Ascending to the Rhythm

There are few things in life that have given me a sense of purpose, release, accomplishment, and joy, such as climbing does. It goes without saying that my family does this, and more, yet as it is at this time my family was torn from my clutches. The perils of this journey are many, but the constant support of my friends has kept me accountable and uplifted all at once. Climbing has kept me free. Climbing, and the journey within any climb, are two things that you just can't explain to anyone who doesn't “get it”. The person who is unwilling to risk self, failure, pain, or pride will never “get it”. The rhythm that pulsates through your body as you find your groove on a climb is tantalizing to even the mere spectator. Climbing well, gracefully, and in a rhythm is something to be seen, felt, and inspire. As you flow over the stone with seemingly effortless grace, all parts of your body working as one, your world just becomes magical. The stresses and worries of everyday life just fall away as you ascend higher. Each move releasing more of what should not be, replaced by a splendor and serenity that keeps you going. You tire, you risk falling, you risk failing, yet you keep going. Fear can run through your veins, but it is the life giving energy which you leave with, that keeps you going. You know not what lies ahead, yet you ascend willingly. A buoyant rhythm about you, a dance with gravity, where you dance in step, a tango with the demons within you, those are the dances I will always remember most. I have always danced to the beat of a different drummer. It is who I am, at the core, to challenge myself and to bask in the glory of persevering and pushing myself beyond what I thought possible in all aspects of my life.

At the base of every difficult climb, I tend to close my eyes, lower my head, and just clear out all the clutter that is dancing within. On a really difficult, dangerous, or scary climb, I’ll ask God to move with me. To be the extra energy I need to make the next hard move. To have me on belay and catch my fall if it should come. As I submerge my calloused hands into my chalk bag, I caress the powder as it is absorbed by my pores. You dust off your shoes, check your knot. A resolute look into your partner’s eyes tells you that she is right there with you. Connected by a 9.8mm strand of nylon. Connected on so many levels, yet so far apart. Her journey is neither yours, nor yours hers, but you know that she has you if you fall, if you fail, or if you need support. It is a connection beyond the rope between you. As you make your first move the jitters subside, the nerves cool, and you know what you must do. Your mind has been here before; your body moves over familiar territory. Your mind is sharp and trained to pull all things together. To release what needs to go, and to utilize all parts of your body as one. Like a flock of geese flying in formation, your mind leads your body, carrying it forward in its flight. You find a hold, a mere imperfection in the armor of the rock. As you gently brush of the dirt that covers it, you gently place the tips of your fingers on top of it. Slowly you apply pressure and feel the sharpness. You push out the pain and apply more pressure, keenly aware that too much pressure and you will “peel” from the hold. You feel solid, grounded, yet lifted. The rest of your limbs follow suit. Together like a well choreographed dance, to a rhythm all your own, you continue the process. Each move its own, unique and diverse. Suddenly all pistons are firing. You feel the strain in your back as you pull; the fire in your legs as you push. The sweat stings your eyes but you are smiling. Your soul is smiling. Your spirit is free. You are right where you need to be. Nothing can encroach upon the solidarity working within you. The burn in your forearms, the strain of your muscles, the beating of your heart, and the stinging in your lungs, all a beautiful machine. Working together, well oiled and doing what it needs to survive. NOTHING else is there. Just the sound of the wind, your body, the sun on your back; NOTHING! You are free. A freedom not freely given, but earned move for move.

The bliss when you make the top is amplified by the sun on your face, the wind in your hair, and the sense of being just a small part in a world so much larger than you. You look down and the solitude gives way to the smiling faces that you can scantily make out. They are looking up, smiling, clapping and laughing. They know the feeling. They have been there to push you on before. Those are the smiles and faces of those who “get it”. Words aren’t necessary when you lower to the ground; the drug that pulses through your body is all natural. Organic and pure. More than adrenaline, more than happiness. As you untie, the cool breeze descends upon you and a gentle rain begins to fall, cleansing the sweat from your brow. As those around you scramble in their laughter for some cover, you look to the heavens and allow the rain to fall upon your face. The winds pick up, the drops fall with more intensity, the thunder claps and the lightning paints the sky. You are home. Amongst friends, amongst family, souls who share the dance. The rhythm beats within them as well. The rhythm does not subside, you dash under a tree, on a rock, seeking shelter from the onslaught, yet the sounds, smells, sights, and people around you create a rhythm all their own. Those friends who lay about the rocks around you, sheltered from the rain, are your family. The rain falls and cleanses the world around you. The slate is washed clean, ready for the next dance.

