes frozen into the other, still as all activity blurs into the calmness of this moment.

The sounds of the children laughing does not distract from this beauty, but only adds to it. To hear such delight in the voices of those you love can well emotion in even the sturdiest of men. The joy of others can only delight the still soul, as joy radiates around and adds warmth to the already heated air. To feel them experiencing such joy, to notice them seeing things they have never seen before, and to understand them as they feel the utter perfection of this moment is to see the crisp reality of what love can do. Love supplies such joy; the love of Creation offered to each of us, the love we have for such Creation, and the love we can share with each other is what living is all about. This moment assures me of the correctness of this path.

To seek any other would ruin this what I have already been given.

I open my eyes to be elated at the sight I see. Perhaps our loves are like water to us all. We can certainly go thirsty for a few moments, but ultimately shall suffer and perish if not satisfied. It may be true that we need not be attached to others, but it may also be true that in Being we are tied to another as surely as life is to water. The sight I see is my Water, laying motionless in the sun she loves so much, basking in the warmth as surely as in my mind. God, what gift of beauty thou hath given me! My wife, my partner, my teacher and my love completes the scene of perfection in a moment so real it can never be replaced. Like a movie stuck on a scene, this picture of beauty is burned into my Being as surely as my breath supplies It with life.

In essence, if I were to leave this existence at this moment, I would leave it in paradise. I worry not about what this journey may bring me tomorrow, for I have all I need now.

If I beat a dog that bit me 5 years ago each day because of the scar, who is to blame if he bites me again?

I wonder in such matters what is worse, the crime or the punishment? Does the present effect do anything to end the cause? To say that one acts in a way to suffer another from a past error, does the suffering of the present then cause an allowable mistake in the future?

See, one cannot claim that insanity of today caused by insanity of yesterday cannot have any effect on the psyche of tomorrow. To do so would be a high form of hypocrisy, in which the tormented turned tormentor can only expect to become the tormented again. If such a vicious cycle is not interrupted by some understanding of the present, the past has no choice but to become the future, the present has no choice put to live in the past, and the future has no hope of defining itself. We are stuck then in such a cycle, one of misunderstanding completed by misunderstanding, until all semblance of understanding is loss in the abyss. As deep as that pit shall go one will never touch bottom and will cease to find forgiveness in the darkness that has been created by one’s self.

It is nothing but truth that we are only in control of ourselves for this moment. Those who seek to rely on the past for today are destined to have that past repeated over and over again until the present ceases to exist unto itself. Today we have no present it seems, for we relive nothing but the past and identify so clearly with its pain that we choose to not let go lest we lose our identity. I choose to not blame others anymore for my actions, for I cannot be resolved in my complicity and cannot lean on the rock of blame anymore. Regardless of the pain instilled in my heart only I can choose to let that pain rule me instead of me it. I can no longer say “I am this way”, or “I am that way” because of another, I can only live in my present as one in complete control of it.

Take it or leave it, but I choose not to live in the past anymore. You can choose to live in this present with me as you are, or you can remain as you were, but I will not dive into that pit again. I am beginning to love the growth I feel each day, and do hereby choose to not be dragged down by the love you have of the past. If you expect perfection, be prepared by such disappointment. Imagine if the same expectation had been placed on your back to carry unfairly in the heat of the day.

Yes – love is what you have of it. One does not taste the bitter and be repulsed by it only to taste it over and over again. Such blame you may place on my head as a crown of thorns, but please note that I choose not to wear it. I will shrug off such suggestions as clearly as I shrug off a drop of rain that by some chance has found its way on my back; it will be forgotten almost as quickly as it was felt.

I just do not wish to live in that day anymore or at anytime. It is beyond me and me it, never to be relived again except by those who choose to hold on. Blame me if you like, but the fault of such a grip now lies solely on your hand. I can be walking with you or without you, that is your choice, but walking I will be.

I awoke after a restless night, my head pounding as if there were a million feet dancing from within. The sun was aglow having already risen to the brand new day and I had but no chance to welcome it. It was rare that I had not at least seen the break of dawn, either through a window or in person, and had not the opportunity to relish in the crisp silence of a morning pause. Today was different, it had beaten me to the wake, and crisply reminded me that in being human I am so much the lesser to the perfection of nature.

Yet through this morning’s silent scourge I had but to turn my head to see its cure. There she lie, silently in her morning frown, yet the more beautiful then when my eyes shut last. She is admittedly not a “morning person”, yet to me she is the very sight of beauty as she sleeps each morn. Such peace of the natural beauty that emanates from her can only be seen in the innocence of sleep. No worries to pinch her eyebrows, no children to harry her, no husband to aggravate her, she is the essence of beauty, the calmness of peace, the hope I feel each morning as I give thanks to see this dawn once again.

