Love vs. Romance

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April 11, 2018, Prescott-

It’s no secret, among those who know me, that I am a loving soul.  I have no reason to despise anyone, among my wide circle, either in real time or online, and disagreements about politics or religion cannot negate that, at least on my end.

I have had only two real romantic relationships in  my life.  One lasted a whopping three months, in 1972-going nowhere, because of my immaturity.  The other, as most know, was durable, a thirty-year courtship/marriage, cemented by adversity and challenges.  My lover became my angel, my spirit guide.

Of course, like many who go through the trauma of loss, there were a couple of cases, after Penny went homeward, where I imagined myself having feelings, above and beyond those of friendship.  Fortunately, for all concerned, these did not go very far.  No harm, no foul.  Both women have fallen off my radar screen, so I hope they are okay.

Right now, other than an occasional message from someone who imagines herself having post-traumatic feelings for yours truly (also not going anywhere), romance and I live separate lives.  I enjoy real friendships with several women, across ages, faiths, political mindsets and national boundaries, and very much like it that way.

Friendship has the strictures of honesty, loyalty and mutual respect.  Romance, if it does not remain rooted in mutual respect, becomes toxic. Therein lies the fallacy of an affair that comes solely as the result of trauma-based illusion.  I thank my loving angel, for guiding me away from the toxic.

The Road to 65, Mile 137: Safety/Warning

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April 14, 2015, Prescott- Towards the end of my work day, this afternoon, a young man asked to use the restroom.  The wind had blown the door shut, so he had to push hard against the door, but to no avail.  I tried the door, and found it jammed shut.  I sent the student out through the back corridor, while one of the young ladies in the class worked on opening the door, eventually succeeding.  This whole incident, which I reported to the front office, brought back memories of locked doors in places like Providence, RI and Dhaka, Bangladesh- doors whose locked status spelled doom for large numbers of people.  I would have been able to lead the kids outside, through the back way, had there been an emergency today, but what if some were to panic?

This evening, I attended a gathering of Slow Food Prescott, and several local events, for the next several weeks were announced.  While walking home, after the meeting, I got a waking message from my spirit guide:  Do not leave town, unnecessarily, until May 21.  There was an inkling that, had I stayed here on Holy Saturday, April 4, and tended to getting a certain person to move, I would not have generated the negative energy that led to my crashing the Kia.  There was a further message that, aside from an Awareness Walk and a dental appointment in Phoenix, the week after next, there were things on which I needed to focus, here.  I looked at the list of events which could use my assistance, and made the connection.

These seemingly disparate incidents just serve to point out the need for a wanderer to have a base, and for the base to need a wanderer.  My connections to the wider world are shared by people here, with whom my own tentative bonds are sure to get stronger.

What’s In Our Words

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November 24, 2014, Prescott-  This is, for an educator, the shortest “work week” of the academic year.  Most schools have two days, before Thanksgiving break.  It’s also my birthday week, and this year, I turn 64 on the day after Thanksgiving.  People are given to calling that day, “Black Friday”, as its sales receipts are supposed to put retail businesses “in the black”.  A sad trend has some stores shortening, or foregoing, the Thanksgiving holiday for their employees/associates.  One retail outlet even refers to the most important family holiday of the year as “Black Thursday”.  Shameful, this.

Words matter.  I have had the tendency, much of my life, to be “in the brain, out the mouth.”  I could blame this on my autism, and it is probably what has caused this series of  faux pas.  My late wife spent the best years of her life coaching me out of this emotional trough.  Discretion and sobriety were the most valuable gifts she imparted to me, through three decades of steadfast love.  I have stumbled and bumbled on occasion, in the three years, seven months since her passing.  Good people have been hurt, and I have done myself no favours with these missteps.

The purpose of life, though, is to transcend.  We overcome pain, move out of  false comfort zones, learn new skills, make new friends and often keep the old.  In all of this, a successful effort brings one closer to the Source of all life.  I am slowly on the upward path, with my beloved spirit guide urging me on, in matters large and small.

Our words ought to represent reflection, thought, and most crucially, love.  What comes from our mouths, our pens, our keyboards can either build or shatter.  So, while it’s a fine thing to be ever honest, in our dealings with those near and far, it pays to remember that no one really wants to be shattered, knocked down or left out.  Honesty and kindness are not mutually exclusive.  Have a fine Monday, my friends.