Three Ringed

Three Ringed

I Stand alone in
The center ring.

Alone?
Alone?
Alone?
No, I am not
Standing alone.

I have company.

In a cage are three demons.
Worse, they call me their master.

I feel the rough, callous being of a whip
In my hand
“MASTER”
But I cannot tell
Verb or Noun

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker,
But the lights are still on.

Master is their song,
But I am still lost in translation

I think, I worry, the circus grows darker
But the lights are still on.
The grip of strong firm hands
Stuns me, as the hands grasp at me
Master is their song,
But I am lost in translation still
The circus is solemn, and dark, and grave
But the lights are still on.

But then, things with feathers fly about
The circus lights go out, but the darkness is lifting.

White feathered things fly about
Crushing the circus lights with their powerful wings
The graveness recedes.

I feel my handAll is light.
The demons are gone.
MASTER I cry

I know what I mean.

Veteran's Day

The warm texas sun glistened off the beautiful statue. I had never seen anything like it. It was mammoth, made out of bronze I believe and fitting in its simplicity. The soldiers raising the flag at Iwo Jima is a powerful sight in itself, but to see it so huge was a truly fitting tribute to those marines who gave everything they had so that we could have everything. Sound trite? These statements get bandied about a good deal, but they carry extreme importance. It's close to impossible to justly capture what these people gave in service of their country.

We were in South Texas on that warm March day. Our vacation was coming to a close, and we could definetely call this trip a sucsess. The birding had been good, the people friendly and the scenery gorgeous.

But we had some time to kill before our plane took off, so my Dad pulled this destination of the thin blue air. I have no idea how he found this place in a state we had never been in before, but find it we did. It was a memorial to the Marines who served in the Pacific, with a special emphasis on Iwo Jima.

The special emphasis came in the form of a huge gold statue in the middle of a field. It is awe inspiring, and I wish I could remember more. I have photos, but they don't seem to do justice to this triumph of sculpture. There was a lot of information about the sculpter, but I can't recall any of it.

But I do recall the gift shop. There were mugs, DVDs, mouse-pads, T-Shirts, you name it, it was probably in there. It also doubled as a museum, where currently a large number of school-children were taking a tour. The noise grated on my nerves, so I moved to a corner where a large number of sweatshirts and hats would muffle the cacophany of giggles and screams.

In the corner of this room was a standard fold up chair. It was empty, but I turned around and heard the soft shuffle of wise feet heading toward it. I glanced behind me and saw a veteran of the USMC working his careful way to the chair.

Then I brokedown.

I had wanted to go up and laud him for his wonderful service to his country. I wanted to tell him all the wonderful things I had experienced because he believed that the "master race" needed to go no further. His actions allowed me to grow up in a christian home, not worrying if I was not living up to a standard. Without him, and others like him, I would not be able to see all the fifty-two birds I had on this trip...

But I brokedown.

Just to see his frail old frame sitting there, lonely, desolate, forgotten by most of the people he worked to keep free, stirred something unmentionable in me. It grabbed my soul and tore down my defenses.

I had grand things to say to him, but I couldn't bring myself to say them.
I shook his hand, stared him directly in the eye, and thanked him. He may not have heard, because my voice was cracking with emotion. Then I went into the map room and cried.

I spent the plane ride reading, catergorizing my life birds, and thinking. Had I said enough? Did I say too much? Did he think me crazy or fruity for crying? I don't know because I was such a wreck of emtions at the time.

Now six or seven months have gone by. Birds have migrated through, graduation has come and gone, girlfriends have come and gone, work, play, college, all these things have had their season in my life and then they left. But I silently hope that honored old man still sits in that museum/gift shop. I hope he sits there as an immutable reminder to us all.

Thank a Veteran any Day.

An Interview with the Man from Indepence

The heavenly aura filled the room, ebbing and flowing like some half forgotten body of water in man's memory. The lights were very bright, but this did not seem to bother the girl at the desk. No, it appeared as if nothing would perturb her. In fact, a fall from Grace could take place right before her eyes and still not one stroke of her filing would be lacking. She sat there, cool and tranquil, chewing her gum.

I on the other hand sat sweaty palm in sweaty palm, staring at the ground. Too scared to move, to scared to speak. The grandfather clock ticked away...something, I'm not sure what the need for a grandfather clock is, but it looked nice.

"Excuse me Gloria?," I said, summoning all the courage I had to speak with. "Could you hurry him up? I've got things to do, and I'm not used to the time zone shift yet. Jet lag is still hanging on."

The secretary looked up at me with the speed of a cow during milking, and said in a most unearthly nasal voice, "Why don't you start walking, by the time you get there, he should be ready."

I agreed.

"When he's ready for you, his door will turn from red to green."

"Like the signs on a airplane bathroom" I offered to lighten the mood. The only light was a lightning bolt and low rumbles of thunder. Nervous chuckles were responded to with demeaning chuckles behind the receptionist's desk.

Two enormous gateways opened their masses toward us, reavealing a grand stairway.

