Ode to Autumn...

I hear it on the wind. A whisper? A name?

Growing closer all the same...

It sends a chill. A memory?

A longing in the heart of me?

For the past? The future? Perhaps the now?

A momentary, solemn vow...

One lone step ere certain decay...

Strangely beautiful falling away...

All the while dying whilst living still...

Certainly, quite the bitter pill...

Yet here we find such meaning and worth...

Fierce and fragile, sprinkled with mirth...

Lo! how bittersweet this sorrow...

For all our days and for tomorrow...

Granting perspective to understand...

O! the fleeting nature of Man...

All at once, here and gone...

And never as certain as the Dawn...

But ever in a state...

Of Autumn.

Namárië,

Lamar

Evaporated...

Here I make Confession, such as it is... if any would listen. It is said that Confession is good for the soul. And indeed, I sincerely hope that it is. I find myself filled with a frailty that I cannot rightly explain, broken-spirited, so very tired of the Battle, weak and weary... depressed beyond consolation.

For what it's worth, I don't understand exactly why I feel the way I do. Chalk it up to Life in general, I guess. Dark night of the soul, dour-minded... call it what you will, but I feel that if I don't get some of this off of my chest in some form or another I'll most likely implode...

I sit here and I wonder. I wonder about so very much. My mom once told me that I was "too good-hearted and much too naive". Maybe she's right. And I can't begin to tell you how many folk have said that I was "overly-sensitive". I guess maybe they're all onto something that I've tried my damnedest to deny. I've tried to let things go, honestly... but it still hurts. Everything hurts. And I just feel so all alone. And tired. And smitten to feel this life so deeply...

Sometimes I just want to run away. But to where? Where could I possibly go that the demons wouldn't follow right along behind? O Infernal Shadows and Shades. I'd just carry them with me like all the words and the pains and the scars. Those still piercing arrows ablaze... ever burning heart, soul, and will.

But who will listen? More pointedly, who really and truly cares? Nothing that I say or do matters all that much regardless. And all it ever appears to lead to is more and more ill... ever-deepening wounds. When I do speak about such things, this bitter poison only seems to spread. And as I would not wish this Darkness visit upon another... and most certainly not because of me... my lot seems to be to soldier onwards alone, keeping so many things to myself. But living so... one-sidedly takes its toll, I promise. Why does it always have to be like this? But then again... what does it really matter anyway?

How should one keep on going when Life just... hurts so much. Honestly, there are days when I'd really just rather not be here. And lately those days seem to keep stretching out before me endlessly. Heartsick and abandoned, I just don't feel like trying all that much anymore...

More so than I could tell, the following song sums up fairly well almost exactly how I feel. Though, I only wish that I could carry on "indifferent to the loss"... for some reason, I just can't do that.

So I confess to taking everything to heart, to hurting, to being confused, to feeling misunderstood by those closest to me, to feeling alone and forgotten, to being empty, to being needy, to being too good-hearted, much too naive, and overly-sensitive...

And for so very much more that I haven't the heart to speak of...

Forgive me, I pray...

Namárië,
Lamar

This Restless Heart...

Restlessness. In some form or fashion, a keen restlessness always comes back to me. Certainly books and movies and even video-games play some role in all of this. And I am not so strong as to keep it all at bay overlong. So it haunts me relentlessly. I guess it always will...

This past weekend, I was confronted with it yet again...

Somberly wistful, I yearn for something that I've never known... and yet something that seems to call to me, indeed has ever called to me, from far across the Sea. How can one feel so strongly the need to return to a place which one has never been? But I feel it... and deeply so.

Ireland.

Seems that everything this past weekend conspired to open me up to a simple truth that I can no longer ignore. My heart belongs... elsewhere.

Truthfully, after delving into something decided Irish... this always seems to happen. My wife, Jessica, rightly surmises that these leanings always lead me towards an increasing melancholy. She pointedly told me after a certain movie that we watched that, "Home is where the heart is." And shes' right, you know... of that I have no doubt. But my response to her was quite telling... as I hadn't even realised that I'd said the words until they were said. "I know," I said... "so why does mine feel that it belongs over there?"

