A Visit With Infatuation

Infatuation dropped by on a Friday Evening for a talk.

"How is going, friend?"  he asked with those dreamy eyes he always seems to have on - anime eyes, any normal person would call them.  He sort of waltzed in and simpered his way into the lounger that I kept for visitors with the big "sigh" he always - always! - seemed to have when he did any action.

"Oh, pretty well"  I responded, finishing up what I was working on and turning around to face him.  "Thanks for stopping by."

He smiled at me with the sort of smile that tells you he is precisely not thinking of where he is or what he is doing but dwelling on something internal that could not be seen by anyone else.

I sighed.  This was going to be harder than I thought.

"Look"  I said, "there is no easy way to say this so I am just going to do it the hard way.  Your position has been discontinued.  You are being retired."

The smile snapped off his face, replaced by the look of shock I had come to know only too well over the years from hearing the same thing.

"But why?"  he stuttered.  "It is not as if I am doing any real harm.  I think you could make a pretty good case that I am good for morale.  Better than those fools Duty and Obedience, always droning about how we "have" to do this or that.  Good heavens!  I actually a little zest to things around here instead of the gloom and morose feelings that those two spout off.  If it was left to them, we would have nothing but gray days and an ultimate death."

I nodded -after all, I could make the same exact argument about Duty and Obedience.  They did tend to be a little over the top when discussing every that had to be done.  Still, ER (Emotional Resources) was going to throw a fit if something was not done.

I gave a half hearted smile.  "What is or is not is not relevant now.  The fact is that we have had a number of complaints - and yes, before your ask, you know I cannot tell from where.  There is a sense that you running hither and yon is creating expectations that cannot ever be met and starting to force attention to a reality than can never be.  It was perhaps allowable once, but now we are simply past the point where it is anything more than at best a danger and at worst a distraction."

Tears welled up in his eyes. "But what will I do?  I cannot work in the Reality division and apparently Imagination will no longer have me.  I am not aware of another place within the corporate structure."

I smiled gently.  "We know.  And that is why we are not asking you to make the move.  It is a permanent traveling assignment - guaranteed income, health care, and even a travel stipend.  Write some articles that we can put in the corporate newsletter from time to time."

I handed him the letter detailing everything.  He took it with a faintly shaking hand, scanning its contents, then putting it down and sighing again.  "So I have outlived my usefulness, then."

I shook my head.  "Not that at all.  You are right - you do give zest to things around here and your accessorizing will continue to be legend.  No, it is just that we are all in a different place now.  We need you to continue as a morale builder and bringer of joy and brightness  - indeed, we cannot do without it.  It is just that we need to focus our attention on other areas now."

He got up, taking the packet of papers and sticking out his hand.  "I will clean out my office then"  he sad, grimacing.

"Not at all"  I replied.  "Like I said, you are a correspondent at large.  Go find us an interest to get excited about."

I could see him thinking for a moment, then the old smile returned to his eyes.  "Now that you mention it"  he said, "there is a great deal in Bulgaria that I have thinking needs to be investigated further.  I could start with the Thracian tombs..."  And with that he was out of earshot, already planning his next trip.

I sighed as I sat back down.  He was right, of course - Duty and Obedience were a lot duller taskmasters than his bright, shiny face.  But perhaps it was better that he got out now, before the real consequences of trying to have one heart in multiple places a came up at the Quarterly Review Meeting.

Hopefully he would enjoy the yogurt in Bulgaria.

On An Answered Prayer

Yesterday morning I had a selfish prayer request.

I try to not ask for anything for myself, because somehow it seems...small. Self focused.  Not the place my attention is supposed to be.  But the matter had been gnawing away at my mind and I did not see a resolution.

"Father", I asked, "can I please  have the money to go to Japan to train next year?"

Self-centered, right?  But strangely enough, important to me. I had to miss going a year ago and I would very much like to go next year as part of my development.

So I prayed.  And went off, having forgotten about it.

Fast forward to the afternoon, when my boss presents me with a raise and a bonus.  And not just a raise and a bonus, a raise and a bonus based on if I had worked there a full year, not five months.  It was, shall we say very generous.

And then the prayer request came into my mind.

I am not (and have never been) a believer in the "pray and believe and it is yours" group (that whole "according to God's will" section always trips them up) nor am I of the "materialize your desires through positive thinking" crowd.  I have no reason to suspect - nor do I believe - God will constantly do this for any us.

So why this? Why now?

If I had to theorize, I would thinking that God is playing to my own insecurities.

I am awash in feelings of discomfort and fear right now.  There is so much instability in the world, so much anger, so much hatred.  So much uncertainty.  And into this comes God, not with the glaring answers to world problems but a mundane answer about money - as if to say "If I can answer this, surely I will deal with the rest in My own good time."

Perhaps the gift of money was really meant to answer a bigger need - the continuing belief and confidence in God's sovereignty.

On Running In Cold

The cold lurks just outside the door.

I know I should run. It is good for me.  It conditions me.  It strengthens my heart and balances out my lifting.

I open the door and stand for a moment, the front planes of my face outside the intangible barrier of warmth the door frame represents.  Cold, says my nose.  Too cold, mutters the Brain.

I shut the door again.

I go back to the kitchen and start pulling things together for breakfast:  coffee, oatmeal, yogurt.  But somewhere far back in the recesses of my mind, somewhere behind the part the grumbles about the temperature, come the the thought "You should run".

I fiddle with the oatmeal for a second longer then sigh, turn, and go back to the door.  Upon opening, the cold is still there.  "See?"  says the Brain.

But the other part of my brain has taken over - is that you, Will?  While the Brain is sputtering about colds and lung infections the Will has taken over the motor functions.  Before the Brain has a chance to complain pajamas are off and running gear is on.

Will even finds the hat and gloves.  "Courteous", sneers the Brain.