"Is this the...uh..?" I enquired. Two apathetic head nods were the only reply I recieved.

I started up the steps, and simeltaneously began to think. And judging by the size of the stairway, I had plenty of time to think.

How would I approach him? Cordially of course, but with determination. I had to be completely frank in all my motions. Surely he would respond to this. After all, he never let anybody slip under his radar. If I was honest and frank and to the point, this was sure to gain me a more favorable recpetion.

Behave like a gentleman, and be sure to avoid topics like Douglass Macarthur, Frank Lloyd Wright and Joseph McCarthy. These hotpoint should sbe avoided at all cost, or it may cost all...I like that, think I'll tell him that.

To be sure, honesty would be a big part of my succsess. He knew the difference between a truth and a lie. As simple as that may seem, he has it down to an art. There would be no buffaloing this guy.

And number one on my list of things to avoid: autographs! This would screw up everything rather royally. It would show me in an insincere light, which would ruin everthing. This mission is too important for that. No autographs. Ever.

"Man, this taking an eternity!" I bemoaned. At that instant, the stair started to move. "Thanks" I offered the entity in charge of the stairs. I wonder what Led Zeppelin would thinnk of this.

The doors to his office were huge. I stood in amzement and awe at the beautiful engravings. Soon, I was to enter these doors. Was I prepared? What if I goofed up? Woul I get a second.....?

My thoughts were interrupted by the silent creaking of the doors gliding effortessly apart, revealing something beyond all imagination. The room was the oval office, only ten times more grand than anything earth could ever offer. I stood in awe of its beauty, in spite of the fact that my visibility was limited.

Even though it was hard to see, I saw his figure at the desk. Before I knew it, I was greeted by a hand. Not a particularily welcoming hand, but one that assured me I would be honored here.

"I thank you for recieveing me sir, you're very kind." I criticized every word I said, just waiting to mess up.

"What can I do for you" the kindly yet firm voice intoned.

Do for me? Why you've done enough for forty men. You're the one who through your handling of the Macarthur incident, showed me that patience wins out after all. You also showed me that it is essential to stand behind my convictions. Without them, I'm nothing. You showed me how to handle myself when I'm thrown into something I don't want to do. To the best of my ability. You showed me that the Bible is a beautiful book of poetry, because it is the Word of God. You showed us how a vessel to be used by God could give His people back their dignity and their nation. You showed how sometimes things need to end with a bang.....

But these thoughts never materialized in the factory bewteen my brain and my mouth. They just sat there in backstock, waiting....

Silence.

"Can I have your autograph? Sir?"

More silence.

Balance

The balance shone in my mind. "GOD" was inscribed in the middle of it. On one of the sides was LOVE, and on the other... I don't quite know what was on the other. A mixture of Justice, Holiness, Other-Worldliness. In summary, THE CHARACTER OF GOD THAT I DON'T KNOW. I watched as the scales tried to balance in my mind. But each time they came close together but never close enough. There was always some other factor that prevented the two sides from any kind of agreement.

This was acceptable to my mind for a while, but then it started to nag. "You're a hurting man, and your whole hope hangs in that balance." I don't know what that voice was, but I heartily concurred. If those two sides never meet in agreement, I would be outcast forever, searching for a god when I had no idea where to begin.

The room that housed the balance blackened, and I could feel dark channels filling the void that was the light that had previously illumined my current location. Dark hands began to push me onward; the voices in my head were talking at such a rapid pace all the world's board goverment meetings could not compare to the raucous noise that swarmed through my mind. I suddenly became aware that my neck was in a noose hanging around that balance; and that too much disagreement would break me spiritually.

"Turn somewhere; to someone," a voice cried out. Thankfully, above all the cacophany that the other voices were making, this passed through those distractions and reached my soul. I made an attempt for my phone."No, go straight to the source." Oh, I thought, and looked around. There was my Bible, an unexpected gift from a friend. I chose the psalms to begin with. My eyes perused the ancient hymnal with a fervor that I had never known. I had never put so much of myself into a quest of which I had no idea even where to start.Psalm 34: 17-18. The adress was one of hope. I read the passage, and sat paralyzed for a moment. In fact, the whole world responded in like manner. Everything ceased from normal operating procedures. Even the voices in the room stopped.

Everything known to man was silent....

Except for the slow, creaking noise that a balance makes as it slowly places each one of it's sides exactly center.

Alone? A Life Lesson

Life lessons are hard to describe. What means something so valuable to me may seem invalid to others. Our experiences obviously influence our telling of events, and so some may wonder if there is a point in our telling our life experiences. Well this life anecdote has a grade attached to it, so I figure there is a lot of point to this one.

I have lived a life that appears to be characterized by ups and downs. It seems that at the end of the tunnel there certainly is a light, but at the same time, another tunnel awaits me at the end of the light. Such emotional mountains and valleys tend to wear on my emotions after a while, and the valleys become even deeper with each new experience.