Parting from her is difficult although the bed is not my friend in the morning. Today is different, as the pain in my head beckons me back to the sheets. Yet I still rise, for the day’s pressing adventures must unfold as they are intended. I cannot help but to look once more at the woman who so much gives of herself. I pause to guess at what her day will be like, probably somewhat typical in the challenges of raise children, keeping house, and dealing with the day’s adventures and misadventures. Typical I say, knowing quite well that there is nothing typical about them except in the challenges themselves. I tend to play them off in her presence, yet I admire her honestly and truthfully for how she handles them with such grace that makes me question my own strength. I certainly do not have her fortitude.

I fight the urge to caress her; I dare not disturb this placid pond. Somehow it is moments like this that one can forget his own sufferings. Often when welcoming the morning in its stillness I ask myself “What is better than the dawn.” Well, today I have my answer, for the dawn but promises a day anew, the beauty that lies in bed next to me promises that day has hope, love, and purpose. Those gifts are few, but they are offered each day we awake and take the time to feel the love in the peaceful stillness of the morning, to see that which the light of the dawn does show, and wait to feel a loving hand grace our own with the tenderness such love can provide.

Surely without her the dawn would come each day. Surely without her the birds would sing aloud, the bunnies would bask in the warmth of the sun, and the mountain streams would sparkle such light in return. Yet to me it is clear that without her the light would not have the same purpose that it does this morning. Today, the sun but warms my skin, while she warms my Being, my soul, and my heart completely. Today, the sun but promises a new day, she fills that day with promise. To this end she is my answer to “What is better than the dawn?”

Just another day in the paradox of life, left swirling around in dismay between night and day, and the time spent wondering if any second away from living was worth it at all. Sometimes one can feel as if life has him on a treadmill, just running in place and the harder he pushes the more he realizes that he just will go nowhere until he stops running. Hell, even if in the stopping he gets thrown back a few feet, at least it is movement in some direction.

To serve so many masters in one day…absurd in the undertaking and fruitless in the effort. One cannot fathom the solitude of a day like this, the absolute insanity of it all. Striving to succeed where there appears to be no success in the offing, working to seek balance on a poorly balanced fulcrum, realizing that there are not enough hours in this day and not enough sympathetic ears to hear your plight. In such solitude one finds himself, either in joyful adoration of the moments he spends following his passion, or in quiet desperation of realizing that he simply is not.

To have the vision of passion stolen from you in a moment’s serene passing, barely noticeable to the thief yet oddly painful to the victim, one can forget to scream so silently as to not let the thief steal even that moment of emotion. To be so true to oneself as to let the thief feel the brunt of the loss, to steal back just one iota of respect from those so quick to take it from you is but a second pleasure to the realization that what was taken from you was never yours to begin with. In the lesson you hope to reduce the strain, and somehow the effort is but strain itself.

To those who would attest some ownership over me, take heed you own nothing, as I am all of nothing. To those who would insanely lay claim to a soul completely lost yet searching for a way to be found, be still in the moment you realize you have but grasped at air. To those who would shun me as a bastard stepchild, be cautioned that I may be shunned but I will not shun, for love is not given to be received, but given to be given. Take time, understand your complexities, and be so simple as to reach out with an outstretched hand. You will not be empty, you will not be forlorn, your will be loved in the simplicity for which love is.

And simple it is.

All things allowed in their simplicity are the best of things. All efforts made in their most simple form are worthwhile. All times drawn down to their most simple of moments are beautiful in themselves. It is not about solving the complexities of life, it is about transforming such complexities to their simplest forms. In those moments of simplicity, one can find purpose, light, and love. Love is simple, love never is complex, it is the basics of life and the mystery of all that is. To be in love is to find the purity of simplicity. To feel such tinge of hatred burn at one’s heart is to cloud life with complexity; such difficulties can be remedied with the slightest touch of a lover’s hand, the soft kiss of your other, the sweet embrace of your child. It is simple, it is beautiful and it is glorious.

The night last was filled with venom, frustration at those little minds which tend to impact with their smallness. Struggle as I might to reduce their effect, there it was, the replay of the mind’s noise stuck on a constant loop of ignorance. It makes you question the veracity of your purpose in such employ, when you can readily see the effects of their stupidity and ignorance in such light as to be blinded by their simplicity.

It is so true that even reasonable men can be filled with such ego as to not put their best foot forward if it should enhance others whose feet may seem better suited for the task. The realities are much more difficult than their fantasies would entail, a meanness of no purpose stuck in the afterthought of idiocy. You can see the glow of the discovery of failure in their eyes long before they can, you implore their discretion as a better part of valor, but to no avail as the monster of greed and ego surrounds their thoughts in supreme imperfection.