Betting On A Better Tomorrow

What’re the odds a man could go through a hell unlike any he could know, a hell for which no one could prepare you for, and within find a kind hearted soul that would make you forget? What are the odds that you could find a kindred spirit within a glass of wine and grilled steaks? If you were a betting man you'd place the odds at about even. For every 100 single women in the county of La Plata (that’s here in Durango) there are approximately 103 single men. Not bad odds. Just about as dead even as could be. Delving further into the statistical cyber googleness, you find that the number of single men that are “gainfully” employed in this county is quite disappointing. Seems we live in an odd environment here in Durango Colorado. Our little town is an anomaly of sorts. It would appear that being single and having a job in this town are good things. I have one of those at least.

So it is no surprise that it can seem so effortless to adapt to my ever changing environment. I have no desire to “be” with anyone else, and cannot foresee that day. Yet all the while you look for nothing more than friends that you can talk to and contemplate life's odds with? You meet so many people, yet only occasionally to you find one who can truly take you to a place of forgetfulness. You feel a sense of betrayal in even exploring the hearts that surround you. Then suddenly you find a spirit within this conglomerate of friendships that takes you to a place of bliss. Within this spirit that you have encountered, you find a soul full of experience and love, yet you feel wracked with guilt. All that is wrong with the situation is pointed out in the most profound of ways, by those who would still peddle hope for a situation that is anything but. You sit next to this person and you see peace and comfort in her eyes. You feel an abating presence to your situation when you are with her, amnesia temporarily sets in. Your laughter emerges freely and with little effort. I can’t explain the ease for which we talk and laugh, or simply just be quiet and sit there. The hell in your mind, the war in your heart, the battles that rage in your soul are all put to rest in her company. A cease fire sets in and you can breathe peacefully again. That guilt and betrayal are just a concept imposed by society. You know the past is behind you yet you don’t want anyone to hurt or feel uncomfortable. All you know is there is an ease about you when you are near her. Being you has never flowed with such effortlessness. No preconceived notions or expectations are there. You are not seeking more than what comes naturally. The laughter flows along with the wine.

I have begun to contemplate the words upon my chest. Dum Spiro Spero – While I Breathe , I Hope. Profound as they are to everyday life, they were put there so that I will always know what lies within my heart. I have always hoped for so much. Now I can only speculate what tomorrow will bring but I know it will include hope. Hope that I can continue to roll the dice and occasionally win. With this person, I have won a new kind of person in my life. A friend for whom the laughter has no boundaries or limits. The ease for which I breathe in her company is refreshing. The fact that there are NO expectations is comforting. Slowly the guilt for being “me” falls away. The door to door salesmen of hope will only keep knocking, yet I will not let them in. The hope that I have is for a better tomorrow, not for yesterday.

So what are odds?

odds
 Show Spelled Pronunciation [odz] Show IPA
Use odds in a Sentence

–noun (usually used with a plural verb )
1. the probability that something is so, will occur, or is more likely to occur than something else: The odds are that it will rain today.


I am not a betting man, but I am going to bank my faith, hope, and odds on the fact that I can move forward and that there are people out there who will not judge me for putting one foot in front of the other. Moving forward is the only option that I have. I have been given no more options, yet so many were taken from my quiver. So for those who have seen me walking down the street with the aforementioned person, I hope you see the simplicity in it. I hope you see the freedom in being near someone who takes it all away and lets every ounce of your true self flow from inside. I hope you will look upon this person, me, and all the people like this and see that sometimes when you roll the dice and open yourself up to someone, you can win and realize that it is okay to open yourself up to “others”. To those who see anything negative in finding such a person to share some of your time with; I am sorry to have let you down, but I must walk on. You see, I live in the greatest town on earth. We are surrounded by mountains, lakes, rivers, snow, and trees. Most of all we are surrounded by love and enlightenment. I live in a town where the people around you see what is good and they will not stand by and watch you fall. With the ratios in this town, I am going to place my odds on the fact that there are other kindred spirits out there in our little community. I only hope to share more moments with them and continue to open up to who I am and share my story when it helps. The odds of my hell continuing are slim to none. It’s time to start placing my bets on a better tomorrow.

