Sorry, I misunderheard you . . . .

Misunderheard-a-tation

You were saying . . . . Something?

Me: Yeah, I was trying to tell you what I was thinking.

Them: Oh, you can think?

Me: I try

Them: Okay, Next time don't try so hard!

Nothing is more irritating or frustrating than being misunderheard. Taking time to explain a thought, an idea or even a simple human sentiment only to have the other person reply "What did you say or even worse . . . . huh?". The ultimate is being Misunderstood. Speaking of the present only to realize that your significant other heard you babbling on about some old girlfriend that you had. Arrrrrrrrgh!

Did you know that eyes fill in a blank or blind spot with objects that surround the blind spot? When people start to loose their hearing their ears replace the silence with noise? The words you just read . . . . your mind doesn't read the entire word only the first and last letters and fills in the middle. When people speak to us, a part of our brain known as Brocca's area anticipates what the speaker will say next? Funny, isn't it?

Now I forgot what the hell this post was suppose to be about, Dag nabitt!!!!

Dreams, madness in a logical fashion.

Visions of what our lives are meant to be. A calling from the playful side of our minds, cloaked in unfamiliar colors and written in a unspoken language. Dreams for short.

I love the study of dreams, maybe it is the imaginative side of our minds that fascinates me so.

All dreams are a cinematic production of one's own mind, written and cast by the same. Each line, scene and plot is of our own hand. We dream as our logical mind sleeps and washes itself of the toxins, both physical and mental. When righty has his shot at center stage he waste no time in bringing to you the best he has to offer. Our right side, imaginative mind, speaks in metaphors of our own creation. Funny, people ask me what this means and why they dream of that. I tell them that they wrote the screenplay, it is all parts and pieces of their lives both lived and imagined. The light comes on when they start to think about their dreams in context with their lives today. What is unsettled in your mind today will be in your dreams tonight. Lefty can not deal with fantasy, no not at all. Lefty deals with logic broken down to its simplest form. One piece at a time, in a logical order of course. Righty, well . . . . . there are no rules, no social standards and no box to limit his production process. He gives us a wild and creative screenplay and laughs as we try to decipher the madness in a logical fashion.

If you think of the meaning of the word BLUE, what comes to your mind? The sky, the Levi's you are wearing, a friends eyes, the ocean ? Each of us has a dictionary in our minds and a self defined definition for every word we know, cognizantly or not. That kind of puts the word "reality" in double jeopardy don't you think? No two people hold the same meaning for one word. It is a wonder we can communicate at all.

And yes, I made up the word cognizantly. But then you can define it any way you like!

Pleasant dreams my friends

I put a name on your tombstone

Some old memories seem to hang around a little too long. Just like a hangover, you had a good time but you surely will pay for it later. Like a song in the phonological loop of my mind, playing over and over. A restless soul with no way home. Well . . . . I gots me a cure for this one.


Memories, dreams and all those other haunting thoughts in our head are simply seeking a place to call home. Unresolved issues at the alter of reason. You gotta put them where they belong. Problem being that they all believe they are at some masquerade party. Heartbreak is wearing her low cut dress, looking just like love. Players resemble old dear friends, dragging you away as you become part of their game. Over and over again. There must be someway out of all this craziness.

Time to get out the chisel and hammer. 

Assessing imaginative thoughts with a logical mind only leads to madness, for sure. The masquerade party is over, the masks have got to go. All those revelers need to be stripped down to reveal their true intentions. All those old homeless memories need a final resting place. Time to get out the chisel and hammer. 

Here is what I did one night, not too long ago. I put the Eagles on the eight track and played Lying eyes over and over. Then I got out the chisel and hammer. That old flame who hung around my heart for all those self doubting days . . . . . . I chiseled " Too bad you never loved me. Sleep in peace . . . Shameless hussie!" Friends who only needed me for what I could do for them . . . " Here lies the Player . . . Hell has a table for you, Bonn Appetite!" 

And that first love who couldn't or wouldn't love us in the same degree . . . . . .

"Here you lie

Just as your memory lied to my heart. 

You do not love me now nor then

Never a lover nor a friend

Rest in Peace, Sweetheart"

                          Yes, everything and every memory has a place. 

Sometimes the shadows of my heart gets in the way of truth's enlightening glow.

Let your heart be your voice

The swelling of emotions curled over me and crashed upon my heart. 

As the hurt flowed from  her eyes, my words sounded as if someone else was speaking for me. Yes, my pride had over ruled my heart, again. As she asked why, my silence only added to her pain. My pride stated his case in cold hard facts in his usual self serving way. I loved her and here I am saying goodbye, knowing I couldn't let her go. My pride patted me on the back stating "Nobody treats us like that, never!". Forty years later, I whisper farewell to the both of them. 