Out the door the three of us go.  The Brain is still muttering about freezing temperatures and pneumonia; Will has already started moving the feet in the direction of the path we have taken for almost five years now.

At the bottom of the cul-de-sac on the first turn, the Brain mutters "Well, at least the sunrise is worth seeing this morning".

The Will only smiles.

A Commute with Depression

So Depression slipped into the car with me this afternoon as I was getting ready to drive home.

He is one of my least favorites.  He always has that know-it-all opinion about him that always infuriates me and  that smirk that tells me he knows precisely what I have been thinking.

"So I guess things did not go so well today"  he said with a grin as I started the car.  I merely muttered back in return as I turned my head around to back out and then get the car in alignment to head out of the parking lot.

"In fact, it has been a pretty lousy week, right?" he questioned again with his grin plastered on his face as I looked both ways to get into traffic.  "And the best part?  The best part?  It is only Thursday.  You still have Friday to look forward to."

I grimaced.  "We are not having this conversation today"  I replied.  "I am simply not in the mood to have it."

"Oh, but we have to" he replied with an almost serpent-like hiss to his voice.  "We have to.  We have to discuss how your life seems to be going nowhere fast and what we are going to do about it.  Because we have to do something about it.  We cannot merely just endure this sort of thing.  After all, we have endured so much already."

I shook my head as I took the overpass turnoff to get on the main highway home.  "No, we do not.  We do not have to discuss this now.  I am tired.  I am angry.  I am frustrated.  And that is not the time to discuss things like this.  It leads to nowhere that is good."

He sat quietly for some moments as I rolled through the two stoplights and onto the route uphill.  He pursed his lips a bit and then said seriously "I know the real problem of course.  You are without hope.  That is a terrible thing."

Stopped in traffic, I looked straight at him.  "I am not without hope"  I replied angrily.  "I am merely in a bit of a tight spot right now."

He nodded slowly.  "Tight spot, yes.  Tight as in you are stuck. Stuck in your job.  Stuck in life.  Stuck without the hope of going somewhere else."

"I am not stuck!"  I yelled him out loud now, pounding the steering wheel in my frustration, the edges of tears peeking out of the corner of my eyes. "I chose this!  I continue to choose this!  I have responsibilities to meet. And responsibilities trump hope at times."

We rolled to a stop at the next light as I tried to slow down my breathing and calm down.  "It is really okay"  I finally croaked out to him. "I just need to wait a little longer.  Things will get better."

He nodded back slowly.  "Sure, sure" he replied.  "Just a little more patience, right?  A little more hanging on? "  He ignored my focus on the road as we continued on to the next stop light.  "Tell you what" he said as he reached down and disengaged the safety belt.  'I will just slip out here.  This has been a good little discussion. Let us save the rest for next time - say, perhaps, tomorrow." And with that he was gone, slipped out and gone into a sea of cars before I could say another word.

I sat through the light, looking at the seat where he had been sitting, hearing his voice echoing in my head.  Tomorrow.  And Tomorrow.  And Tomorrow.

But at least if I thought I would be here to have the debate tomorrow, that itself became a form of hope.

A Visit With My Interest in Japanese

A very old friend wandered into my campsite this weekend as I sat, reading. 

It was my interest in Japanese.

"How is it going?" he said as his flipped out the legs of his hakama,  making crane wings as he sat down on the dead grass.

"Well" I said as I put down The Art of Japanese Sword Polishing.  "It has been a long time since I have seen you around."

He nodded.  "It has been a little...constricted for a number of years.  I was finally able to get out for a walk as you attended seminar. I faked out a number of other individuals and just moved on through.

We sat for a moment in the wind which, although seeming warm, bore with it the hint of cooling down before the evening was through.

"What brings you out?"  I asked, breaking a silence in which my interest just sat and breathed in the air.

"You, actually"  came the response.  "The  seminar has giving me a reason to think on things.  This other thinking you have also been doing in your life also has me thinking.  Have you thought about giving us another chance?"

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.  My words stumbled in my mouth for a minute.  "I do not know.  It has been so long.  What has it been since we initially started - close to thirty years?"  At his half shrug, I continued. "That is a long time and a lot of water has gone under the bridge.  I am in a different place now."

"But you have toyed with the idea for years, have you not?" prodded my interest.  "It continues to linger at the edges of your mind.  You have never  truly given up on it as an interest.  And what do you read more often than not?  Japanese related books.  You have undertaken iaijutsu, which constantly deals in Japanese language and concepts."

"I am too old"  I said brusquely.  "Too old to begin this sort of thing."

My interest snorted.  "Too old?  Nonsense. Perhaps lacking the will, but hardly too old."

I sat and thought about it as he continued to stare off into the distance.  "You have a plan?"  I finally asked.

He nodded affirmatively.  "Of course.  We can start with actually dedicating some time to do it.  Every day.  You know what your studying weaknesses are.  Overcome them.  There are opportunities which surround you to use Japanese.  Use them."

"And then?"  I asked?

"Well, there is a text for your school of iaijutsu which has never been translated, you know. The sort of thing that someone with an interest in iaijustu, maturity, and a skill in Japanese might be able to do something with..."

I laughed.  "You think big."

He smiled in response as he got up and dusted off his knees.  "I always have.  We just have not communicated the way we ought."  He bowed once then turned and wandered back through the campground, his black-clad form cutting a path through the playing children and people with their bags of laundry until he disappeared around cedar tree lined fence leaving only the dust swirling in his wake, dust which formed characters which I thought I could almost recognize.

Another Visit With Anger

Anger strolled into my office this week.

"You look well" he said pleasantly enough as he pulled up a chair in front of my desk.  I was clearly in the midst of entering something in the computer and had papers scattered all over my desk, but that didn't seem to halt him in the least. "Been busy?"