Shine Your Light

GUEST BLOOGER:

To the readers, followers, fans, naysayers, and awed spectators to Jim’s plight, blog, and character. My name is Justin and Jim and I have known each other for about 8 years now. Jim was my guide on a trip I did way back then and I will never forget the admiration that I had for him and the guide service he worked for. My admiration and respect were such that I continued to hire the guide service for years to come. I eventually convinced my wife that these guys were not your typical guides and that she could actually excel and these guys were the most patient instructors I had ever known. Jim was a standout then as he is now. His patience, demeanor, and character just drew you in. I was amazed at the way he could communicate his point and how he truly cared about those on his rope. Sierra (my wife) finally came on a trip to the Wichita Mountains on a 2 day beginner’s course. We have been hooked ever since. I have stayed in touch with Jim over the years and we occasionally trade phone calls. I have followed his blog since he started it and have been absolutely shocked at its progression. The progression he has made, and the choices he makes are nothing short of astounding.

You may ask yourself “who is this guy and who cares”? Well, I am an attorney who practices family law and Sierra is a clinical psychiatrist. We are surrounded by this type of situation on a daily basis. Jim became a true friend over the years and we grew to respect this man and look up to him for his outdoor leadership, teaching methods, and passion for all in his life. We knew Jim before Keeley was born. We thought we knew a proud father then, and that was true, but after the addition of his daughter, Jim was overflowing with amazement and joy each night around the fire. He would talk about his kids and little else. He always missed them and would often drive back into town to call them, or to the top of Mt. Scott where he had reception. Unlike most doting fathers, Jim was ever overjoyed with the woman he shared his life with, not JUST the gift she gave him, but HER as well. Sierra and I were drawn to the sense of completeness he conveyed when he talked about his family. It was ALL THE TIME. The guy would spend all night telling you funny stories about his kids and telling you how amazing his wife was. He always spoke of her beauty and how he still tingled when she touched him. We all only hope for that kind of love in our lives.

When Sierra and I learned that Jim had moved to Colorado, and we’d not see him in the gym or on the rock anymore, we were sad but overjoyed that he finally threw caution to the wind and chased his dreams. Par for course for Jim. You see, Jim is unlike your average Joe. He dreams, much like the rest of us, but Jim dreams deeper, more passionately, and with a sense of purpose. He dreamed of a “ Life Up High” where he could show his children the wonders of the world. A life of adventure and mountain breezes. I imagine that Jim found that place and that he and Peg found that in each other. Now Sierra and I could analyze this situation to no end, but this is different. This is “Sherpa Jim”. The guy who always carried more than the guys next to him and who would always encourage you to push yourself to a level that you had never been to before. Jim did not just touch our lives, when he went on to manage a gym in Grapevine, Texas he continued to touch lives and draw in friends from all walks. Jim was the guy who would solo up next to the scared housewife, or conservative executive, on a climb and place no judgment upon him or her. He would simply place his hand on your back and tell you “look at me – you CAN do this just as you have accomplished everything else in your life”. That is a direct quote, spoken to me as I held on for dear life and just begged to come down. I will never forget those words or the hand on my back, or the fact that the crazy bastard had no rope. He cared not of his plight, only that a scared attorney at law could make it to the top. I often use that memory to push myself beyond what I think possible. I will not forget that climb or the gentle eyes that calmed all the demons inside. My wife had a similar experience with Jim and she too sits next to me as I write with tears in her eyes for the man with a heart bigger than any mountain he could face. A spirit as vast as the landscapes he has peered into.