True story my friend, for forty years I believed all my lies and the cold hearted voice of my pride. I left her crying and turned and walked away. My unyielding pride comforting me with all that macho real man rhetoric. A real man would have cold cocked his pride and wiped her tears repeating over and over he loved her. But that was then my friend, today that moment is a just another lesson learned. Seems like we are never too old to speak for ourselves.

So . . . . . Fare thee well, Julie. 

I am so sorry I didn't wipe away your tears.

If you ever hear that voice in your head speaking for you . . . . . Remember, pride is immortal we are not. 

Always let your heart speak your mind. 

Never, and I mean never, let your pride be your voice.

Words that hold no meaning

There are words that posess no definition nor do they hold any meaning. These orphan words are tied to specific people, places and events. Mister Weber, I am sure, would agree that these words are just filler, inert matter and wasted time.

I knew a young girl, once upon a time. Her words of affection never reflected her actions. Those words were just a wisp of truth, a ghost of a lie and hollow. When I see her or even when another mentions her name, I recall what was never there, her words of love and trust. I am sure you know somebody who always starts out a lie with "Honest, this is the truth". Every word that follows holds no meaning, only to the liar do lies belong.

Sometimes words are just not needed, at all. When my Lovely Rose looks into my eyes, mine ears capture the vibrations in the air. My mind is absent and all the words fall upon the floor, unused and unheard.

Yes, my friend it is what you do and never what you say . . . . that defines our words.

Waiting for the doorbell to ring

 I don't believe in Beatles

I just believe in me

Yoko and me

And that's reality

John Lennon

It is our faith, our beliefs that bridge the waters of doubt.

When logic and reason fail to answer the question, faith always will.

To believe in the unknown is to see with one’s eyes closed.

Where does your fountain of faith flow from? Your God, yourself or maybe your faith lies in others. Think about how many times you knew you couldn't do something and then . . . . . you stood back and marveled at what you had achieved. Pretty proud of yourself, weren't you. Me too!

Faith is a unyielding  river, drowning known reason and logic just to prove that what we believe today will be tomorrow’s ancient history. I swim in the river every day because, I believe. I believe that one day soon my dream of being the man I was always meant to be . . . . I shall become. I have only a penciled outline of that person, I leave the details to faith. For you see, I do not possess a finely drawn painting of myself. For I have been many different persons all my days. Now, I am simply me. I don’t try to make others happy through deeds aimed to please them. I focus on doing what I believe is the right thing. Always and in all ways. I allow others to perceive my acts as they will. I hold no map of my future. For I only know for certain what was and is now. Tomorrow everything could change and then what? Maybe I can explain myself in another manner. The self-portrait I am painting is only black lines on a white canvas. Faith will fill in the colors from the palette of tomorrow. I can’t wait to see the colors I never even knew existed, today.

I never worry, because I know that my worries are based upon what I know today. I don’t know what tomorrow may bring to my door. I just wait for the doorbell ring.

Unforgiven, for all my days

Forgiveness is the key to locking the door on the past. 

There are times when we find ourselves bound to an incident that caused another grief, pain or sorrow. Tied to a moment in time like a ball and chain. The very sight of the person hurls us back to that moment over and over again. For without their forgiveness, we can never sever the bindings of that hurtful moment.

I shall be unforgiven for all my days. I carry the weight of those chains like a ghost in a fairy tale, endlessly in life and most likely beyond. The forgiveness can never be granted for they have shed this world and left me bound and unforgiven. I tell myself that they would have forgiven me, someday. That is a sunrise I shall never see.

In a funny way. I am thankful for the cast iron ball and these cranking steel chains. See, they remind me to forgive and forget.

I would never forgive myself if I were the one, the one who left you in chains, never.

DA Keene

"Forgotten is forgiven"

F. Scott Fitzgerald

A leaf upon the floor of my forest

I am unsure what time of year it is. 

Should I bring flowers for sorrow or happiness? 

Should I celebrate the rebirth of the Terra Firma or morn the passing of summer.

The once complete crown of foliage has given way to the stars, the moon and the sun. They all glow through the once complete and impenetrable canopy above the Forest floor. The arms of the elms and oaks reach out to catch the rays of light, but they are few and the light is endless. I admire their fortitude and their will to do what all their forefathers could not. They are a persistent lot for sure. Wandering through my sea of trees, one becomes lost in thought and in direction once again. It is of no matter nor concern for the way home is always behind us. A soul simply has to turn around and retrace their footsteps.