One would easily dispel such idiocy if only it didn’t impact and cause the imminent suffering of many at the whims of the few. So today I resolve to stand idly by and watch the imminent destruction of a valid cause, of one that I felt such passion and desire. As if the inexperienced were to be a Roman Minerva and I her owl, the simple minded fool would believe it so, yet again I stand to watch the flood of failure rush and await the sounds to see who the fool can assign blame. The owl shall truly find a home, but not in the empty statues of her court, whose absence of experience can only be surmounted by the overabundance of wasted thought, such shallow statues are sure to be as hollow as the dust that made them.

So, peace begone, I shall walk this path in the intensity for which it deserves. No forward watching angel shall there be, no wistful lines of scouts to portray a dismal end. I shall succeed despite the failings of others, and in that shall my purpose be. Such a raging flood of failure shall not impede me in my quest, such sadness in the lies told by foolish lips shall not purge me from my course. You, kind sir, may see a fool across the way, but be comforted in the fact that I shall not call you on your foolishness, shall not rail against you in your misconceptions, but shall wait patiently for the end to fall where it may. You may think yourself Goliath to my David; patience shall be my stone and persistence my sling. You shall not hear the thud or taste the dirt, you shall only know it is I who stung you.

It is late this night, a long day has passed, each moment different than the next, each leaving a little less in the tank. It seems as if my mind is on empty, the thoughts of the day wearing it paper thin, and I am left to sit in a chair staring at the lightning as it reigns havoc over the evening sky.

My youngest daughter has left me to get her bath, her mom carrying out what should be the day’s final debate with my ever knowing child. The lightning grows worse, closer, the sound of the thunder draws near. It does not appear long before we are in the midst of the storm, which most likely will end my nights excursion into the free flow of words from heart to keyboard.

Yet this storm reminds me of something, as often nature does, of what causes action and purpose may be. I think of suffering, that ever present Teacher, and how nature can teach us all things. In man’s decision to be separate of nature, he can’t help but to forget that which nature will teach. We attempt with all of our might to end suffering, treating it as some parasite on our Being, and look for ways outside ourselves to end it. We buy things, stuff ourselves full of food, become glued to the television, seek for removal of reality by means of drugs, all the while never postponing suffering. In fact, most of the time our escapes magnify the effects of the lesson.

Suffering has become my friend. I learn from it, never trying to hide it, embrace it when it visits, and treat it with the respect it deserves. I never try to dampen its arrival, but rather I open my arms to it. I simply just wait to see what the lesson will be.

It is in the cause of suffering that we will learn, and in that learning we become closer to that which ceases all suffering. In the face of physical pain, there are times when we simply have no choice but to dampen its effects, but we should certainly make every effort to embrace the pain and to allow it to lengthen our thresholds. Make all efforts to not complain about this pain, not to embrace it as part of you, but rather observe it as a dispassionate bystander who is watching someone else having this experience.

In the cause of mental or emotional pain, understand what it is that is causing this pain. In a relationship breakup, is it the other person who is making you feel this pain, or is it the identification with the relationship that you have lost that is bringing on the anguish? In the case where your partner has inflicted some pain on you, do you identify so much with the loss that you must relive it over and over again? Is that loss really the cause of the pain or is the pain the cause of the loss? Find the source of such pain, the real source, and find a key to happiness. Do not identify with the pain, do not relish in it, do not look for it, and do not let it own you. Simply understand its source and let it be, and like a snake ready to strike shy away from it less it become a part of you in the most uncomfortable way possible. Remember, if you do not own the object, you cannot own its loss, and therefore you cannot experience any pain at the loss of it.

Another bolt cascades from the darkened sky. Nature is ridding itself of something, embracing the destructive force of lightening in order to do so. Suffering is like these bolts, the clap of thunder, the thrash of heavy winds, the beating of such a torrential downpour. Yet at the end of this moment of suffering in nature the air is cleaned, the ground thirst quenched, the weakest branches purged. Suffering off all beings results in such a cleaning and nourishing, one must embrace it as such to benefit from it. The tree does not hide from the wind, the ground from the rain, the air from the lightning, it embraces it as part of the moment, as the cleansing it is.

There are times when I seek the end of suffering or look to diminish its effects, but those times are lessening, becoming less frequent. I look forward to the moment when I can embrace those times with the same joy that I embrace the sunrise. One must realize that for every downhill race there is an uphill climb, that there is a base for every summit reached. One we can accept the suffering and learn from it, we will truly achieve the happiness that such suffering was meant to foster.

Peace.