Everybody around me is crazy right now.
I'm the only sane one.
Of course, a couple of years ago I couldn't make such a boastful claim.
I was a mess.
The wife had left. I was done with the job (then horrified to watch how quickly what took decades to build was torn apart so quickly). Beaten up, tired, frustrated, lonely and sad ... I was depressed and spent a lot of time alone. Well, Goddess was with me for most of it. I mostly stayed in bed, stared at the stars or lay in the floor.
A handful of friends showed up and I think my Mom made Chicken soup (That last part was totally made up ... My Mom couldn't make Chicken Soup if her life depended on it, which is good, because her life doesn't!). Then Shirley broke in one night. Stacy made me go out. Johnny O and Judy kept kidnapping me. Cheryl sounded like a broken record telling me how loved I am. All of my kids spent more time in the house since I changed their diapers. Sarah was here.
Slowly, I climbed out it. I stood on the back deck one warm morning (sans the clothes), felt the Sun throwing warm on me (after such a long, cold, lonely winter), a clump of trees in the back yard birthed my long dead friend Fran who sprinkled me with a thousand shades of green, and old friends returned from the past.
I discovered the island I'd lived on for more than twenty years. Music came back to my fingers and I play again. Church became meaningful after I'd long lost faith in it. Nursing Homes were suddenly special places to dance. Bored meetings are rarely boring. A Carnival of Friends gave water sports a whole new meaning.
As this re-birthing took place, the past kept coming back demanding to know why I wasn't doing it that way anymore. It came in the form of phone calls from people I'd been close to demanding to know why I wasn't doing it the way that I used to. They made threats ... "People will forget about you! You need to do what you've always done. NOW DAMMIT!"
Goddess and I would stroll over to a sad little only dock and consider their demands. Egrets would fly and my dog would watch them contently. Choirs of Mussels sang cantatas. The Holy Water of the Back River flowed carrying silhouettes of people on Paddle Boards looking like crippled Jesus' walking on the water. The Samuel Adams Band invited me in. A shell of a house became a home again ... one that is still being born.
I learned a new way of listening.
Now I listen to me (a lot of people will say that I've always just listened to me which is true in some senses I suppose but so very untrue in other ways).
This morning I'm pretty content.
That's not to say I've got it all figured out. There's work to be had so the bills can be paid and I can stay here and go where I want. There are families to tend while they birth. They're lots of people asking for ... well what they say is ... "Hey Mike. I'm going through these same things. The marriage is over. The job is done or I'm done with the job. A lot of people I always counted on disappeared overnight. No matter what I do there's criticism. I don't know what to do next ... you're a little ahead of me on this one. Thanks for writing all of that stuff so I know I'm not the only one. What should I do?"
I smile and think back to the angles and the assholes, the choirs and the critics, the daring and the demanding, the saviors and the shallow ... Board Chairs who chose to remain anonymous and the Bored ... the rotting and the resurrected.
I smile and say, "Once Upon a time ..."
When we finish that story, I rush on to the more important one.
"Then there was ... now which is more important than then ... and next is far more holy than now."