Listening to the silence, I am moved by the song of serenity in the key of contentedness. Time is asleep in my sea of trees and worries are his bed coverings. Both are absent in mine eyes and in mine heart. The world is small here and ends just beyond the rise or possiblly past the bend of the melodious stream. The flowing waters has broken the rule of silence but she is always forgiven by the inhabitants and the lost. Resting upon a fallen warrior, my ears are overflowing with the cries of all my winged friends headed away from my forest. They couldn't bare the emptiness of the branches and the falling of the leaves. In time, I too will turn to trace my own footsteps. My pockets bare no more emptiness nor space for they are overflowing with the moments of the forest. As is my mind.

In the Autumn of my life, I hope that my life will have been as a tree. 

I hope to have weathered the rain and stood strong against the wind

Not as a leaf, lost among the masses upon the floor of my forest. 

If you speak the truth, people call you a fool.

If you speak the truth, people call you a fool. If you speak of the known and accepted beliefs, you are a inntelligent and wise person. 

Huh? 

What the hadies is that all about? 

A fool I shall always be, because . . . . 

The only difference between the saint and the sinner is 

that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.

Oscar Wilde

I am a sinner, yes I am. I am a fool and a sinner in the eyes of those who see the world through very thick glasses made from the popular beliefs of others. In their eyes I am a bad little boy who only wants attention from others. Pity, though . . . . I thought that one could speak of what is not and dream of what should be. Isn't that what life is all about? Achieviving the unimaginable. Seeing what is not and blazing a path toward it through long held beliefs from days past. The problem with most folks we meet is simple. They believe what they know to be true, period. They are realist, they believe in what is, today. My answer to them is very basic and real. In the days before electricity and automobiles, those who dreamed of and spoke of such things were simple fools. Now there are visionaries who made life so much more enjoyable and convenient. 

My my my . . . . funny how things change as dreams become a reality, don't you think? 

Let's all be bad little ones in need of attention. Maybe someone will listen and hear what we have to say.

Through mine eyes, I see the world as a stark blank page and I have the only pencil!

That bad little boy

In the shadows of my soul . . . . an island of light, me.

 "One morning as I sat patiently waiting for the next salvo of words to be fired across the bow of my coffee cup, I braced myself. As she glared in my direction, I was hoping my silence would draw her words out. Two minutes and twenty four seconds later, success! My wife lectured me, again, stating that I was acting just like my father, again. I reminded her that I had spent 18 years living with the man and that the possibility of acquiring some of his traits and habits, was not a possibility but a certainty. A sure bet. 100%. I wasn't acting like my father I was imitating my father. I was reacting or maybe the proper term is repeating the stated actions I had witnessed my father act out. I refer to this phenomenon as “The Parental Rerun Show, sponsored by Memorex.” Like father, like son. It wasn't me honey, my father made me say those things."

DA Keene

Sound familiar? Someone stating that you are just like someone else, acting like them, behaving like them, thinking like them and of course the ultimate . . . . "the spittin' image".

Funny how others view our actions and words through historically tainted glasses. Constructing a image of you and I from only what they know or believe to be accurate and true. ( in their opinion)

All of us are guilty of the above stated crime. We all perceive others through the same glasses of perceptual reality. But, what if  . . . . . we are all to blame for all the erroneous beliefs and half truths we hold due to the wearing of corrective lenses? What if . . . do I dare suggest this? We simply take off our glasses and see the person for whom they are , today. I don't need corrective lenses to see clearly who is standing in front of me, I need to believe what I see and hear. What someone does is what they believe not what they say. What someone says is whom they want to be. I say . . . . .

Be yourself, everybody else is already taken. 

Oscar Wilde

I don't act like my father, I act like me. I don't speak like others, I speak to others of mine own beliefs. There are only so many words and ways to position those words, so . . . . speak in your voice and just let others think what they may. You and I know that we were speaking the truth and that sometimes our words are tainted by others perceptions. 

Who is this man in the picture? I once referred to him as the "Charlie Sheen of the Victorian era". The original wilde and crazy guy. My current favorite is "The original Cat in the Hat". I think I will get me one of those hats, I really like it. But, I digress ...... again. Oscar Wilde is famous for his one liners and his original view of the world around him. He is quoted all the time and seldom given the credit for the words, his words are memorable but his name not so.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, 

and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." 