Sierra and I contacted Jim when we realized his comments had disappeared from his blog. In our professions we are constantly surrounded by turmoil and we found it nice to come home and read his blog postings together. Two highly educated professionals who found a place to escape. We have spent the last few months making it a ritual to come home and look for new posts. When they were there, we’d pop open a bottle of our favorite red and just read. Then we’d go each night and read the feedback and be utterly astounded at what we read. Some of it was quite harsh at times, but it seemed justified. Here was this man who had his heart ripped out, stepped on, spat on, and thrown to the side, walking tall and coming back a better man. It was like watching an incredible boxing match where the underdog comes back to his feet and has that stare, that look of renewed life. That fight where the underdog comes back and lets his spirit fly. That is Jim my friends. What really floored us was the fact that he was still loving to his wife even when it seemed he was down for the count. This guy didn’t just call his blog “Life Up High” by accident, it is who he is. It is the soul that soars like an eagle. The Jim we know was just a precursor to what he is becoming. We exchanged many high fives over those bottles of wine. It was better than watching a movie. We each began to admire this man and genuinely wish that we could learn from him, like the moments we shared on a rope; here he was putting himself aside to be sure she was not belittled. Amazing are the words that we have said time and again.

We found ourselves drawn to his writing. We would spend our days counseling and arguing for people in this same situation. We have both been in practice for over 20 years each and NEVER have we seen someone handle this with so much class. Never have I seen a love so passionate, resolute, and true. Sierra actually asked a few of her patients to read Jim’s blog. Each one came back and discussed it with her and on every occasion the patient and doctor were crying. Jim touches those he isn’t even near and those he doesn’t even know. So all this being said; we were pretty alarmed when we noticed that his comments were gone. Why? Why would he do that? So we called and spent 3 hours on the phone with him this week, in one conversation I might add. Once again he was trying to protect the one that he has loved with all that he is. He and Sierra talked about the darkness that often consumes someone who is trying to justify their actions, and all Jim could do was take blame. I am here to tell you people that we don’t count Jim blameless. He is human and still young. We don’t “blame” anyone. We asked Jim if we could write a post for his blog to tell what we thought. He reluctantly agreed and asked that we not bash Peg (again stepping up). We respect his wish, but we also have to say that while we would not bash someone who we do not know, it is evident that this man has something exceptional within. His writing has touched so many. We encouraged him to seek a publisher, yet he says his energy needed to be spent “bringing light to his kids”. Tears fall from my eyes as I type that. I am just saddened that he would take away the voice of the people, the comments, for that is how we can all share what we feel and what he has done for us. I do not know if he will put them back up, but I encourage anyone reading this to continue to reach out to this family. To pray, if you pray. Pass on good will if that is what you do, but do not forget the things you have learned from this, and do not negate the person that he has become and the fact that you too can live this way. To those of you who push him to publish, stop asking him to do something about it and do it yourself. Write your local newspaper editor and point them to his blog. Write your favorite self help column and do the same. Magazines or whatever formats you can imagine his writing in. Send every friend you can to his blog. We have seen his “profile views” go from just over 100 to 400+ in 3 months. People are reading. Send your friends and send their friends. This man has a gift beyond writing. Jim is more than a climbing guide. He guides us through the process of forgiveness and love. His compassion will live well beyond his body. His spirit will always be there when I feel that fear while climbing. Jim- you are a good man and I wish my clients going through divorce could behave the way that you have. You said you were a “mess” and that your emotions were “all over the place”. Trust me my friend; you are handling yourself better than ANYONE I have seen in all of my years in practice. We have asked Jim to post this unedited. Keep writing, loving, caring, teaching, guiding, and forgiving. She may be gone Jim, but you are here to stay and many people benefit from you being on this earth.
All the best,
Justin & Sierra T.

PS,
Something we also love about your blog is how your pictures and/or titles always play into what you are writing. So why don't you pick a picture for this one buddy.