I sighed.  Me just typing away was apparently not going to get the message across that I had other work to do.  I stopped working in the computer and turned to face  him.  "Busy enough"  I said.  "What brings you out today?"

He leaned back in the chair, his legs slowly pushing against the desk until he was balance at a 45 degree angle.  "Oh nothing, nothing" he replied with that smug smile of someone who knows he's lying.  "I was just out and about and heard you'd had some incidents this week, so I thought I might just drop by to see what's up."

I continued to stare at him, hoping to deny him the victory of being right.  "Well, maybe a little bit, but nothing worth talking about.  Annoyances, more likely."

He laughed.  "Annoyances?  You know I can hear you when you think your alone, you know.  I know what comes out of your mouth in half silences when no-one is around."

I winced at that.  That much was true - talking under my breath to myself, especially when confronted with situations I could not immediately respond to, had become a bad habit of mine.

"And the thoughts"  he continued on.  "Oh, the thoughts.  It's a shame they haven't developed the technology to view them yet, isn't it?  Oh, what fun that would be."

I flat out hung my head at this point.  No point in denying what was the undeniable truth.

"But it's okay" his voice oiled silkily over my distress. "It's fine.  We all get angry.  You just need to let go.  Be free.  Let your assertiveness burst forth.  Demonstrate you're not a force to be trifled with.

I sat there as the words sank down through the cracks of my armor.  Tempting, to be sure.  Even I was too aware to deny that rage felt immediately good.  It felt as if one was doing something rather than sitting impotently awaiting the next blow.  It seemed, as Anger said, as being assertive.  That sort of assertiveness worked for others - why couldn't it work for me?

I sighed and shook my head, then looked at him with a faded smile.  "I can't, you know". 

He just sat there, smiling.

I found the courage of my voice again.  "I can't.  I can't deny that it feels good, that it feels like I'm solving something  - but I solve nothing in the process. Just create bad feelings.  And my witness?  'The anger of men does not work the holiness of God' you know.  That matters more."

I sighed again and turned back to the computer with a purposefulness that I didn't feel in my heart.  "Thanks for stopping by" I said.  "Don't let me keep you from your walk".

Anger sat for a minute, apparently realized I was trying to work, and then slowly lowered himself to the floor and stood up. He looked around the office once or twice, then smiled. "Good enough"  he said.  "I'm sure I'll be back.  I like this office.  Good to know I'll be spending more time here."

And off he sauntered into the building, leaving me to peck at the computer board dissolutely with a fragile sense of not caring that was only eyelash thick.

6 AM

There is little worse in life than laying in bed awaiting the day you don't want to have.  It's even worse when the thoughts start showing up by themselves.

I laid awake this morning, vestiges of the night's dreams floating through my head - which, apparently, involved various Italian dukes of Ferra and Sforza from the Middle Ages - confusing me to no end.  Why were they there?  What possible reason could they have to show up randomly?  Why would I be thinking about them before I go to bed to invade my dreams?

Ah, Headache.  My old friend.  Apparently you missed the memo last night in which I requested we postpone our meeting until a later date.  No matter, I suppose.  You're here now.  We'll just carry on today, shall we?

Well, at least it's Thursday, the end of the week is near...What?  It's only Wednesday?  No wonder the week is feeling like an eternity - because it apparently is.  Sigh. There really is a whole additional day of work to be completed.

Hmm?  Ah, Work Plans.  I see you've taken the opportunity to visit me even though I have 3 hours or so before I actually have to start thinking about you.  No, I'm not really concerned with what documents I have to get done today.  Or tomorrow. Thanks, no, I'll pass right now on considering what I will say for the meeting I have at 4:00 this afternoon.

Interesting.  Hope?  Excitement?  Fun?  No, they don't really seem to be up along with everyone else this morning.  Maybe they've taken the opportunity to sleep in.

Maybe they're on vacation in Italy, visiting the villas of the Italian Dukes.

Sigh. 

Why yes, I think I'll get out bed, thanks.  Who could resist these charming invitations?

Blinking

Sometimes the cursor just sits there and blinks at you.

"I'm ready"  it says.

"For what?"  my response is annoyance.

"For you to start typing."

"I don't really have anything to type about at the moment."

"That's not my problem" the cursor says smugly.  "I'm just a tool, you know.  You're the creative one."

I thrum my fingers on the keyboard lightly in frustration.  "I just can't think of anything.  That's not really my fault.  It's the creative process - I can't just make it happen."

The cursor just sits there, blinking on and off at me.  "Type, type"  it says as it flickers on, off, on, off.

Thrum on the keyboard again.  "You're not helping."  Sighing, I slump down in the chair a bit, waiting for inspiration to strike.

And waiting.  No lightning strikes today.

The cursor sighs.  "Wow.  You really have hit bottom.  Sorry."

"Thanks."  I smile wanly.  "Sometimes I sit down and I know exactly what I'm going to say; sometimes I don't have any idea. I wish I could find more themes, but when I theme something I miss the opportunity to wander off on a really good thought.  That's the risk that seems to come with this sort of stream of consciousness writing that I seem to have developed."

Blink, blink.  Thrum, thrum.

"Hey, I've got an idea"  the cursor finally breaks out.  "Why don't you let me drive this morning?"

I chuckle and half smile.  "Okay.  What are you going to write about?"

The cursor changes from a line to a parenthesis.  " ).  I thought we might write about sitting down at the keyboard in the morning...."

A Note From Motivation

I'm having problems finding my motivational mojo.

I'm  a little unclear precisely where the darn thing went.  There were actually signs of it hanging around over the last three weeks - yet strangely, it seems to have traveled to somewhere I can't quite locate.  Interestingly, it did leave me note last Sunday (about the time it seems to have disappeared)

"Dear Mr. TB:

This is a note to let you know that I'll be taking a few days off.  Simply put, I need a mental health day or three.  I won't be checking voice mail or e-mail.  Please see Imagination or Hope for any critical issues.

