Yes, I do Choose

Yes I choose, but sometimes the only choice is to endure.

Sometimes thoughts unbidden cloud my mind, and leave no choice rather than to let them fly their course. And feelings, un-invoked, wash over me sometimes like a sea. I am not an island, so self contained, that some choices cannot be forced upon me, some choices are no more than a Hobson choice. Yes I choose, and I think, and I feel, but I am not always the genesis of thoughts that runs through my mind.

Satisfaction , like comfort, is always fleeting. No more then obtained before it is gone to be sought again. I eat until I am satisfied, then hunger leads me to once again seek satisfaction. I find my comfort in my bed, but toss and turn all night leaving the spot that has become uncomfortable to seek it elsewhere. What suited us at one time is no longer the attraction it was, and we look to change things more to our suiting. The only thing certain in life is change.

I would rather do this than that, but circumstances conspire such that I must do that and let this go the way of an unfulfilled desire. I love her, but she does not love me, she loves me but I do not love her. Frustration not of my choosing, but of my choices. But really, do I choose who to love? Is that a freedom given unto men? Or is it the arrow in Cupid’s bow that decides?

I don’t like my job, it is a job I chose, and I can choose to leave it. But can I choose not to pay the rent, make the car payments, buy the groceries for my child? Must I not, at more times then not, do that which, if left to my rathers, I would choose not to do? The road before me chooses the way much more than I do, for I can only choose between the choices put before me. And each decision casts a long shadow into the future.

A decision to go to college or not, to marry or not, to be a Doctor, Lawyer, or an Indian Chef all lays out a different path. To choose is to determine what choices will be placed before you. So what freedom do you have been what you would want to be? A child born to a coal miner his path will be different then the path of a child born to a movie actor. Yes, some coal miner’s children become movie actors, but how many movie actors’ children become coal miners?

You are shaped and formed by every experience in the path you walk. Hard times, for some, shatter them into thefts, or welfare dependents. Easy time is the ruination of others. Those same hard or easy times yet for other build a foundation for success. Maybe not in a way they would have chosen if the choice had been theirs to make, but one that they, and those who know them, are proud they have found. This is where the adage, “The man does not pick the job, the job picks the man” comes from.

What is the difference between the doctor/lawyer and the theft/welfare cheat? This is not to say that all those who are on welfare are undeserving of the charity they receive. Well let me rephrase that, for no one is deserving of charity. To deserve one must fulfill a bargain, the worker is deserving of his pay, the employer deserving of the labor he pays for, but the man watching the work is not deserving neither the worker’s pay, nor the employer’s money.

Both, however, should be free to give to the non-worker if it is their free decision to do so, that is their choice. But when the government takes if from both the employer and the worker and give it to the non-worker, that is theft. For the only choice given to the employer and the worker is to give to the non-worker or go to jail or die in resisting the government.

But back to the question, what is the difference between the different outcomes, between the one who becomes a carpenter respected for his labor, and the decision he had made when the choices were put before him, and the bad check writer who decided that his need and wants are greater than the bank’s whose money he defrauded? They both start out on a path not of their choosing, they were born to whom they were born, and where and when they were born. Choices that they did not and could not chose were presented to them.

Nature or nurture? Your genes or your environment? What of the brothers that both were loved, went to the same school, and killed their parents? When next door all the children lived model lives. And consider President Clinton and his brother Roger, what explains the difference? Genes are demonstrable not the answer. Just as sure, as the Coal Miner’s Daughter shows, the environment is not the answer.

The answer must lie within the mind, the soul if you will, of the individual. According to their personality they chose between the choices presented to them, and react to them in the manner that their heart leads them. One to stay in school, another to sell drugs on the street. One to quite selling and using drugs, another to kill to keep his business. One to do their homework, another to think that school is a waste of time.

As we go through live on the path that God has put us upon we are shaped by our experiences, and it is our experiences that lead to or away form God.

Jeremiah 18-19:

The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: "Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. Then the word of the LORD came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? says the LORD. Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. If at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, and if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will repent of the evil that I intended to do to it. And if at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, and if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will repent of the good which I had intended to do to it.

Romans 9:19-21

Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will? Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

End Of My Days

Had a life time to get it right

And it is still not right.

Nobodies fault but my own,

And I have tried, time

And time again

Only to come up short,

Far short of happiness.

Pursuit I have had,

Pursued it my whole life.

But here I sit alone

With my dog and the TV.

Not the way I hoped,

Not the way I have dreamed,

But it has come to this

With the best I can do.

Who can I blame,

What can I do?

I do not like it,

But it is the best I can do.

The grave beckons

At the end of my days

Which comes closer

With each passing day.

Dream on, dream on,

Dream of the one,

The one who will come.

Better late than never,

But never I fear.

Yet in the days to come

My horse and my dog

They do comfort me.

I am glad for all that I have had,

But wish that I had more.

I wish that I had done more,

It was the compromises I made

That led me to this day,

Not my way or the Highway.

But for all involved

This is the best I can do.

I am as I am, changed into

What I am by the decisions

I have made in life.

Some willingly,

Others by force.

Forces by the best

Of the alternatives available.

It is with a light heart

That I move onto my grave,

Which awaits at the end of my days.

Beauty Is Only Skin Deep

You hear and read this often, “Beauty is only skin deep, it's what kind of beauty you carry on the inside that truly counts!”

