Tides

When you sit on the beach, just at the edge of sunset, do you ever just start counting the waves? How many come in during a minute, how many come all the way up, how many just splash & disappear, or do you just take them for granted?
Some people compare the tides and waves to the way we go through life. They see life as one great ocean, and we sail or drive our ship of life through these seas, riding out storms- enjoying the calms, even hitting a reef or two along the way. I can understand the metaphors, embrace it to a point in fact. But I think we give ourselves to much credit when we see ourselves as some great ocean liner when in fact we're really no greater than a tug boat, in fact we're more than likely just a small single masted sail boat at times. When you're aboard an ocean liner, you really don't feel the ocean . . . an ocean line is like a big grand hotel at sea. All your needs are anticipated and planned for, your dining- accommodations- entertainment- even your health and safety, are all carefully plotted and planned for long in advance with many variables and allowances. All the responsibility is taken out of your hands, you merely have to exist and go with the flow. What kind of a existence is that where you merely go through the motions and let someone else make your choices and decide the what, when, & where for your life? I couldn't live that way. It might be nice as a temporary diversion, but on a daily basis would be mind numbing.
I see life more as being on a sailboat, charting your own course, weathering your storms, finding your own safe harbors, and avoiding the shoals and reefs as much as possible. When you take control of your life you're not surprised by the way it turns out. You can be surprised by the unknown but it won't swamp your little boat because you know how it will react to your touch on the rudder, the choices and decisions you make as a reaction to what is going on around you. Think of the adventures you can have when you're in control and at the helm of your vessel, where can your dreams take you when you finally realize that there are no limits to the choices you can make. And after time your little vessel can get bigger when you start adding people to your life. Then the fun really begins!

"But what if I get swamped?" you say. "What if I can't read charts or don't know how to navigate? What if I get lost?"
We all get a little lost every now and then. The choice then is what do we do about it? Do we flounder about, wailing about the fates and how they've cast us? Or do we ask for directions or reach out for help? For some reason everyone thinks they're alone in all this. For some reason people think that reaching out or even asking for help is a sign of weakness. Believe me people, asking for help or even admitting your vulnerability is not chum in the water, you're not inviting a visit from JAWS. We all need a little help now and then. And it's not unknown to reach out and ask for help, or to admit that you might not know every thing there is to know. A person who insists they need no one or no one's help is a fool. John Donne wrote:

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee. 

The basic concept of the poem is that Human Beings do not thrive when isolated from others. We are never at our best when we have cut ourselves off from the rest of the world. We cannot validate beauty, spirituality, knowledge, much less our own humanity when we hold ourselves above or separate from the world around us. We have to dive into the sea of humanity and explore, we need to experience others in order to learn of ourselves. Jump in . . . The water is feelin' fine bruddah!

Red Ribbon

I am 52 years old. Since the age of 24 I have had 71 Family, Friends, and Acquaintances pass away from complications of AIDS & HIV. 71 people in 28 years. That's not even counting the dozens I know currently living and surviving with HIV & AIDS. 78 people I could reach and connect with if they were still alive because they were a part of my every day world. 78 creative, intelligent, caring, loving, funny, silly, tantrum throwing, fun loving, serious, bookish, fashion conscious, carefree, independent, warm, stubborn, cynical, hopeful, sarcastic, dreaming, spiritual, atheistic, altruistic, self-centered, serious, spur-of-the-moment, sorrowful, joyous, mature, immature, driven, careless, devoted, fickle, schlumpy, gym-toned, pooh-bellied, and precious people that ever lived. Some lived their lives with all the power & brightness of a shooting star, some lived in the shadows afraid to be noticed or be to much of a bother. Some had partners and families, some lived their lives gloriously single and unattached. Some lived long and full lives while others were barely of this world for a heartbeat or two. I knew them all, whether intimately or casually, they had an influence on my life . . . they coloured my rainbow in infinite shades from deep and strong to the palest whisper. I remember them all, and because I am still here I live with survivors guilt every day of my life.