Thanks,  Motivation"

I checked in with Imagination and Hope. No luck there.  Imagination was off somewhere maundering about the actual facts of my life versus what it wanted, and Hope simply had a sign on the door saying "End of pay period - please do not disturb".

The last conversation I had with Motivation was around Saturday or so, when we finished making cheese.  He was remarkably quiet that day, responding in monosyllables to my excitement about how the cheese was turning out.  The one sentence I recall was when I made a comment about the next kind of cheese we could make - his response was short "Cheese?  With the complete sameness of your life, all you can talk about is cheese?"

The note followed the day later.

I keep hoping he comes back - but even if he does, what will I say to him?

A Visit with Anger

Anger was waiting for me when I went for a walk last night.

I sighed as I saw him at the end of the court, but was resigned to the fact because my choices were either turn back and disappoint Syrah the Mighty in her walk or carry on and have the companion I was not expecting.

"I see you're walking early tonight" he said pleasantly enough as I turned the corner with Syrah sniffing along the edges of the sidewalk for past visitors.

"Getting it out of the way early" I responded. "What brings you out?"

He laughed to himself gently, at a joke I could not here. "What brings me out? Have you listened to yourself lately? It's not 'What brings me out?' - it's 'Why haven't I come out before now?'"

I sighed as we turned yet another corner and headed east. "Okay, I'll admit I've been a little frustrated of late." At Anger's snicker, I inserted "Fine. A lot frustrated at late. But it's not like I can just start ranting and raving at people."

"Oh, I know" said Anger. "That's why the alternative is so much more fun - to have you mumbling under your breath, to have you screaming in your mind. It's lots more entertaining than you just letting loose on people."

I spun to look at him. "That's not fair. It's not as if I can just start speaking my mind. You know that words, once loosed, cannot be recalled."

Anger was smug. "Oh, don't I know it. But I'm patient - you'll slip up sometimes soon, saying something to someone you'll regret too late. You're so angry all the time now - it's only a matter of playing the odds.

I stopped dead in the street. Anger started to walk past me, then waited, looking at me quizzically.

"What if I just stopped?"

"Stopped?"

"Yes, stopped. Just stopped being angry altogether. If I'm not angry, I'm not going to slip up - right?"

Anger looked at me like I was crazy for a moment, then stuttered. "S-stopped? But you can't stop. You've many frustrations in your life - and you can do nothing about them. Anger is the one emotion you have that will propel you to do anything at all. Those are your choices, you know - be angry and talk some kind of action, even if it's bad, or be accepting and do nothing. People that have accepted are people that do not accomplish."

I looked straight at him. "But can't I accept and take action on those things that I can take action on? That's taking action - maybe not on so many things and maybe not as successfully, but at least on things that maybe I can change."

I thought again. "You know, most of things I am angry at right now are things I can't change - people, circumstances, that sort of thing. Can't really do anything about those. But there are things - maybe small, but things - that I can do. Maybe I'll start with those and go from there."

I smiled at Anger again, still standing there in the street. "Syrah's pulling the leash, so I've got to go. Thanks for the walk. Maybe we can make a date of it?"

And with that I dragged off down the street following a dog intent on the scent of something, Anger still standing in the sodium lighting of the street looking for all the world as if something had just hit him.

A Visit With Guilt

As I crawled into the family room after too little sleep to do my morning calisthenics, the light clicked on. Guilt was sitting on the couch, waiting for me.

I didn't have any spirit. I grunted in her general direction and sort of collapsed on the floor to start push-ups.

She apparently had been up long before I had: she was showered, dressed, and had a cup of coffee in her hand as she watched me, nose on the carpet, ready to start.

"I talked with Confusion yesterday. He said he'd already been by" she chirped brightly as she raised the cup of caffeinated goodness to her lips.

"Umm" I responded, promptly losing count. Maybe I was on 15. I didn't know.

Let's call it 15.

"He said you had a good conversation but based on his relation of the conversation, I thought it might be time for me to stop by and chat with you" she continued, watching me again contemplate the floor from 3 inches away.

Sigh. I finally got up as apparently she was not going to be satisfied with less than acknowledgement.

She smiled brightly at me again as I sat down on the couch.

I gestured open handed towards her to begin.

She simpered. "Oh nothing really - just that Confusion mentioned you were wondering about things and directions, and of course that means thinking about you and what
you wanted to do versus your roles and responsibilities you have in your life. You know me - you're never really doing enough, or you're never really doing it correctly." She smiled brightly at me again as she took another sip of coffee. "I thought I'd stop by and we could talk it through."

I looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Talk it through?"

She smiled condescendingly. "You know, the whole 'I want to do things I enjoy and live my life' versus 'I need to do the things that I am doing because that's what I'm supposed to do'. You really need to focus on your responsibilities and being stable and reliable."

My eyebrow remained cocked. "What if I don't care for any of it?"

She smiled again. "You're not supposed to 'care' for any of it. You're supposed to do it. That's the beauty of being me" - here she smiled again - "it's not what you do, it's how you feel about it that matters. And mostly I'm here to make you feel guilty about whatever it is you're doing - or not doing."

I sat there thinking about it as she sipped away on her coffee. "Wait a minute" I said. "What you're saying is that no matter what I do, you're here to insure I feel guilty?"

She sighed. "Silly boy, it's not anything you do, generally it's only things you do that are not in line with your responsibilities. Well, I mean you should feel guilty about those too - but only that you're not doing enough on those. The others, it would be ideal if you felt guilty that you either spending too much time on them versus your responsibilities or your spending not enough time on them. But it's best, of course, if you simply just felt guilty."

"So there's no winning here for me?" I asked, somewhat confused but somehow feeling totally defeated.

