under construction

Maybe the Poet
 
Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz
Between what's flesh and what's fantasy
And the poets down here
Don't write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
 
Those are the lyrics that inspired the name of this blog. They’re from the song Jungleland by Bruce Springsteen. This is the second time I make reference to Springsteen’s lyrics in this infant blog. If you’re wondering if Springsteen is my favourite musical artist, I’d have to say… “Nah, not really.” However, I am a fan. When it comes to evocative lyrics, Springsteen is among the best. He’s up there with Cohen, Dylan and Downie. The last name mentioned is that of Gord Downie, a lyricist, poet and lead singer for The Tragically Hip. He and the band are practically unknown outside of Canada but he stands ever so slightly above the greats. I’ll be writing an entry on how he made me a better Canadian and how his death affected me. You’ll also see how important music, and especially lyrics, are to me.
 
Going back to the lyrics I started this entry with, I love image that they conjure up. The vision of a city or town in upheaval. The poets, those people that chronical life with their lyricism, they just stand on the sidelines and watch it all happen. Would you believe that yours truly here, the 56-year-old that’s gonna be pouring out his soul to your folks, was an angry young man. Yup, went to a few demonstrations. Looking and hoping for change. Wanting a world where peace and balance are the rule. I love that kid, even if life played him for a fool. I have to tend to him when he comes by for a visit. His passion sometimes gets the best of him, and I have to clean up his messes.
 
I can say the angry young dude went into semi-retirement when my Ma came down with cancer. Somehow when the person that you love and admire the most gets as sick as she did, the injustices of everyday life weren’t quiet as important. I was very fortunate to have met my wife, Vi, while my Ma was going through her final rounds of chemotherapy. Had it not been for her I think the anxiety, fear and depression would have done deep and irrevocable damage. They did do damage but I’m now doing the repair work. I’m going to write more about both my Ma and Vi, and why I love and admire them in future entries.
 
You know what? As I reread myself, I realize that I am unknowingly marketing myself here. I keep telling you what I’ll be writing about in the future instead of writing about something now. In all honesty it’s not a marketing ploy. I’m of the same belief as Bill Hicks when it comes to marketing people. I write from a stream of consciousness. I drift down that river and whatever comes to mind gets put to page. Well not a physical page, you know I’m typing this on my laptop. Ones and zeros not pen and paper.
 
My Ma’s cancer made me retreat from the world and into the arms of my wife, then girlfriend. Being with her was the only time I could ease up on worrying for my Ma, and that ease of worry did come with a measure of guilt. It didn’t feel right not to worry.
 
Vi, was, and still is, kind-hearted, caring, reserved and beautiful. She made the decision to embark on a relationship with me in spite of the state I was in. I call her my precious angel to this day. I moved in with her a year after we’d met. It was a good place to be. She loved me and I love her. Things were simple and when we were home reality was left at the door and I lived my boyhood dream of being in love. That’s when the Jungleland poet came to be. I was still well aware of how shitty the world was, but like the poets in the Springsteen epic, I stood back. I remember being that 22-year-old kid and hearing the lyric and thinking that’s me, and if it’s okay for Springsteen’s poets to let it all be, it was okay for me too.
 
Those difficult days made me realize that I had a limited amount of emotional energy. I always feel things so deeply that it drains me mentally, physically and spiritually. It leaves my soul anemic and weak. My Ma’s cancer left me with just enough energy to go to work, visit her in the hospital and not much else. This is something that Mr. and Mrs. Everyone, that’s a translation of a French expression we have here in Quebec, “monsieur et madame tout le monde”, don’t understand, or at least I find they have a hard time understanding. Back in the early 90s, when all this was happening, the prevalent attitude towards issue of the mind and soul was, “Pick yourself up by your boot straps.” I uttered those same words myself before I had someone sit me down and set my naïve ass straight. I now know better. So, I navigated those waters without getting much help other than my girlfriend being there for me.
 
Being one of a highly sensitive nature becomes an energy distribution challenge. We all have limited energy, some have more than others, I’d say that highly sensitive people may have less because our deep feeling of emotions. These deep feelings rob us of energy that others would have to go do something else, like go out and party. We often have a need to worry when things go bad, that worry will turn to anxiety. If worry drains our energy, then anxiety strips the hide off of it.
 
As a young man I had a lot more energy to focus on worry an anxiety. I no longer have that delusion or energy. So, I try and worry less and focus more on those things that I can change. I’ll say a prayer for those things that I find less hopeful, but I always hold out hope. Back then I thought that if I worried enough about something it could change the course of events for the better. This was kind of reinforced by the fact that my Ma did pull through her first bout of cancer. Although I never said this openly to anyone, I believed it then, and still do still a little now. I like to think that the prayers and worry put the doctor and therapy that saved her in the river of her life for her to pull herself to shore. I just love this river analogy so I’ll keep going with it.
 
I read that there have been studies where they witnessed very ill patients showing great improvements after people started praying for them. Now if you read the studies done in this area, you’ll find that what researchers say is that if your religious this healing is God sent, if you’re not then it’s your brain. I chose to believe that it’s God at work. I read this about this study about 15 years ago and have not read up on the more recent research. That view may have changed, but somehow, I doubt it. I chose to believe that these healing prayers are God at work through a divine spark that exists in all of us. This belief in God brings me hope and comfort that I never had before. It allows me to console myself a little more easily.
 
The question that’s most likely crossing your mind now is, “What does he believe God is?”. Well folks, I have no fucking clue! I can tell you that I don’t believe in the God that’s laid out in any religion. That guy messed, and continues to mess things up. I should say that it’s our belief in these various interpretations of God mess up the world. The religious belief in God becomes a pissing match, which to this day causes hardships and death. I ain’t having it.  
 
What I can say about God is that someone, something, somewhere created all that were know, that someone or something was created by a someone or something, and so on and so forth. Trying to find the source of God in my model becomes an exercise in futility. Except that I believe that that same divinity of creation exists in all of us, and that we witness it every day. You know when you go into a convenience store and compliment the kid at the counter on how cool their hair color is, or when you hold a child who’s skinned their and comfort them, or when you’re making tender passionate love with the person you love, the good feelings that emanate from those moments are where God lives. I believe that by following those feelings of love and listening to our souls, our spirit will bring us closer to God. I realize that this definition maybe a bit of a copout, but this is what I believe for now. As I look at my heart and reflect on God this may and will change as it has in the past. I think that believing in God is a moving target that we’ll never hit. I’m good with that.
 
 In the end I’m kind of a fraudulent Jungleland Poet, because this blog is not me standing back and letting all be. I’m good with that too.