To each, according to his need....

When I lived in Hawaii, one of the memories that sticks with the the most is the pier. About two miles down the road from my house at the end of Singer Blvd, the base, the island and the state, there was an officer's club that had seen better days. The club proper was still in use from time to time, and it wasn't uncommon to see the tennis courts in use, but the pool had been drained for years and some of the grounds were looking neglected. Behind the club was the bend of a beachfront running trail, a gravel patch and large concrete blocks designed ot keep the sea at bay when she was excited. I would walk through the parking lot, stepping over the bumps at the end of each parking space. I can remember the feel of my sneakers. I was usually in sneakers, because I had to claim to be exercising to get a moment's peace. I was encouraged to be thinner, but not too thin, and this was an approved moment of time to myself.

It was usually twilight when I arrived, and I'd sit on the blocks at the edge of the water letting the wind wrap his fingers through my hair, the smell of diesel fuel, jet fuel, salt and creosote heavy in my lungs. It was usually warm and cooling, but not too much of either. As the sun would set and the stars came out, I would angle myself so i could see out the narrow opening of the harbor into nothing. Staring out into the end of the world, listening to the waves gently slapping onto the shore with a rhythm my bones have known since the water formed out of stardust I would sink into the stone, the world would fall away around me and the infinity of space would absorb me. The ocean would sing her song to me, and teach me things about the universe, about myself, about what I was doing here.
I don't spend much time at the shore anymore. Even where there is water, there is land on the other side, land i can see. I've not seen the edge of the world in a long time. That kind of distance puts a perspective on things.

Yesterday I spent some time by the water. I walked along a rocky beach, let the ocean cover my hand, picked up pieces of glass and bottle caps so little feet wouldn't get cut when the weather warms a bit. farther up there was a grassy hill with a bench, and I sat there in the quiet and with words, watching the sun creep down to sneak behind the planet again. Once more I felt the neverending waves, the depth, the secrets, the songs of my mother. She reminded me of mr. Bucky Fuller, or pattern integrities, of the water that has waves, but once the wave is gone, the water is still there. Of ropes with knots, as real and solid as anything else, but slide the knot to the end of the rope, and it disappears. Where did it go? Was it ever there at all? Does it matter?
How can you tell where the rope ends and the knot begins?

If i can see patterns, if I know how they will end, if I know they can end, if I know that this will hurt, that i will be crushed and heart broken again and again, do I protect my heart? Do i put it away? Do I keep it from things that might put knots in my rope? If there's no knot, then I can't miss it when it's worked its way through. But then, all the usefulness of the pattern, the time when an anchor would have been useful will be lost or passed by. I think the best course is to know that pain is coming, to know that someday I'll lose everything I gain, and to keep trying anyway. I am here so that through my eyes the universe can express and experience love.
I am transient. I am fragile meatstuff whose time and troubles are fleeting. Everything I'm given is taken away, but it leaves a little part of itself with me. it makes me more.

I wish I'd had just a little more. I wish I'd had a proper goodbye. I wish I could have anchored one more time to a moment that smells like ocean and flows like waves. I wish I could have let go on my terms, honored the past with the present, had one. more. time.

But time isn't mine. it's just time. And so I will stay here in this space, thinking of the ocean until the tears stop running down my face. I seem to have a lot of them. I keep finding new depths. I know that when I finally reach the end of them.....I don't have a second part of that thought. I don't even know that I will reach the end of them. I assume I will, I'm pretty sure I will, but I honestly don't know what happens then. I don't know what to hope for, there are too many pieces not in place. I don't know what to look for, I don't know where I'm going, or even if I'll be invited. I don't know how to let go of my dreams without letting go of them all.
With both hands open, I've nothing to hold on to.