"Of course not" she replied brightly. She looked at her watch, then stood up. "This has been simply fabulous. A wonderful talk, but I've got to get on. I have aerobics with Depression and Anger at 0600, and you know how they are if you're not on time.

"Oh" she said as stopped at the arm of couch, looking at me slumped in a confused defeat. "You didn't do your full round of push-ups. You're slacking off. You should feel guilty about that." And with that she flounced off humming "Let's Get Physical", leaving me in the morning darkness holding her empty coffee cup and the impending weight of all I needed to do - but couldn't or wouldn't get to.

Odd - I was feeling guilty about it all...

A Talk with Hope

The one person I wanted to speak with this morning was Hope.

I keep hoping that she will be there when I come down in the morning (although Depression always seems to be the first one up), but this never seems to be the case. I've left a number of messages but somehow (even in this age of instant communication) making contact seems virtually impossible.

However, today was the morning. As I rounded the stairs, I saw the light on in the family room. Finally. I would get to talk to her. I sorely needed to.

I came through the door frame. The coffee was made, the light was on - no Hope sitting on the couch. I sighed, got my coffee and then went over to sit down. There, on the couch, was a letter.
"To Toirdhealbheach Beucail" it said in Hope's penmanship.

Well, here was something anyway.

I opened the folded in lip of the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper. It was the beautiful blue color I've seen her use to others, the ink color a rich dark black. I pulled up the upper and lower folds.

"Dear Toirdhealbheach Beucail:

First of all, I apologize for not communicating earlier. I'm sorry -things have been a bit busy lately and some thing always end up fallen through the cracks.

I know that you've been desperately in need of a conversation with me a while. That's my job you know - Hope, lifting spirits and fueling passions, enabling those to see beyond their own circumstances to a brighter tomorrow. I enjoy doing it a great deal, and often like to think that I've had some impact on your day to day life.

Unfortunately, I can't do that for you right now.

This letter is to inform you that I am taking a leave of absence for an undetermined period of time. I'm sorry I can't fully tell you why - please accept that this is a personal matter of the greatest importance.

I know this will come as a shock to you, especially due to the lack of communication over the last year or so. Understand that this is nothing that you've done, and certainly nothing that anyone else could control.

I fully intend to be back manning the Hope desk (my small pun -I know you'll like it) as soon as everything is put back in order. In the meantime, I've taken the opportunity to compile a small reading list of helpful quotes which I put by your bed if the need the arises. In my absence, Adventure has agreed to sit in for any critical meetings or projects. Please find attached a copy of my signatory authority designation empowering him to do so.

In closing, I apologize again. I know this is fairly inconvenient timing. Please accept my humblest apologies and know that even while I am working out these significant issues in my life, my thoughts are with you.

Your Optimist, Hope"

I sat there holding the letter, looking at it in disbelief. This would explain the lack of communication, anyway. I sighed and put it down next to me, picking my coffee back up.

Taking a sip, I considered my options. No Hope. I knew Adventure would listen and possibly give advice, but his solution always seems to be "Let's go do something - risky, if possible". Not the best of companions for a day to day life. The times I had listened to him on serious matters never seemed to go quite as well as they should have.

On the bright side I suppose, Hope did not say she was going to be gone indefinitely, just for a while. A while meant coming back at some point.

Still, there was the day to face. And the next one. And the next one.

Which I'd have to do. I'm the dad. I have done it before. I can do it again.

Just because there is no Hope doesn't mean there is no life.

Another Visit with Depression

Depression was waiting for me when I came down this morning.

We didn't speak: he from a sense of patience, I from a sense of defeat. I made the coffee in the second-filled silence and stood there, blatantly ignoring him, as I prepared today's lunch and watched the coffee drip down. Finally, when the black liqueur was fully distilled into the pot, I poured myself a cup, my hands wrapped around the edges as if I could draw the warmth of the coffee into my soul. With a long sigh, I turned around and came back to the couch to sit down. Depression was still there, patiently waiting, thumbing through a book.

"The Art of War" he said, putting it back behind him on the shelf. "An excellent and well respected tome of knowledge. Probably wasted on you."

Great. That was how it was going to be, then.

"I mean" he continued "let's look at it really. What you do hardly requires a grand mastery of strategy. It requires the ability to take orders and do repetitive, detail oriented work. Lots of it."

"But I have goals-"

"Goals? Ah yes, your precious goals and objectives. We're what - five week into the year? Six? How are those going?" At my hanging head, he continued "I thought as much. Sure, it's great every Sunday night when you've had rest and a weekend to recharge. But trust me - consistently, by Tuesday you're mine. More and more, it's just Monday."

"But the hard part is over for this week" I tried to rally a counterattack. "Catch up. And if I try hard enough and do what I've been asked to do, this might be the year-"

"The year for what? A promotion? You remember they're scrapping the position above you. Nowhere for you to go there. Or maybe even another job? In this economy? Ha!"

Depression was going now, his eyes ablaze, his hands poised as a Baptist minister preaching hell, his voice a thundering cataract. "You're a serf. A servant. You do what you're told with the what you are given and be thankful for it. Any chance - any chance - you had of being anything but is long past. You cannot achieve. You cannot be great. Those chances are behind you - thanks mostly to the wretched decisions which you made. You are merely what you are - a servant. Get used to it - it will make the remainder of your life easier to bear. If you have no expectations, failure hurts less." He sat back down in triumph on the couch, head poised as if he could hear the cheers of a crowd I could not see.

I sat there staring into my coffee cup, his words penetrating to the core of where I had said such things to myself. I considered the rest of the week, a panorama of demands by others in which I was generally expected to solve their problems but knowing in my heart that any such resolutions would be accepted as my duty at best and ignored at least. I thought of the fact that I was not sleeping and so not having the energy to do what I wanted to do early in the morning and late in the evening, only having enough energy to stagger through one more day to do the things I had to do.

