Musing

today’s Musing written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park

1C/34F (high 18C), frost on windshields melting in blazing sunshine, Gusta loves the morning wet grass brushing her undercarriage, no critters, no people, just a breeze and the hum of traffic to keep us company

I’ve resolved most mysteries in my life, but some are unresolved - nagging recurring ones – this recurrence - not simplicity of writing or calling to connect with someone I’ve lost touch with – I do that easily and often, but what about those other times; the near misses, the ships that never collide in the night, the arrows that never find their target – sent with a mouse or sent with a bow by the son of Venus

I’ve recently found some of that turmoil I’m often accused of thriving on or, rather, it has found me; staring it in the face for a few days I can say without question I don’t want it - I’ve not gone out in search of turmoil, but it finds me sometimes – it feeds on itself, assumptions are its fuel, the quiet air of silence allows it to combust

I have those moments when my belly says ‘hey, you’ve felt like this before’; when I was much younger I was not observant enough to know or care whether something was repeating itself, déjà vu simply a cute phrase; for laughs I would tell the jack-handle story and realize it was me drawing conclusions about something – facts not required – because when someone I dearly need and want to talk to is out of touch I find myself making up the facts - well, not really, but imagining possibilities – imagining what the facts might be, have been that would lead to someone behaving this way or that, drifting away, running away, fleeing from a simple conversation; invariably lessons are learned, sometimes those missed conversations actually occur – just as often they don’t

we deserve truth, we all do; in absence of any communication we ought not to draw conclusions based on assumptions (because they are so often wrong-headed) but I wrestle with this one now as I have so many times before; in absence of truth we get guesswork, in absence of communication we get assumptions about the guesswork about what truth might be; without a driving need to communicate, then there can be no communication and, after a while, the curiosity about what the truth might have been wanes – less painful to not dredge up angst – just to chalk up the experience to one of life’s unknowns; I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again I suppose

a conversation – one I am having only with myself has occupied some time, used some brain cells; the other party, you see, is out of touch, not calling, not writing, drifting away unnecessarily (my view) through non-communication; I can handle poor communication, I can handle good communication poorly handled, but I cannot deal with sending words into a pit, messages over the falls, emotions flowing toward a drain, no one there to catch them – non-responsiveness means what? . . out of touch means what? . . why? . . what wrong deed did I do? . . what barrier is in the way? . . what will repair it? . . can it be repaired?

it is not turmoil or pain, not wishing or hoping; the people who do not matter in our lives never cause this to happen – this is about that soft quiet place between sadness and rage, it is the soft quiet place of loving someone and finding only silence in reply, it is feeling so full while driving on empty . .
to say ‘truth is the answer’ seems trite, old, tired, lame, un-original; but it is the answer to all questions, all ways, always

Mark Kolke
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