A Handful of Forgiveness

I have been given SO very much since all of this happened, yet I have so little. I have also been given a gift that I have not shared, a new person in my life through all of this. I have spoken about her and my favorite beverage. Many guesses were thrown out there, and a few knew. I have been utterly destroyed, but there is opportunity to rebuild there. Better than before! Stronger than before! More real than before! I have been given a hand off of my knees, and I am forever grateful for that, but now I need a hand with something else. My journey continues and I have days of pure bliss, and days of pure confusion. I let my heart flow onto the keyboard, and thus into your worlds. I have received numerous emails about my “heart being on my sleeve”. I see the feedback and it lifts me, but there is a secret there. I continually see Peg bashed, trashed, and made to look like the bearer of the entire fault. Let’s look at “fault”:

fault
Show Spelled Pronunciation [fawlt] Show IPA
–noun
1. a defect or imperfection; flaw; failing: a fault in the brakes; a fault in one's character.
2. responsibility for failure or a wrongful act: It is my fault that we have not finished.
3. an error or mistake: a fault in addition.
4. a misdeed or transgression: to confess one's faults.


Now if you are free of this in your life, past or present, then please raise your hand – right now where you are, stop and look around you. What is perfect? What is without fault? Who of you are free from defect? I AM NOT AND I ADMIT IT FREELY. I messed up over the years and I am still trying to figure out how and why. I need her to help me with that but when she looks at this blog, which I had no idea she still did, it hurts her. What hurts her hurts me. You have to understand this and accept it if you call yourself my friend. Her pain is real and unimaginable. I AM her husband until the judge tells me otherwise. I am her friend as long as there is wind in the sky. I am hers in many ways as long as there is blood in my veins. What she feels about “me”? I care not. I care that she has friends and support out there. I care that I am one for whom she can lean on, laugh with, or lay her head on my shoulder and cry if that is what she needs.

I LOVE to write and have been encouraged to do so, but I have also been encouraged to not do so. I have chose option A. To continue to write means that I need the blank canvas before me to be one of FREEDOM. Freedom for my feelings to flow unabashed and judged by none. Now having a blog opens you up to that possibility, but I am asking all of you – my friends, to honor my wish and to look into your own hearts and imagine that someone you hold dear to you was being belittled assaulted. What would you do? Stand there and watch? Maybe you would, but not me. When I say that “she is all that I am”, you truly do not know the gravity of that statement. I am no fool. I realize what happened, but I forgive her. I have never felt a release so gratifying than the one I felt the day I was able to truly look into the sky and smile at the heavens..for I had forgiven! I cannot dictate to any of you, but I can tell you that the power of forgiveness is one of the most powerful that I have ever experienced. I ask that you walk away from this computer screen and you FORGIVE, not just Peg, but I ask that you show one act of forgiveness today to honor what, and who Peg and I are. We are both fighters. We have both suffered enough and we hope to walk forward to a better tomorrow. What does that mean? Who cares right now, but we will need the support of this community and our local community to keep going. I ask that you think long and hard about someone who has wronged you, who has dealt you with transgressions for which you have been unable to release. I need you to think of that person and forgive them right here, right now, and tell them.

Who is it? Your dad who was a “horrible father”? Your brother who was never there to defend you? The person who took something from you? If you truly wish to be free, then you will heed my advice and let it go. Free your soul by doing this one simple act of forgiveness today. So many of you have responded and offered a handful of hope, a handful of love, or a handful of kindness. Today I call in that favor – I ask you to do this one act of forgiveness today. Give that handful of forgiveness to someone for whom you thought it impossible. Once you have done that, I ask that you forgive the one I love. I ask that you forgive me for failing her and I ask that you hold us both up. Your hands are strong I know – and you have held up a man in his darkest hour, now I need you all to hold up the one I hold up. Help me if you love me the way you say you do. I cannot make any of you do anything, but I ask you to do this for me. Any negative comment that comes to your mind and passes to your keyboards, stop it right there. If you show anything on these pages, make it love for a family. For two souls who are hurting and need help. Say something nice and encouraging for once. There have been words uttered along these lines, but how about an entire blog posting with nothing but POSTITIVE feedback for two souls who have shared so much. She is me, and at one time in life, I was her. We were, at one time, two intertwined souls dancing in this world. Now we have fallen and need help. I write what I feel, and I know little of what that will be tomorrow, but I mentioned this person in the second and third sentences of this posting..scroll up.