I have no answers. I only know that I long to be there. And I feel it in my bones, my... blood. Will I ever feel so... wayward? Until I finally touch that blessèd soil... I believe so, yes.

I most definitely hear the call, but don't rightly know how to answer...

Please don't think that I wish my heart to be apart from my family. This is not the case, I promise. Heart for and with my family is something decidedly different altogether. And those that know me know how ardent is my heart toward them. I hope... indeed, I pray... that they understand and bear with me. To those other of you who read these words and who will... please pray for me.

Namárië,
Lamar

Through this veil...

Wells of sadness reside within this fragile heart of mine... deep-seated and long-standing, indeed. My life is utterly coloured by this... unfathomable sadness. Melancholy is the fabric of my soul, gives deeper meaning to the world around, clears my vision with tears, strengthens my resolve. But ever seeing the world through this lens, this veil, does something to a man. Not that I would change anything, mind you. Feeling this life so deeply seems to be my path... and one that I have learnt to embrace over the years. And so, quietly determined, I soldier onwards... purposefully deliberate in word and deed. How else is one to live?

‎In his essay 'On Fairy-Stories', J.R.R. Tolkien writes:

"The realm of fairy-story is wide and deep and high and filled with many things: all manner of beast and birds are found there; shoreless seas and stars uncounted; beauty that is an enchantment, and an ever-present peril; both joy and sorrow as sharp as swords."

For myself, I would choose to see our existence in this manner over any other. Indeed, something deep within me says that this is the only way that I can truly see aright the world in which we live and breathe and die. Not as fantasy but as undeniable... truth.

And so I continue to long after those things which are real and mourn the fact that so very much unreal fills this realm. Yet something in me continues to hope, to wish, to dream...

How I wish that you could understand...

Namárië,
Lamar

Starlit...

It only takes the smallest amount of Light, you know... to give guidance in the Dark. Out where I live, away from most of the harsh, artificial, city-light, you can see the darkened Field of Night pin-pricked with innumerable points of Illumination. There are times that the sight of this gives me pause and I am genuinely awe-struck anew with the Beauty of the Night... and of the Starlight it brings along. There is deep Magic and inexplicable Mystery to the Stars that I cannot rightly ignore. And while I dearly love the Dawn and the coming of the Sun each morn, the Night brings something else, something... more pensive, I'd say. Will Man ever pine after the Stars of Heaven? The Light amongst the Darkness? I wonder...

Namárië,
Lamar

In Darkness Eclipsed...

"And the barb of those words pierced him deeply... perhaps too deeply. And so his Heart sank within him. His Spirit thus wounded, diminished and withered... and his Soul fell under Shadow of utter disconsolation. Hurt beyond expression, he only became all the more quiet... and sank deeper into himself. Acquiescent to this lot, he now felt the acute sting of loneliness and despair more than ever. Henceforth, he wondered if he should dare even try..." 

Namárië,
Lamar

Princess Jaina the Radiant...

And so the Princess walked and talked along the way with her Father, ever curiously asking questions... and yet speaking of the Realm as if an Ancient. The Father smiled deeply and counted himself profoundly... blessed.

My youngest daughter is quite exceptionally beautiful, actually. And not just outwardly so, mind you... but inwardly as well. Typical of all my children, perhaps she is spoiled... I won't deny that. But each of them have a Fire that resides just behind their eyes, a knowing of sorts, that is rather hard to ignore or dismiss. And Jaina is no exception. Spending time alone with her, for me, is a treat and a joy...

This past weekend the two of us spent a lot of time outdoors. Usually, time spent with Jaina outside entails pushing her in the 'Rope Swing' down at her Grandparents'. The 'Rope Swing', which has borne all of my children for quite a count of years, hangs from a branch some thirty feet skyward and is typically the attraction amongst both adults and children alike. It is rather fun, to be quite honest. At any rate, much swinging ensued to Jaina's squeals of, "Push me higher, Da! Higher!". Truthfully, I could do this for hours and hours... I never tire of it. Just seeing the look on her little face, the twinkle in her eyes, hearing her laughter... these are reward enough for me.