My problem always seems to be that I dwell in the hard times without company. Some internal lying machine seems to suggest that reaching out to others would only be a burden. “But I don’t want to weigh them down with my problems; I just need someone to talk with, about anything for that matter.” “No,” the voice says softly but with authority. “What about just a phone call….?” I inquire. “No,” this time louder and more authoritative. “But…?” “No,” the voice shouts in my ear. “No,” he repeats until I have found no alternative but to believe him. I must believe him; he must be correct.

His main purpose is to isolate me as much as possible, and he accomplishes this by rendering me incapable of reaching out to those would care to help me out of the valley. His lies permeate my thinking and ooze their evil way into my actions.

But then I defy him, stand up for myself, and reach out to someone who I care for, and who I believe reciprocates the feeling. I reach my hand up from out of the mire, grasping for something to cling to, and I usually find a friend. Not a friend who is there one second and gone the next, but one who is there, listening actively. Someone who cares about my condition. Someone who can actively contrast the lying machine, who will show me the goodness of my friends.

My anecdote is a simple one. Certainly it has the potential for complexity, but pay that no heed. One of the most important lessons I have learned is always be there if someone wants to talk. I don’t know what he is experiencing, but I do know how it feels to be on the receiving end of a conversation like that. I know how I am lifted up on eagles wings, and am reminded that good still exists in this world to some degree. So if I can accomplish this, even unwittingly, I will be honored above all other honors. I will have loved a neighbor.

When you realized you are old....

Describe a time when you realized that you were old. I have often wondered if there was a definite time in my life when I did feel that shiver up my spine from the realization that life would never be the same. My mind races in the quest for that moment that my mind took a huge paradigm shift, and suddenly I find a different soul inhabiting my body. But alas, I fail to call to mind that magic moment. All my searching appears to be in vain.

Perhaps I am searching in the wrong direction. Maybe my quest has been a noble one; I have just been misguided in the process of looking. Yes, I do believe that the moment when we all realize that our childhood days are done is a quiet one. No bells, no lighting, no angel choirs. No, just a twinge of fond remembrance for what was remains.

It happened to me when I bought the first season of The Muppet Show some years back. I love the Muppets; no one can make me laugh so effortlessly as Jim Henson’s band of furry merrymakers can. Seeing them again on DVD brought back many fond memories, but one episode caught me off guard. I was sitting on my couch; my eyes affixed to the screen as Vincent Price interacted with Kermit, and realized that I had seen this episode before. Sometime in my past, I had been that child sitting in front of the television, laughing away at the antics being acted out on screen. I could hear the laughter and enjoyment resonate through the air, like a thin, sharp whistle going off far away. The smile on this young lads face brought back bittersweet memories to me. I yearned for those days when I clung to my mother for all my needs. When my dad would take me fishing and I would sleep the majority of the trip. Or when my sisters would dress me up in drag and present the horrific creature to my stunned parents. Well, maybe there are parts I don’t pine for…

But I know those days are over. They are somewhere far away in the past. I am picking up on much more of the humor in The Muppet Show. I am shaving; dating; working through college. Yes, the realization came slowly but surely, I am old, and the responsibilities of age are coming along for the ride.

However, every now and then, I go into overload mode, and begin to meltdown. If things have not reached a crisis stage, I like to clear my mind of all my troubles and responsibilities that have come through this new position in life. I then sit down, watch The Muppet Show, and laugh. And somewhere in the distance I hear that childish giggle, and I see that happy smile that only a five year can get when he sees a green frog puppet talking with Vincent Price. And I rest. I rest knowing that although he is far removed from my present state, he is never too far gone to enjoy life. Yes, he is never too far gone to take a reprieve from life and watch a Muppet Show.

Pete Encounters

Admiration is a funny quality, and if the admirer applies all the right principles of admiring to the admired, the whole concept seems to be one big paradox. This observation came about when Pete Dunne caught my attention. Pete Dunne is a famous birder who pioneered new ways of looking at birds. His G.I.S.S (General Impression of Shape and Size), brought a new generation of birders even closer to admiring better the Avi-fauna that they knew and loved so well.
Pete is the president of the Cape May Bird Observatory where I have done a good many hours of volunteering. The first time I spoke with him, I was nearly dumbfounded. Here was the “ambassador of birding,” the one whom the New York Times heralded as “The Bard of Birding.” And there I was in the presence of birding greatness. I was truly stunned and in awe.
As I drove home however, I thought, “Why, he puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like I do.” I was afraid that my admiration would somehow cast an artificial aura of holiness around this mere mortal. I wasn’t sure how to evaluate my feelings towards him.

Then I read one of his books. I knew of his writings, but never had taken the time to read one for myself. When I did, however, I found that most of the feelings I had towards him were truly deserved. Here was a man who felt the same way about birding as I did. He found the true beauty in the natural world and felt passionately about it. I couldn’t believe how much I admired him but was also careful not to put him on an even higher pedestal than he was already on. He had successfully created yet another paradox in my mind. And that is why I admire Peter Dunne the most.