That person is someone who has brought me joy like none I have ever known. I have spent a little time with her lately. Slowly getting to know her. Enamored in her smile and the simplicity of her movements. I was enraptured in her embrace for a brief time. She made me laugh the other night with her goofiness. We shared a few nights together on a mini vacation of sorts. Cooking dinner together and sharing that (now famous) cup of coffee. Sitting on the couch so close, yet so far. The incredible thing about her and I is that we shared a few evenings together and it was shear effortlessness. I felt guilty for getting to know someone other than my wife, yet her spirit drew me in and wouldn’t let go. Not like a “lusty” thing at all. In fact, it was purely on a level beyond physical. That thought never crossed my mind ( and yes I am still a man), but it was as if God dropped this woman into that brief period in my life ( 4 nights) just to show me what “could be”. I felt a sense of peace that was of a nature I have NEVER FELT. I thought I knew all these feelings in those 15 years, yet here I was experiencing them with a total stranger. I have no idea what she felt, but I can tell you that IF the ease with which we conversed, cooked, drank wine, and sipped our coffee, was any indication – she felt “something” along the lines of what I did. It’s hard to speculate what another human is feeling. That should be obvious after all this, but an easiness and tenderness, and respect that was present in that house that night, is not easily mistaken. It was there. When I awoke and looked over at her shoes that morning (after sleeping on the couch as she slept upstairs) I was astounded that it was not all a dream and that I had not scared her off. It is hard to explain to those around me who try “introducing me to the next Mrs. Meyer” that those things are not only hurtful to me, but something I will likely never do again. I am 36 years old and loved so deeply that I believe my soul drown in the deepness of that love. It will take years to revive. Yet I can also tell you that the “mystery girl” blew a small amount of life into a soul fallen from grace. It wasn’t like it sounds either! This hot lusty, passionate connection. It was a connection like one I have never experienced. It was real and peaceful. Unassuming and kind. Every moment of those 4 nights was a true gift. I would like to introduce her to all of you. She is amazing and has a kind and gentle heart. Soon!

All the while, I could only think of the girl I wrote about above. The pain she was feeling and “how could I take it from her. I’d still take every ounce of pain in her heart and soul. Physical or emotional, I’d gladly reach into her heart and take it for myself. You see, there was a time when she’d do the same for me. That is real and that doesn’t just go away for me. I knew NO love before her. I had never heard those three words before her. She taught me to laugh, love, dance, be free, and most of all to forgive. Now I need to rally my troops to do the same for her. She is half of the equation – half of me. We are both responsible for this mess.. fifty, fifty. She is the peas to my carrots and the light in my darkness. You are all light that has illuminated my soul, and now I need to direct some of that light elsewhere. If you are unable, I understand, I just ask you to email your comments instead of putting them where she can see them. I ask that you find a way to do that one act of forgiveness in our honor. To honor what we had and to honor who we are. I ask you to forgive her. As was said on a previous comment from the last post – To love me, is to love her.

To the ever expanding world out there who finds solace, laughter, enlightenment, and humor in this blog. You are a part of this world and I’d like you to meet the mystery girl. The girl who sparked a small fire in my heart. The woman who’s gentle spirit touched my heart ( if only momentarily) like a warm summers breeze. I’d like you to know her, and about her, and not hide behind that fact that too many it will seem inappropriate or “out of the ordinary”. It is what it is. She is who she is….and her name is Peg Meyer, and I ask you to forgive the person she was. I ask you to offer her a hand full of forgiveness.

In These Hands

In these hands I have held the world; my world. These hands are rough and calloused, but my heart is tender and real. I have held both of my children so close with these hands. Wiped away the tears filled with fear, again and again. Lifted their little hearts from the ground. I have worked these hands, and my heart, to the point where the indelible wounds are plain to see. I have planted seeds with these hands, and reaped the harvest of life. I have caressed the skin of an angel with these hands. I have also touched the face of the devil with those same hands. I have used these tired, worn hands to push back the pain, and when necessary, to dish out more pain than is necessary. I have bloodied these hands in battle, and washed them in a river of forgiveness. I have held these hands out for a feast of hope, only to receive a mere morsel. Can I sustain myself with such a mere morsel? Can I feed five thousand with that? I will serve others with that hope before I serve myself. Isn’t that what we are to do? These hands will lift up those fallen, when I have that ability, until I have fallen for the last time.

