Author: Art DuBois

I close my eyes
But not so that I don’t see the beauty in front of me
But so that I can intently hear the waves lapping onto the rocks
And feel the warm breeze on my face
And feel my own breath
So that when I open my eyes again
I will see the beauty more fully
And more clearly.

I heard the Redwinged Blackbird sing “conk-la-ree!”

So, I spun quickly around in direction to find the singer of this beautiful song.

But, alas, the bird was nowhere in sight.

Again

“conk-la-ree!” rang out again,

And I spun around in the opposite direction

Only to be left again with a missing branch.

And then again the sound and I, somewhat gracefully

I’d like to think, pirouetted in yet another attempt to spot the singer of the song.

It was only then that it occurred to me that I was actually dancing.

And it felt right.

I wish that I could remember the first time

I saw a Redwinged Blackbird.

I remember so much in haunting, terrifying details of other things.

I just wish I could remember my first encounter with the Redwinged Blackbird to reassure me that

My mind can hold onto that which is beautiful

with the same ease of that which is clearly not.

My Older Brother

I idolized you,

And imitated you.

But I was young then,

And you were older,

But young then.

I stare at my age,

And I know that I have outlived you more than one way now.

But I never outran your laugh or your rebelliousness.

Both are the roots that helped me grow.

We grew up differently,

In oddly different times separated only by a handful of years,

And

In ways that only you and I and our siblings would understand.

Formative moments in your life,

Would be only distant memories that I kept below my surface

And allowed me time to breathe.

You held my son in your arms just after his birth.

I have the photos to prove it,

And my memory of that moment

To jump ahead of every other memory,

Good or bad,

Happy or sad,

And see you for the big brother,

That held my first kid in your arms,

And smiled the goofy family smile

That we always hold in common.

When the moment of truth arrives,

I don’t think my last rational thought will be about the question of heaven or hell,

Or about another new life as a human, animal, plant, or breath of air.

I will have only one lingering question that will present itself in bold neon letters,

“Did I screw this thing up?”

The rules will be unspoken but clear.

There will be no debate.

No defenses.

No explanations.

Only Yes or No will be allowed.

Simultaneously there will be a loud clock ticking,

But I will be frozen in time.

Nothing will happen until I answer.

Yes

Or

No.

I glance around with my one good mindful eye.

The other one blinded by years of disappointment and now inescapable fear.

I saw my own unhappiness reflected back at me from the despair on the faces

And in hesitation in the voices

Of those whom I love most.

I recognized my responsibility in this

And vowed to change my contribution.

I laughed more heartily again,

I drank less,

I listened more,

I loved more intentionally but less obviously,

And they were happier,

But I was not,

But I felt happier.

Mindful I

I glance around with my one good mindful eye.

The other one blinded by years of disappointment and now inescapable fear.

I saw my own unhappiness reflected back at me from the despair on the faces

And in hesitation in the voices

Of those whom I love most.

I recognized my responsibility in this

And vowed to change my contribution.

I laughed more heartily again,

I drank less,

I listened more,

I loved more intentionally but less obviously,

And they were happier,

But I was not,

But I felt happier.

Know your limitations

Too often issued as almost a threat

That stepping out too far will lead to ruin

And perhaps,

If that were to happen,

The person who told you that

As well as everyone who thinks that way

Will just say, “Well it wasn’t like he wasn’t warned”.

I’ve known my limitations

And sometimes that knowledge stopped me in my tracks

Leaving me paralyzed and trapped in my own mind and body

As if chained to something much larger than me

But sometimes looking back then, as in behind me,

And looking back now in retrospect,

I have come to believe that the limitations were exaggerations of risk

That I could rearrange, disassemble, reevaluate and sometimes ignore.

Know your limitations

Make friends with them

Enlist them in your advancement

And if you can, wave them goodbye.

There are times I still say a prayer of intercession,

When solitary meditation is not getting it done,

When I can’t even get back to neutral,

When I don’t even know how I got in reverse

And the brakes won’t work.

It is then

And only then

I seem

Most ready to reconsider a divine hand.

I know the hand by my tradition.

Even as I doubt its existence in the literal sense

I beg for its actual help.

The photos in his office told a story.

I thought I knew him well.

When we grew close, he added details explaining the relevance of each.

One photo had him standing with a soccer ball and a trophy.

A young boy of thirteen with a wide grin, intense eyes and mud all over his body.

He told how his middle school team had just won a championship

And he was chosen as the MVP.

But that year, his parents divorced and he changed schools.

The next photo is of him in his graduation gown from high school,

With an array of ribbons signifying his accomplishments.

He remarked that two years before he’d been hospitalized for trying to hurt himself,

But he picked himself back up

And got through it all.

The next photo was him being sworn in as a judge,

Smiling confidently, and looking amazing.

He told how he had worked so hard defending

Persons whose lives had been irretrievably altered

Through no fault of their own,

And how he always felt that he understood their pain.

One day, I knocked on his door to tell him that it was time to start his day in court.

I opened the door quickly as I usually would.

I noticed him slipping a photo back into his desk.

After the break, I again went to let him know that it was time to resume in the courtroom.

He asked if I had a moment.

He took the photo out of his drawer.

He showed me the photo of a sweet, seven-year-old boy, missing his two front teeth.

The smile was beautiful.

His eyes were bright and full of life.

He said this was the most important photo in his office.

In fact, he said, it is the only one that really matters.

Innocent, sweet, easy smile.

He said that was the last time he really smiled.

He thinks to himself that he’s been rating

A good day

As one in during which she is merely indifferent to him.

A day where she nods and then gives a peck on the cheek,

Pours her own coffee,

Sits next to him and reads a book,

And asks him how his day is going

And acknowledges his response with a sideways glance,

And he feels a subtle, yet inexplicable relief knowing that the sadness he emitted,

Ever so obliquely,

Did not penetrate her comprehension

And he and she are left to spend another day in blissful unhappiness.