A Man Am I?

I am just like him, or her. But I'm not. A shell, a hollow house. My spirit roars its indignation. Am I a lesser man? A man am I? From the earth I've grown, but my wings don't unfold. I am not a bird, but a man. But a man. I try, upwards I climb, enduring the indignation of the wind. It whispers you are lesser, a lesser man. A man who changed the plan. I read poems, peace, war, sorrow, more. I am a man, an incredibly misunderstood, never given a chance kind of man. a man who changed the plan, and a man who is incredibly sick of this societies gelatinous spam. "Just go" they say. But they don't pray my way. I can't go, I am not alone, but it seams so. "Just go" I frown, wrinkling my broken crown. A ringing sound penetrates leaving me writhing on the ground. One chance. One name. One chance. To get to know me. For the man I am, and the man I became, not the man that I was. "Just go."

Fish Talk: An Extended Holiday

Unfortunately this segment of my blog failed to garnish the support I had hoped for. This will most likely be the last Fish Talk posting.

The world today can become a chaotic vortex of swirling emotions, events, and people. It is important to cope with this chaos. A medley of strategies abound. I find fishing to be an excellent strategy.

There is a sense of alignment when I fish. Crisp mountain air prickles my flesh. Gurgling streams ease my mind. I step from the bank into the icy water, submerging my feet and my soul. Nothing compares to an ice bath. The methodical stroking of my line through the air. Flick the wrist, swish and flick. Speak? Why would I? Nature does the speaking for me.

Fishing is more than sport. It's more than a coping strategy for life. Fishing is about the memories, the peace, the experience. Fishing is living.

The Social Butterfly

Butterflies flutter about. Conversing, what about? It doesn't matter, they just talk and talk, chat, chat, blah, blah. Their beautiful colors intertwine and combine. Their patterns are neat and unique. Grace lifts their wings, their wings swirl the air, carrying them on currents of delicious care.

I sat in class. Not making a sound. Class was far from profound. Make connections they said, ask a question, make a statement. Class improves when you participate. So I did. I made a comment, maybe two. Now I'm alone in a corner, in a room. A room full of twenty other students. I dare to say, Silence was preferred. Silence was acceptable. Now these social butterflies, flutter about, but they dare not land by my side. I might make a comment, a comment which they cannot justify.

Blah, blah blah. Blah. Blah.
Speak. Talk. Sound. Silence is preferred.
preferred not acceptable.

Expectations did not meet, was that the turning point? I fight to remain apart, yet I am afraid to separate.

Paper Cranes

In Japan the crane is a mystical creature of legend. It also plays a central role in the recent animation “Kung Fu Panda”. It is said that if a person folds one thousand paper cranes they will be granted a wish. The paper crane can also signify peace. In my life the paper crane means so much more.

My Grandpa Al has made paper cranes for as long as I can remember. They are intricately folded pieces of paper. When discussing his paper birds he often points out that the wings of his birds flap: apparently other paper birds don't have flapping wings. After folding the bird he calls someone over and gives it to them. Everywhere we go he gives away these paper birds. Packets of pre-folded birds fill his pockets. It has become an art of efficiency. These paper birds epitomize my grandpa. He is an intricately folded man: a man of charity, courage and integrity. He is always willing to give of himself. Another amazing attribute is his unique sense of humor. I'm pretty sure he spends hours thinking of witty jokes. Many of his jokes are told time and again; but just when you think you've heard them all he'll surprise you. One day while holding a ruler he called me over. Pointing at the one inch mark on the ruler he said, “be careful when you give someone an inch.” He paused, eyes twinkling, then said, “because then they'll want to rule ya.” Classic grandpa.

One day I decided to learn how to make a paper crane. I took one of my grandpa's birds. Fold by fold I unraveled the bird; then I put it back together. I did this until I learned how to make a bird. One day I decided to be clever. While visiting my grandparents I sat down in front of my him and made a bird. He sat and watched as I folded a small piece of paper into a small white bird. When I finished I handed it to him. Slightly confused he said, “I know a faster way.” He whipped out a packet of his pre-folded birds, separated one from the flock, and handed it to me. At the time I didn't understand. I thought he would be pleased with me. I thought I would be funny, I wasn't. Looking back now, I know that for my Grandpa folding paper cranes is not a joke. Instead it is a way for him to interact and spread joy. So many times I've seen him call over a little child, give them a bird, and watch the expression of happiness spread across their faces.

I haven't always appreciated my grandpa. I put up with his unique quirks instead of embracing them. It wasn't until recently that I've learned to appreciate my Grandpa Al. He has done so much for so many. He taught me how to fold a paper crane. No, he never sat me down and said this is how you do it. His example was enough. His example is enough. Today I can still fold a square piece of paper into a paper crane. The ability to do so is much more than origami to me. It is a connection to my grandpa; my birds wings flap too.

Spiders, Dangling from my Nose

Today I had a spider crawl out of my nose. A warning, maybe. Are the cobwebs falling? Or are they growing? Why worry? It was only a small spider; minuscule in the world of humans. I was walking when it escaped the confines of my hairy nostril. It dangled from a small web, an invisible web. I thought it was a gooey green thing; I was wrong. I smashed that spider. Making it a gooey green thing once and for all.