In these hands I have held those who are sick, scared, and in a fight for their lives. I have reached into a mangled car and held a crying child, bloodied and scared, then reached in and held the hand of her mother. I have fought fire with these hands, and fought fires in my soul with these hands. I have bandaged the bloody, and held the weary. These hands have scaled countless peaks and reached the summit of my dreams, time and again. I have used these hands to throw the ball back and forth between a father and son. I have held a crying daughter and rocked her to sleep. I have built a life with these hands. The foundation as solid as any out there. I have cherished with these hands and worshiped with these hands. I have built this life with these hands. I have crawled on these hands, and fallen on these hands.

I have held the love of my life in these hands, cherished each embrace. I have wiped away the tears of joy, hurt, and anger, running down her face. I have held her in these hands and cried with her, laughed with her, and held her just for the sake of doing so. I have reached across the tent on a cool moonlit night, and touched her soft hair. In these hands I have held the heart of an angel, and held it close to mine. In these hands I have moved far away and created a life of happiness and joy. A life of adventure and spirit. I have used these hands to both cause immense pain in my enemies, and immense joy in those I love. I have held onto the rock of life with these hands. Scaled walls which seemed insurmountable.

All the wear and weariness on these hands has lead me to where I am. To a place of “insurmountable walls” built around the heart of the one true love that God gave me. Incapable of tearing down the walls built by anger, hate, and unforgiveness, with bitterness as mortar. Incapable of pushing off, casting away when my strength wanes and I should be preserving who I am. These hands don’t know how to quit, nor does my soul. Yet I find these hands growing more and more weary. Tired from the fight. Bruised like my heart, bloodied knuckles. These hands are unable to hold what I love. Unable to embrace what was at one time magnificent and real. These hands are constantly held together in prayer, praying for peace. The pain pouring from my heart cannot be held back with these hands. Like a damn cracked and failing, bursting at the seams, unable to hold what is inside. These hands cannot hold the pain or keep it from pouring out. The hands that are used to fight the battles of my life are suddenly sunken and hanging by my side. Defeat is evident, yet my will to fight is still in there somewhere. The hands that have punched and delivered pain in the past, now strum the strings on an instrument that brings me peace..if only for a brief moment. These hands have worked a lifetime to build the world I envisioned. I have tried to hold it all together, plug the leaks, but the leaks are many and my fingers are few. The muscles in my hands, in my heart, and in my soul grow weak. I look to the sky and ask “why”? I beg for mercy, relief from the pain. This pain is inhumane and insurmountable, yet I cannot use these hands to push away. To turn and walk off into the sunrise of a better tomorrow. These hands know only how to hold on. I pray that God will give me the strength to push off and set sail into tomorrow. To let go of that which continually hurts me. To release me from that which does not want me. I clasp these hands together and ask that guidance be delivered. Use these hands to make someone out there better. To help! These are helping hands and that is all I know.

Power of the Press

French! The universal language of love. Universal in the sense that we all know it is “the language of love”, yet only 113 million, in a world with over 6 billion, speak it fluently. It is a beautiful language and a spirit of love emanates from their culture. I hope to one day experience that culture (again) first hand, both figuratively and literally. I hope that love will someday consume my heart like a raging wildfire as it has done for the last 15 years, growing and consuming more as time went on. I can only hope for such fire and fury of love in my heart. In the meantime, I try valiantly to extinguish that same fire with each passing day. It is a fight that I face daily and one in which I do not have the tools to suppress this raging inferno, yet I must find a way if I want to walk away with anything left. The tools to grow can often prove to be unexpected and odd. The language of love can speak to us in ways, and at times, that fully catches us off guard.

Through this experience I have felt utter devastation, as well as unconditional love from those who have lifted me back up from my knees. I have learned that God can, and will, knock you to your knees, prostrate, and crying out for help, then pick you back up to walk even taller than you ever have before. As you float drift less in a sea of anguish, despair, shock, and loneliness, the tide ebbs and flows. You crest one wave and feel a sense of being on “top of things”, only to descend the other side and into a valley so low that you feel like you are drowning. Such is the rhythm of life. You are “out there” in this sea of veritable loneliness. Left to navigate that which there is no map..no compass. Those close to you, some old friends, some new, act as lighthouses guiding you through the storm. Showing you the way and providing an ever present luminescence that guides you and gives you something to reach your hands out for. Something to keep you moving forward, enabling you to get your bearings. As you sail across this proverbial sea of change towards what you hope will lead to a new understanding, a new love, a new life, you can only survive the swell and storm around you.