Whenever Jaina tired of swinging, we would seek out and pick what she calls Wish Flowers... which us grown-ups commonly call Dandelion. I much preferred her name for them and so left their 'real name' out of our conversations. To her they are simply Wish Flowers and full of potent Magic. Who am I to argue? Now I will think of them as nothing else. And so our search led us down the long, unpaved driveway behind our houses. Needless to say, many were the Wish Flowers picked along the way... each and every time stopping to silently wish before sending them off into the wind. O, the wishes that were made! By the both of us! I just had to smile...

At least once upon every journey that we undertake together, cloud-shapes are named... this Day was no different. Elephants and dragons and mountains, ships and sunflowers and bouncy-balls... always something new, something... unique. Feeling the warmth of Sun-rays, the brush of the breeze, watching the clouds, smelling the fragrancy of Spring... we got lost inside the moment. Truthfully, I could stay there - within those times - endlessly... as the Day grows long but never old. And I would never, ever, wish it away...

Questions abounded, also. "Where do rocks come from? What is sand made of? Where does sand come from? Who makes clouds? Who made the Stars? The Trees? Why do the birds sing? What are they saying when they sing?" I will relish them always...

It was on our walk, later in the afternoon, that Jaina first spotted the Moon high-up overhead. An aha! moment this always is for her, like she's caught something that I didn't notice. She loves pointing the Moon out during the Daylight hours. I told her that soon enough, it would indeed be there gleaming in the Nighttime sky. She seemed to like that idea very much. Later on, she got her wish in actually seeing it shining brightly there amongst the field of Stars as we headed homeward. She pointed it out again, whimsically. Again, I smiled...

 I truly believe that Jaina thinks herself a Princess. How I endeavour to always treat her as such! For you see, the secret is... she really is a Princess to me. In my heart and eyes she will ever be! 


I oft wonder why anyone would trade these for work, or money, or... whatever. There is nothing in the known or unknown Universes that I would trade for my Daughter or her time. Nothing. And I pray that she always see me as noble protector, faithful servant, knightly King... her loving Da.

Then the Father stopped and called the Realm to witness and said, "She shines in radiant splendour! And so henceforth she shall be called Princess Jaina the Radiant! May her days evermore be as brilliant as the Rising Sun at Daybreak, so full of Promise and Hope!" And pausing thence, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and spoke softly to her saying, "I pray thee remember the Magic of these Days, Daughter... my Princess. Never forget..."

Fathers, I implore you... love your Daughters well, honour them highly, nurture them always. They truly are the Princesses and Queens of this Realm, now and forevermore... and of so much more value and worth than we can rightly imagine.

Be blessed,
Lamar

Instant gratification is a most fickle mistress...

We live and breathe in the world of now. Not content to wait for anything anymore any longer than we say we have to, we forget that some things in life - possibly even most things - are best left to brew, to simmer, to smoulder, to... anticipate. Test my words. Instant gratification has become - no... is, indeed! - an addictive drug like no other. Make no mistake: the more we have of it, the more and more we crave of it. And we are all so very much to blame...


Why sit down and write a letter to someone that I care about when I can email or instant message them? Why go through the trouble of visiting loved ones when I can call them, or better still... just text them from my iPhone? Why go out to a concert when I can just listen to the thing at home on my stereo or iPod? Why take a trip to the theatre when I can peruse the Instant Queue on Netflix? Why read a story aloud to my children when they can just listen to an audio-book instead? Why fuss with a hardbound book or a Library when scores of titles are at-the-ready on my eBook? For that matter, why even bother reading at all when I can simply have the eBook read it to me? Why waste time cooking a meal when I can stop at a drive-through and have it handed to me with a few scant moments? Why hand-wash the dishes after dinner when I can just load the dishwasher and let it get them semi-clean enough to use again? Why walk? Why speak? Why think? Why question? Why risk? Why give? Why care? Why ever dare to love? Why indeed...

And so for the choices that we make, we suffer grave consequence... 