If that is true then why do we first have to get past the skin to find the beauty beneath it? We are attracted to what is presented to the eye, and without that attraction, which is only skin deep, we will never come to find if there is any beauty or not on their insides. We are all shallow in that we like what we like, some thin, some fat, some in between. If we are not attracted it matters not how beautiful the other may be on the inside for we will never accept an overturn if they do not meet our standards.

This is just another example of a platitude, sounds wise, insightful, and significant but is meaningless. For if it is the beauty inside that counts, to whom does it count when no one can see it?  And if we believe it then why do we spend so much time and money making our aappearance, i.e., skin, face, body look good?  How much money and time we put into makeup, face lifts, and the clothes we wear as compared to the time we spend improving our mind, attitude, or soul if you will?  

So the next time you read or hear this and find yourself nodding in agreement, ask yourself why you agree with it.

Race The Wind

On top of my horse I sit and see the world so far away. I ride with Jesse James and search the badlands for outlaws, to be one or to bring them down. With the wind I ride, chasing the Devil, I fight the Civil War. Indians wait around the bend to do me in. Dismounting into a world of mundane, a world of rent and bills a world of making ends meet. Into a world where I grow old and those I love go away. It’s a world in which no matter how hard I ride, I must return. This world pulls at you as it does me; try's to pull us into despair.

I sit in my chair and memories wash over me like waves on a beach, pounding and swirling then receding only to come again. The way it was, but will never be again assaults me again and again. Just the wind in my mind taking me down old winding roads that have no ends, to escape I go out to the pasture and pick out a horse.

He is a good one, a willing one who carries me like the wind as I run from myself into the oblivion of oneness with my mount. His heart is in the run he really wants to run, but I slow down to a canter, then to a trot to let him catch his breath and when he has his second wind we go again.

Hoofs pounding my heart fluttering like a young boy thinking of his first love. Lost to all but my horse’s breath, the rippling of his muscles as he stretches his body for his supreme effort to carry me into a world where there is only me and him. Into the night we ride as the day ends, changing gates to preserve his strength, we come to the end of the ride, and walk the last mile home. I take off his tack and turn him back to his world, and I go back to mine thinking, “I should have been a cowboy”, but at ride’s end I come back to what is, a bed I sleep in along with my dreams when they come.

Vulgar Words

What I think is no one has to read anything they do not wish to. The word vulgar in common usage comes from the Latin word for common, as Vulgar Latin was the spoken language of the common people.  The English turned the word to meaning disgusting or objectionable. In other words vulgar is what you do not like. 

To say 'defecate' is to use the Latin term for the Anglo Saxon word 'shit' , the latter was/is considered vulgar because when the Normans conquered England they considered any words others used by the Anglo Saxon to be vulgar terms. The same is true for piss and uranate, one is Latin the other Anglo Saxon term for the same thing. I could go on and explain why we find other words so objectible, but the real reason is because we were tough that they were wrong so we see them as wrong to use, and object when people use them in a manner in which we do not like. 

My advice, don't read what you do not like, and realized hat our language is a living language and what was uncommon is always becoming common, or dare I say vulgar?

Of All The Billions

I am well aware of some of my limitations,

They are the ones I have bumped into time and time again.

Others, I am sure, just await my reaching them.

Some of my strengths I also know

I can figure things out.

Oh not everything

But enough.

I can work on the old cars,

But not the new.

I can change a tire,

But would rather not.

I am a good rough cut carpenter,

But not a finished one.

I can ride a horse,

But never make it 8 seconds on a bull.

If the toilet breaks

I can fix it,

But if the well goes out

I call for help.

I can hook up a new TV

But when it goes awry

I need a repairman.

But of all my years on earth

It's understanding women

Where I am at my worst.

You think they will,

And they want.

You think they want,

And they do.

And seldom is the one you like

Is the one who likes you.

A lifetime of looking

Has just left me looking.

I have most of my teeth,

A lot of my hair,

And no beer gut.

Alas, I am at a loss,

I just what to have

And to hold

One who wants

To have and hold

Me,

Time and time again

I am told by women

 I know

(Already in a relation)

That they just can’t

Understand

Why I am alone.

Too particular I reckon,

Either me,

Or the women

I am attracted to.

There has to be one

Of all the billions

That is my match

And still not matched up.

I’ve had my eye on one,

For some time now.

I hope that it is

More than a maybe

Not just a possibility.

With two wives behind me

I do not want

Strike three.

©

Rexx

The Cure for Bereavement

To say, “Time heals all wounds” Is trite

      When the heart is in its anguish,
                   But there is no
          Cure for the bereavement
                       But time.

               The Death lies quiet,
               But the living greave
                  The dissolution
           Of what could have been.
                   Why, oh why
           They ask again and again.

             A question with no answer,
                    The loss remains.
                   And, unexplained,
                     Life will go on.
                 Hard though it may be
                    For the bereaved.

                       Until time
                 Has came and gone.
                Time to, if not heal,
                   At least adjust
                 To a life without,
        And time to find a new meaning.

                     Not to forget,
              For that is not in the cards,
               But to remember the joy
                  Without it being
             Drowned by the sadness
                   Of the passing.

             A quietus will be found,
            Not today, not tomorrow,
               But a time will come
                 And bring with it
               The strength needed
    To pick up the pieces and move on.

© Rexx