Depression saw - instinctively -my thought patterns even if he could not see my thoughts. His confidence only grew, his smile only got more smug. He finally rose from the couch, a self-satisfied look on his face. "My work is done here" he stated. "See you in the turnip fields."

He turned on his heels and disappeared into the early morning darkness, leaving only me with my coffee to listen to the winds howl. Whether they were outside the house or in my soul, I could not directly tell.

Another Visit with Depression

Depression was down on the couch this morning with cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand. As I came in he said nothing, merely handing the cup to me.

This was not particularly indicative of a good thing.

We sat there is the second-eating silence filled only by the kitchen clock as I sipped and he looked on. He finally broke the silence.

"Kind of a rough week this week" he said in a half joking manner. I continued to sip my coffee in silence.

"Yesterday really wasn't that good either." He looked at me to see if I would respond. I met his eyes, sighed, then focused back on drinking my coffee.

He sighed. "You're not making this easy, you know. When Depression is trying to lift your spirits, something is just not right."

I smiled weakly through the coffee. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, you understand. It's just that, well, yesterday really wasn't a very good day - and I have to make it through one more day, dealing both with the fallout as well as everything new on my plate. It's a bit much."

Depression got up and disappeared into the stove-light gloom of the kitchen, returning with his own cup of coffee. "So what bothered you about it the worst?" he asked as he sat down.

I sighed mid-sip, then lowered the cup. "The futility" I replied. "No matter what I do, I know I'm not going to achieve what I am expected to achieve. I fully expect to be blamed for almost everything that has occurred this week, correctly or no. It's bad enough when you know you haven't done what you were supposed to - it's worse when you have the weight of the expectation of others to fix the problem hanging over your head."

Depression merely nodded silently, then took a sip. "So what do you do?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "What can I do?" I replied. "It's not as if a magic solution has suddenly presented itself, or will present itself. Soldier on as best I can, I guess. Figure out where I can lift time from my things to make other things happen. It's my job in life, right? Serve others, make sure others are provided for. There was no guarantee of personal happiness or satisfaction."

We both sat in silence, sipping coffee. Finally, Depression reached into his shirt pocket. "I made something for you" he said.

I took it from his hand and looked at it. It was a homemade coupon that said

"Get of Depression Free Card

This card entitles the bearer to one (1) depression free day of his choosing.
Present this card at time of requested depression free day.
Includes the provision of pizza and an alcoholic beverage of the bearer's choosing"

"You understand" Depression hastened to add as I read "that I normally don't do this. This is between us, right? It's just well..you know...you're even depressing me now."

I snorted in laughter as I put the coupon in my pocket. "Thanks" I said. "I appreciate it. Really.

"Well" he said, suddenly rising to his feet in a hurry, as if he was concerned he'd gone to far, "I'll be seeing you. Soon, I'm thinking. I'll be just around the corner of your mind."

I nodded. "I know" I replied. "At least I can be confident that I'll not be blamed by you for things you don't do." His quiet laughter followed him out of the room as the coffee laden air swirled with him, bearing the unlikely hope of morning where, for once, Depression might be on my side.

A Visit with Courage

I rolled out of bed late -quite late, by my standards. I galumphed quietly down the stairs, mentally making a list of everything that usually did in the morning - and those things I wouldn't be doing to make my timing to get out the door. Getting to the bottom, I clubhauled around the bottom banister (nearly losing my feet in my socks) and scooted into the family room.

There, sitting on the couch with the light on, was Courage. He'd even gone so far as to make coffee and have a cup ready for me.

I love this man.

He slapped the couch next to him. "Sit down lad, sit down. It's been a while since we've talked." He handed me the cup of coffee, which I gratefully took and sipped. Wow - it was even fresh.

I took another gulp and then lowered the cup. "I haven't seen you in a while" I said, starring down into the steam rising from my cup.

"I've had a bit of a vacation - longer than intended, really" he replied, re-settling the folds of his kilt. "Sort of my fault you know - one gets involved and volunteers, and the next thing you know you're serving far afield. But partially your fault as well." He sipped his cup again.

I started, half choking on my coffee. "My fault?" I questioned. "Why, I've needed nothing but you for months now. I have needed to be able to stand up -for myself, to others, for the things I want to do in life. I needed you! How is this somehow my fault?"

He raised his eyebrows back at me. "Partially your fault dear boy, partially your fault. No need to get upset over it. Calm yourself." He took another sip of coffee, then stared down into the cup. "But you know that courage is something you have to do, to look for, to find - not something that you just sit around for, waiting for it to appear next to you drinking coffee one morning."

He sipped again. "I can be here, I can be ready to go - but unless you choose to lead, I will not follow. Nothing personal old man. It's the way things work. Not really different than those rascals Fear and Failure, or that vixen Passion - you don't really have anything to do with them either until you make the decision to lead them, usually into your life. For example, if you treated Fear the way you've treated me lately - you know, kept him at arm's length, didn't send an invite, no afternoon High Teas, that sort of thing -how likely do you think it is that you would be afraid so much?"

My sigh and the hang of my head told him everything he needed to know.

He patted shoulder firmly. "Buck up my lad. That's all in the past now. We don't have to live in our mistakes, we just have to learn from them. I'm back now. That's what's important."

He got up off the couch, readjust his folds and his belt once again. "Tell you what my boy: You're running a bit late. Why don't you go ahead and get ready and I'll just stay here for a few minutes, then we can get in the car and commute together. I've got a bit of Facebook to catch up on."

I almost choked for the second time that morning. "Facebook? You're on Facebook?"

"Of course dear fellow. Got to keep up with times. Besides, I have a date with Passion tonight. Need to finalize arrangements. You don't know of a good pub, do you?"

"You? Passion? You just said she was a vixen?"

He gave me wry smile. "She is my lad, she is. But just because she is doesn't mean I shouldn't date her." He laughed to himself, turned around, and sat down to the computer.