So many of the things that technology has given to us were supposed to help us save time, time that we could spend doing other things with those that we cared most about. But all it seems that our vast technologies and progressive leaps have brought us is a disconcerting disconnect from each other... from our very world. This makes me exceedingly sad... bordering nigh to absolute disconsolation. Nothing is important anymore, nothing has intrinsic value or worth, nothing is sacred or holy, nothing perverse. In fact, nothing seems to matter that much at all really... well, other than ourselves. But even of ourselves we think poorly, seeing in our mirrors much less than erect and sapient... apes. Why must we continue to perpetuate this demeaning, degrading, dehumanising  philosophy? Have we truly become so inherently nihilistic? So reprehensibly selfish?


If we would but slow down for awhile, take in deeply - maybe even slowly - these ever-fleeting moments... we'd see that they are heavy-laden with so much promise and boundless opportunity. But if we never slow down, never pause, never stop in our relentless pursuit after anything but the paramour of what we can have right now... then we really and truly are doomed. Are we not worth so much more than instant? When you really think about it? Worth the time and care and effort and thought and love? Really? I passionately believe so. But an arduous task it will prove to set things back aright, I feel...

Can we genuinely reclaim that which is fallen? Stem the tide or turn it back on itself? In the midst of the desolate ruin that is our lives, would we be willing to turn back the hands of time if we could? 

In so modern a world, where does someone like me truly fit in? Days like these, I wonder. Long have I felt that I was "born into the wrong time". Maybe I'm just destined to feel at odds with all of this... modernity. My heart, my... soul knows this to be true. So I go on questioning all of this so-called progress, contemplating the costs to our humanity - our dignity, and I continue to pine for Days both Ancient and Everlasting... because I care. I care so very much. About, well... everything. And I want to feel... alive. Desperately. All the seeking, wrestling, soul-suffering... I think it helps toward that end. 


Leastwise, I hope it does...

"Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen." - Martin Luther

Be blessed,
Lamar

Like Bilbo...

'I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved, indeed!' he snorted. 'Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.'

To be absolutely honest, I think that I've always been old. Growing up I was oft told by the Elders, "You have an old soul, son." "Something in the eyes," they'd say. But I much enjoyed their company and never really questioned what it was that they meant. Still, I loved sitting and listening to all their tales about the "good ol' days". How I desperately miss those folk. I only wish that we'd have had more... time. Maybe one day, we shall...

Truthfully, I guess that I've long hoped to be so much like Old Bilbo... sitting on the steps or around the hearth, smoking my pipe, telling stories of adventures to the young ones. And I always - always - quite liked the look of Gandalf's beard.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to make it there, though. And lately I'm starting to really - deeply - feel that stretched feeling that Bilbo speaks of. Oh so very many things to think about! So much to do... or that I'd like to do. And so my mind is preoccupied with thoughts going both backward and forward, here and there and everywhere, remaining - seemingly - in a constant state of disquiet. I guess, more so than anything else and especially of late, I feel keenly restless. And so I... wonder. I don't think that I can do anything else...

I often catch myself pondering over what it all could mean. Why is it that I feel this penetrating restlessness? What exactly is it that I need to do? Want to do? Where precisely is the Road heading off to? And toward what end? So very many questions...

Before Bilbo's journey could get underway, he had to leave something... something of the utmost importance: The Ring. I speculate upon what my own personal Ring is... and give serious thought to my letting go of it... questioning even if I could. And when and if it finally is revealed to me, will I choose to go through with setting it aside? Or will I claim it as my own, as Frodo did there at the Crack of Mount Doom, to the absolute edge of utter ruin? I hope that I can leave it, like Bilbo... and so move along down the Road unhindered.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

I know, I know... I've used this bit before. Still... I long for the day when I'll be able to set aside whatever Ring it is that I bear and join with Bilbo in his 'walking song'. And then? To Rivendell, perhaps...

Namárië,
Lamar

Of Words, Conversations, and the Use of Language...

To be honest, I could type and type and type. And I think. A lot. About a lot. Probably to a fault. So much so that sometimes I feel as if no one actually gets me...

Recently I have meditated long on the use of words, of language, of both virtual and real-world conversation, of words written, of spoken and unspoken words... and ultimately of the power within something so simple as a single word.