This past weekend was no exception to the journey. Ups and downs, ebbs and flows. I did, however, find a new tool to add to my quiver. Something that gave me peace and comfort. Something that many of us partake in daily and rarely see it as little more than a satisfying way to appease our palate. Coffee! I have not always been a fan; in fact my wife can take credit for introducing me to the “Nectar of the Gods”. Never has the simple act of preparing coffee or consuming it, produced such enlightenment. I was having dinner with someone with whom I thought I knew, someone for whom I have shared many special moments, yet this person is/was a complete stranger. There across the kitchen stood someone so beautiful that her mere presence made the sound of angels trumpets emanate throughout my soul. As we ground the beans and prepared the water, we were just there. Few words, just enveloped in each other’s presence and the moment. There appeared“rightness” about her being there. A calmness that I have not known in a long time. An easiness. I felt as though my spirit was stepping with liveliness unbeknownst to me.

Now it is no secret that I have always been captivated, mesmerized if you will, with beautiful eyes. As a photographer I had always loved stunning eyes. Her eyes are the exception, in the sense that they are deeper than any I have known. I had looked into them before yet never as I did then. In them I could sense a kind of peace and tranquility. Deep and azure; not a cloud between us. She would walk across the hard wood floors with a gait of gentleness that I had not expected. Comforting was her presence, soothing were her eyes. Hair as golden as an early morning sunrise, with a fragrance reminiscent of spring flowers. Who was this woman? Where had she been? My life was in the midst of a “perfect storm” and here lies this person with whom I could be at ease with. We stood within feet of one another, yet miles apart. Smiling and talking as if the seas around me were calm and tranquil. The coffee steeping in the French press. Time drifting on and the ease only deepening. The steam rising from the pot, the aroma wafting the delicious fragrance about the room. I had a sense of peace unbeknownst to me. I had only just recently written in my blog about a peace that was overwhelming, yet this peace was different. I thought I had known no more substantial peace than before this, yet I was wrong.

I looked into her eyes often, always trying to avoid being caught like a bandit stealing a glance. We laughed and smiled and I was even fortunate enough to feel the tranquility of her embrace. The warmth of her arms wrapped around my shoulders, the softness of her skin. The feeling of weightlessness in her arms, like being lifted from the ground. Free of gravity and the weight that pulls us all down. The brevity of the moment was ever present. If only for a moment we could have eternity. Then it was time to press the grounds. Slowly! Too fast and you can ruin a good thing. Patiently is the way forward to an incredible cup of goodness. That warmth I felt in her arms was now what I felt in my hands as we raised our cups to our lips. The aroma so smooth, so soft, assuaging the grief surrounding me. It all flowed, it all fit perfectly. I dare not call it love, but it was all encompassing and all good. Peace, serenity, and a familiarity that was soothing.

In recent weeks I had prayed often for this type of peace and comfort. Little did I know that it could come “from” someone, much less through the shared experience as simple as a cup of coffee. Can God really be in a cup? I speak no French whatsoever, but the language of love was spoken on that morning. The subsequent morning I felt as if I was taken away to a place where I felt no pain. Nirvana, bliss, heaven, call it what you will, but I was there for almost a full day. That morning was surreal. I knew that I would have to step back into reality at some point, but to feel what I felt was something that I will not soon forget. To have felt that with someone for whom I thought I knew was something that will forever be ingrained in my soul. The following morning felt as though I had drank from the cup of life. Filled with peace and refreshed. Still facing the hardships ahead, but lifted higher than I have thus far, by a face that I thought I knew, in the eyes that were now full of grace and kindness. I thought I was dreaming, sat up, and right there by the door was the sign that let me know I hadn’t imagined that day…..her shoes, right where she left them. She was real. The moment, no matter how fleeting, was real. I’ll hold onto that day for many more to come.