As I started back out the kitchen door, refilled coffee in hand, all I could hear was the clickety-clack of the keyboard and Courage humming "Men of Harlech" as he idly twisted his mustache, waiting for the computer to load. As I got out of earshot the last thing I heard was "A new profile picture for you? Splendid Passion, splendid."

Confused

I woke up this morning and Confusion was waiting for me at the coffee maker.

"Good morning" he cheerfully greeted me as I stumbled up from doing my sit-ups.

"Unnh" was my pre-morning response as I carefully moved him to one side to get the morning coffee started.

He patiently waited for me as I got the coffee going, got my breakfast out, and then slumped back onto the couch for my Monday morning reading. Apparently, he wasn't going away.

I tried to read for a couple of minutes but his insane smile (and the fact he insisted on reading over my shoulder) finally drove to drop what I was doing.

"Fine" I said. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing, nothing" he responded, smiling all the while. "I just realized after the week you had and the week you're going to have, it was probably time for me to drop by.

I took a sip of the hot coffee in the cold and just looked at him sitting there, smiling. "You've been eavesdropping again."

"I? Eavesdropping?" he said in mock exaggeration, hands placed upon chest. "I just listen. We all do. It's not like we don't share the same mind, you know."

I sighed again. My coffee was less warm. "Alright, fine. I'm confused. I don't know what to do. Every time I look at my goals or objectives or even my wishes, all I find is nothing and ash. Every time I try to plan it gets turned on it's head. Every thing I think I want to do gets questioned. Time is passing but I'm being pulled along by the flood instead of riding it. Happy?" I ended with a "harumph" and got another sip of coffee. Great, it was getting colder as well.

The grin disappeared off Confusion's face as if my words had the power to wipe it off. He just sat there looking at me for a minute or so, the two of us staring at each other in the cold, dark house with the dwindling warmth of the coffee in my hands.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

I looked at him in disbelief. "What do I want?" I said in the low frustrated voice of a man trying not to wake anyone else up in the morning. "What do I want? That's the problem - I don't know what I want. I want everything. I want things I can get to. I want things that I have no idea how I can get to them - only that I want them. I want to go here, I want to go there - but if I go there, does it get me where I want?"

I stared into my coffee cup for what seemed like longer than the few seconds that it was. "I want someone to tell me what I want, because I really have no idea. Every time I make a choice, it seems wrong. Every time I choose a goal, it seems unachievable. Every time I try to choose what I think will make me happy it never does. I feel mired in my own inability and failures." I continued to stare at the coffee cup, which only had residual warmth at this point.

Confusion gave a long sigh. He waited until my eyes met his. He smiled that understanding smile he occasionally seems capable of, then carefully took the cup out of my hands. He walked over to the coffee machine, which I could just see at the edge of the darkened kitchen. I heard the sounds of glass clicking and liquid pouring. He came back over with steam rolling over the edge of the now-filled cup and held it out to me. I grabbed the heavy, steaming mug and looked back at him.

He didn't sit down this time, just stood there smiling at me. "Sometimes if our cups are empty, it's okay to ask others to help us fill them. In the end, you make the choices you live with, but there is no reason you have to make them on your own. Ask yourself this: If, in the absence of any physical reality or reasons something could be done, you wanted something, what would it be? Figure that out, and your path will become clear. Not easy, but clear."

And with that he faded back into the pre-morning hum of the kitchen darkness, leaving me alone with a coffee mug full of ponderings.

A Visit With Fear

"I never take counsel of my fears." - General George Patton

I am a fear counselee. Good Lord, I'm so much a fear counselee that I have a permanent appointment and couch in Fear's office.

As I plopped down on that couch yesterday evening for my daily appointment, Fear looked up from his desk. "Give me a minute" he said. "I've got a few things to take care of here - loss of jobs and potential failures of various things to sign off on."

"No problem" I sighed, settling into the raised pattern of cushions I knew so well as he continued to quietly type away while humming under his breath, until at last he smiled at the screen and hit the "Enter" key with a triumphant hand.

"My apologies for that" he purred as he turned to face me fully. "What can I help you with today?"

"I've got a problem" I replied uncomfortably, not really sure how to begin. "I...I.."

"Go ahead" replied Fear soothingly, his eyes almost seeming to glow at the opportunity. "What is it? Don't -if I may make a pun - be afraid?"

I sighed, mustering my courage. "I'm not having as much fear as I used to. This worries me."

Whatever smooth smile that was on Fear's face was instantly wiped away, replaced by an attitude of concern. "This sounds serious" he said. "Let's discuss this. Surely you're missing something."

I shook my head. "I don't know that I am. I'm just not having as much fear as I used to. It's like I'm trying to deal with my problems instead of hiding from them or allowing them to be bigger in my mind than they are."

Fear shook his head. "That's not it at all. Sounds to me like you're just not seeing things realistically enough. Look at you: Far away from home and family, in a job you're not really in control of, slowly digging your way out financially, in a world of unsettling times - and your relationship with God: is He there, does He care? Let's not start, shall we?" He grabbed for his every present notepad and said "Where shall we begin?"

I shook my head again. "No, I'm pretty certain on this. I'm not as afraid as I used to be. Some, sure, but I'm working on that too."

I thought for a minute in the resulting silence, as the second hand marched across the clock and Fear sat in his desk facing me, fidgeting with his pen. "You know" I said, breaking the silence, "in fact I think I'm better. I'm canceling my appointment for tomorrow."

"But-"

"No no old chap" I said more confidently as I stood up, brushing my pants off, "I can't bother you anymore. I see now that I've got to deal with them, rather than talking about them. It's okay - don't bother to get up. I can see my way to the door."

The last thing I saw before I left the room was Fear sitting in his desk, his eyes staring off into space - looking, of all things, afraid.