Oscar Wilde

"Ain't it the truth, ain't it the truth? "

The cowardly Lion

Solitude is no friend, my friend

Solitude is no friend

Do you remember the last time you were alone? I don't mean by yourself for a limited period of time, I am speaking of being alone . . . . by yourself . . . . no one else around . . . . your only companions are your self doubts and the tinge of fear in the air . . . . Alone.

People often tell me that they love being alone, no one to bother them and no one to interrupt them. I call that "Me time". Time that a soul takes for themselves. Time to do the things that you want to do.

I do spend time alone, every now and then. The dive into the abyss is a reminder of what we all fear, being alone. But then that is the whole purpose, examining ones self to understand that we are social beings and when we stray away . . . . well, Mother Nature reminds us that we are alone and vulnerable. Like a sheep upon the hillside. Lost and alone. or maybe . . .  A snow white ewe upon a emerald dinner plate. That's the wolfs point of view. But isn't that the way we all feel when we realize that we are truly alone?

I know someone who spends too many hours alone. I try to stop by and visit. I never have the time to stop by so I simple take the time and stop by. I like that. And do you know what? I never missed a single moment in my own little life by taking the time to be social, to be human.

Maybe that is the reason we hate being alone. 

More than what I have

The oaks and maples are releasing their foliage yet once again. Little paratroopers descending upon the earth in a show of auburn, gold and brown. They are here to remind me that a wisp of change is in the air, a fragrance of fall for the eyes to behold.

Yes, it is walking time.

A time to stroll through the crisp air and fill mine eyes with all of the wonders Mother Nature has to bear. These woods are mine, for today. I love to wander through the these woods and become lost in both mind and direction. In my mind, I take all of portraits home with me to enjoy again and again. I fill my pockets with the aroma of the forrest. I pick each and every sound from the sky and tuck them neatly away in my memories, for I will need them later when the silence of winter blankets these woods. The treasures I have stolen from these woods are mine forever.

Then, like a chilling January breeze . . . . it occurs to me.

These woods are here all year long, waiting for a soul to come and visit with them. Maybe, I should take the time to visit more than I have. Maybe, then I would have . . . . more than what I have.

Close mine eyes and see . . . .

A while back, there were these two guys who wanted to change the world. A couple of dreamers, I suppose. They spoke of what is and what is not, dreams and the cruelty of man towards his own brother. You don't hear much about them these days, those dreamers from the past. Just a dusty page from an old dustier history book. 

Then I closed mine eyes and see . . . . . 

I see the two brothers talking outside the oval office, voicing their opinion on how to right the wrongs of the world. Speaking in terms of what will be never stating that what is will remain. Yes, I see the two brothers but more important is that I see the dreams. The dreams they shared with each other out on the lawn of the White house, a long time ago. I see their dreams through mine eyes of today and realize that dreams do come true. I see that I have taken for granted all that I have. For without the dreams, the courage and the faith of two brothers I would be shackled to a world of silent and barren nights . . . a world without dreams.

"Some men see things as they are and say why. 

I dream things that never were and say why not."

To quote the third brother . . . . 

"Those of us who loved him and who take him to his rest today, pray that what he was to us and what he wished for others will someday come to pass for all the world."

Yes, I too pray that what they dreamed could be, will someday come to pass for all the world.

A time for tears

Something to believe in , Someone to love

If you look closely at the little girl in the picture . . . . you can see the sadness in her heart and the tear in her eye. She has her left hand over her right in a classic "I will never let you go" grasp. She is holding on to the moment so tightly that the little boy's head is in a unnatural position. She doesn't want him to go. The little girls eyes are focused on the moment, her mind on the past. For at this precise time in her life, time stands still. She has her world wrapped in her arms and will never let go.

Yes, there is a time for tears. But at the moment the picture was taken, time stood idle and her life was within her grasp. The next moment was the time for tears as her world slipped away.

Each moment last a lifetime when put into perspective of the moment. Just as each moment ends all too quickly leaving us in a time for tears.

Hold on tightly my friends for the next moment . . . . well, you know.

A little secret about our lives

Always and in all ways . . . .

That is my personal motto when I have a decision to make. The matter of the choice is not important, only the impact of that choice is what really matters. In making my choices I consider the impact it will have on my family, my life and of the utmost importance, my Mary Anne. I think of her always and in all ways. Simple. I always get by, in life, finances and in love. My happiness depends on the lady in my life, so . . . . Always and in all ways I think of her first.

That special someone in our lives never tires of hearing us speak their name. If you are like me, there have been times when my silence seemed like a thunderous roar to them. I didn't speak their name and I thought of them after the choice had been made. But that was then and not now.

So my gift to you is my hard earned secret of life. 

Think of that special someone in your life . . . . Always and in all ways.