For my part, I have become more and more of the mind that words indeed wield great - or terrible - power. Even amongst our very innermost thoughts, words hold sway over us in ways that we have not yet amply understood. Moreover, I am daily convinced that words are... magical. Do not mistake me to mean magical in the sense of the Art of Illusion, of street-magic trickery, of Davids Copperfield or Blaine... no, I mean a Magic deeper and truer than we could possibly ever hope to imagine or dare to rightly fathom. Words are indeed power...

If you happen to believe, as I do, that the very Universe as we know it was spoken into existence, then you are beginning to understand where my mind is on these matters. Words not only are power, words convey power. They build and destroy, judge and set free, make and unmake. Words harbour love and hate, become our thoughts, form the basis of our feelings. And for the most part, we are so very careless with them. Not only do we think harshly of one another, we speak to each other harshly as well. As I observed not too long ago:

"Respect and Courtesy must seem like only ancient notions to this present - younger - generation. Wallowing in selfishness and entitlement, they miss the very lessons that should be learnt. And so, Insolence and Vulgarity perpetuate and the downward spiral continues to continue. May God forgive us the Legacy that we have wrought. Poor teachers we have been, indeed..."

Ultimately, every generation generation is at fault. Taking from our Fathers and their Fathers, we make our mark on the world... however dark and wrong that mark may be becomes beside the point. And as long as we can "live a better life than they had", then we can truly live. Never mind that maybe our Fathers and their Fathers did things a certain way for a certain reason. But... that is a blog for another day, methinks.

Tearing people down is commonplace, to be sure. Look around you. Everywhere we turn, folk are at each other throats and out for blood. The news media, the internet, the books we read, the entertainment choices we make, our social and political discourse... all paint us ugly pictures of ourselves. We need to paint something else. Why is it that we can't ever seem to voice our opinions - on whatever topic of discussion - without resorting to the coarsest of language? Does hurling vulgarities prove us edgy? Culturally relevant? Do we honestly believe that the more hurtful and insulting our obscenities the more people will listen? Are we really that unintelligent? The English language is arguably the most expressive language in all the world. We have more ways of conveying our thoughts and feelings than most any other peoples alive at any point in human history! And yet we can't frame our passions into words without a constant proliferation of profanities? How absolutely sad. Why continue to use the same few, tired old words for virtually everything? I can tell you why. It's because it's easy. But until we each come to the point of seeing this as an insulting assault upon our God-given intellect, things will ever stay the same... or continue to get much worse, if that's even possible. Hopefully it isn't too late already, as "text-speak" seems to be the direction in which our beautiful language is headed. This - in particular - makes me very, very disconsolate.

And so it seems we have utterly forgotten Courtesy as well. Know that I am not speaking of courtesy that is a sort of placating lie, a contemptible ostentation... but Courtesy that shows a deep love of fellow man, an act of supreme devotion, of an uncalculated genuineness. True Courtesy defies logic. And... O, the words it brings to mind! If we were to exert more effort into speaking to all those we encounter with loving and respectful words, just think of the impact... not just on ourselves but on the receiver... and by extension the world. It must start within us, though. To act as, no... to actually be a Lady or a Gentleman does not depend upon the company that we keep. Truly it should only be an outward expression of an inward reality... at work even if no one were around. Looking upon those that we encounter with love, to build them up... this takes care and thought and is sometimes seemingly impossible. Some will utterly reject your words, your deeds, your love, your respect, your intent... do it anyway. Love unconditionally. I believe it is what we are all truly called to.

With our words to and towards each other we ultimately have a choice set before us; to bless or to curse. Will we choose to bless and thus build up and repair? Or will we choose to curse and therefore tear down and destroy? Each one of us can chart the course of our own mind, our own tongue... why not choose to see folk in a quite different light and speak to them in such a way as to elevate them. After all, if we truly are only "a little lower than the Angels" then we would do well to not crush our kin down "lower than the dust", right?

What honour has been lost can be reclaimed, if we so choose. I will endeavour toward this end, this... beginning. Who will stand with me? What say you?

Be blessed,
Lamar