Stress

Stress walked into the room this morning and sat down on the couch.

I was already a bit grumpy due to the fact that I had to be up early this morning and had not gotten a great deal of sleep anyway. Fantastic, I thought: just one more fabulous way to start the morning.

"So how's it going?" Stress asked in the rising tone which indicates a person knows very well how its going as he stretched out, nearly knocking over my coffee in the process.


I grimaced as I rescued my coffee from nearly going over. "Fine, fine" I said. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Stress smiled broadly again. "Oh, nothing I suppose. You've just been spending a great deal of time with me lately in work, in not sleeping, in your personal life. I just thought that with all this time, we should probably just make a day of it."

I looked at the clock and sighed. I did not have time for this along with everything else I had to do today. "Look", I started, "today's a bit much for me and I'm really not going to have a lot of time to speak with you. Anything in particular, or just your usual 'Hey, the world is ending' routine?"

Stress smiled languidly. "I'll not be that easily deterred. You're under a lot of stress right now. You're eating up your personal life to make other parts of your life work. It's good for me, of course, because I thrive on this stuff. I actually just stopped by to tell you to keep it up."

I started to rebuke him, then stopped. He was right, of course: my entire personal life, my spiritual life, my family life, my romantic life - all of it was becoming sacrificed to the great tyranny of the urgent and stress.

"Leaving me with what?" I said out loud, forgetting anyone else was in the room with me.

Stress smiled again. "Oh, with nothing really - except me, of course."

He slowly stood back up. "Guess I'm done here" he remarked as he stretched back and forth. "Hopefully I'll see you again today. Maybe not."

And with that he was gone, leaving me to mull over my life through stress's prism as seen through a half warm cup of coffee.

Meeting Fear

Yesterday afternoon, within my last 1.5 hours of work, an issue came up - the sort of issue that leaves you dreading coming in the next day because of the e-mails you fear will be in the box and the meeting you inevitably know will be coming.

Yes I know, this is what I get paid for. At the same time, it has been an interesting item to mull over as Syrah the Mighty and I went for our walk this morning.

Initially the thought discussion was all about the (almost inevitable) meeting, where suggestions would be made that we were withholding information, why didn't we bring this up earlier, this affects the timeline, and was this really a big issue? The mind instantly races, finding counter arguments to each and every point, try to defend my concerns, wondering who I can enlist as an ally, and what impact this will have on my career there.

And then my mind did a yottsu te hanasu - a "win by four hands" technique discussed by Miyatmoto Musashi in A Book of Five Rings where he says when opponents are equally matched (as in wrestling), to drop that strategy and win by some other means. My mind went off completely on a seeming tangent: "Why are you so concerned about this and what they think about you? Why are you so afraid and tense with this?"

"What do you mean?" I asked my mind.

"Simply that it seems your focus is on the wrong place. Sure, people will be unhappy and sure, they will say your over reacting and maybe even blame you. But the real issue is your fear."

"My fear?"

"Your fear. Can they physically hurt you? No. Can they spiritually hurt you? No. Can they emotionally hurt you? Possibly, but that's you allowing them to hurt your feelings. The issue is your fear - you're afraid that they will do these things, and you're afraid that this will impact your career."

"Well it might."

"Yes, it might -at least at this company. If that's the case, you have two other questions to answer: What can you do to alleviate that fear, and how do you remove that power from them?"

I thought for a minute. "Hmm. I suppose I can alleviate the fear by ensuring that I am constantly at the top of my knowledge base and a resource. It won't change the situation of course, but at least it will alleviate the fear. As to the second, I'm not sure. What can I do?"

My mind smiled (or I think it did - it's hard to interpret facial expressions of the mind). "Again, two thoughts. The physical one is difficult but easy to say: make sure you reach a position in your life where that is not possible. The mental one is less easy: deny them the power."

"The power?"

"Your fear is based on your perception that they won't like you, won't value you, will mock you, will not value you or your work. The reality is their opinion does not change your self worth. Even it you are overridden, it still doesn't change that - unless you let them change that in your mind. So many other people have no problem acting or expressing their opinions simply because people that suffer from fear like yours allow them to do so. When will you face your fear?"

It has me thinking anyway - if people cannot do physical, spiritual, or emotional harm to me, why do I fear them?

Rawness of Soul

This thought floated through my head this morning as I took Syrah the Mighty for a walk this morning.

"Well Hello" I said. "Where are you from?"

The thought refused to answer me. It just kind of hung there to the edge of my vision at the right, apparently avoiding getting run over by the dog as she investigated the night's scents.

"Okay, fine then. Keep your secrets" I muttered as I continued along. "If you won't co-operate, I'll do it on my own."

So on I walked, the dog straining at her leash back and forth across the road, as I pondered and the thought floated along beside me.

Was my soul feel raw? No doubt about it. What did that mean precisely? A sense of unhappiness and anger running through all my activities; a sense of helplessness in the face of life.

Helpless in the face of life? Yes. How helpless? Helpless in the sense of feeling that I have so very little control over vast swaths of my life and that I am essentially unable to take control - in fact, that even if I got control, I wouldn't know what to do.

Goals, yes, I know. Goals are supposed to help that -except when you seem to have problems setting them, and the ones that you do set seem impossible to achieve the moment you set them.

Which leaves one feeling trapped, a cog in a giant machine, with nothing but more of the same tomorrow - which leads to rawness of soul, become upset at the slightest thing.

"So if that's the idea" I asked, "How do I overcome it?" The thought just kind of drifted off a little more to the right, closemouthed (as so many thoughts are) about anything other than its existence.

But even though it wouldn't talk, the question still remains. I think I have an answer, I'm just not sure how to apply it: For me at least, it just takes one thought to cascade onto a different thought pattern. What is that one thought, that one action, that will be lodestone for a different set of cascading thoughts?