When I first met Robert, he took my breath away. It was the kind of beauty that really only exists in magazines or on a movie screen. That tawny hair tied back so his ponytail reached his waist, those dark intense eyes that took you in and radiated with strength, tall and buff he strode across the room in his cowboy boots & the contours of his body poured into a tight pair of jeans an a black dress shirt. He hand his arm extended in a handshake that quickly pulled you into a bear hug. There was nothing shy or retiring about him, he was right there in front of you and he didn't let you off the hook with his presence. Robert was a DJ, a musician, a poet, and an artist. Robert was already living with his disease by the time I met him but as he would say, the disease was living with him and trying to keep up. Robert was the ultimate free spirit, his own family didn't know what to do with him so he built his own family, bringing people into his world because they made him laugh or because he had fallen hopelessly head-over-heels in love with them. His home reflected the way his mind worked, from the outside it may have resembled your typical California ranch-style suburban house, but on the inside it was like visiting Wonderland. Robert took down walls, moved them, built windows between rooms, removed all the cabinet doors in the kitchen and replaced them with salvaged stained glass or beveled windows. Each room was a different color that seemed to be just right, with artwork galore on the walls and ceiling. His garden was an overgrown riot of color with lights in the trees and mirrors and coloured glass balls & shards hanging down from the branches to push the Wonderland effect even further. Through the years you could see the effect the disease was having on his body, the multiple hospital stays, the scary times when he would just keel over, but through it all he never stopped living his life. He embraced each change with a strength that was fierce and undeniable, as his hair started to fall out he decided it was time for a flattop haircut and to embrace hats as a fashion statement. As his eyesight began to falter he bought dozens of pairs of glasses to go with every outfit, some outrageously embellished and others scholarly and serious. As he lost weight and muscle tone he saw it as an excuse to shop for a new wardrobe and a new theme. At the end I think his biggest heartbreak was that he couldn't sit at the piano anymore or didn't have the strength to hold his guitar, he couldn't make his music anymore and that silence to him was deafening. Robert wasn't alone when he died, there was love, laughter, and much celebration for a life well lived. He gave us all so many gifts . . . and we were bound to show our appreciation for them.

He was such a bad boy. You know the type, a body built for sin and the attitude to go with it. He rode a sport-bike motorcycle, not because of the gas mileage or ease of parking, but because he knew it made his ass look incredible. When you 1st saw him all you saw was that blonde hair, blue eyes, and the face of an angel. Then that mischievous grin would kick in and that lusty sparkle in his eyes would be a dead give away that this was no ordinary choirboy you were dealing with. In fact this was the very type of boy your mother warned you about, the type she told you to stay away from, and definitely would never let you sleep over at his house! Once you got to know him however, you learned that that bad boy exterior went straight to the core, there was no heart of gold hidden deep here, what you see was what you got - he was built for pleasure and he was going to spend every waking moment making sure he got as much as possible. Jons only found out about his disease when he began to get a lot of headaches, he said they felt like little spikes being driven into his head. Of course he had to be nagged into going to a doctor because he had better things to do . . . like maintaining his tan line or buying a new swimsuit. Jons found he had an inoperable brain tumor as a complication of being HIV positive. His world fell out from under him . . . his family, that already judged him, told him that it was god's punishment for his sinful lifestyle and he was going to hell- a punishment he truly deserved. He reacted the only way he knew how . . . To go out with the biggest bang he could create. Except there was one small hitch to that, he forgot about the people that truly cared for him. He forgot that talking was an art form he forgot to master. He forgot that words can heal as well as destroy. He forgot he wasn't alone in all this, and bad boy or not he had people that loved and cared for him that weren't exactly ready for him to go just yet. I can't say that all of Jons wounds were ever truly healed, but I do know that at the end of his journey he could look at all the people who were there to make sure he wasn't alone and that he was surrounded by love.

To be continued . . .