She is there, below the surface even though she is more prolific than the sun, although she can make a smile out of a frown and leave you wondering why you were sad in the first place, she can be brutally honest, even though it hurts her to be so. But after all is said and done, you love her more. She has a taste for a certain wine that I think is horrid, (Sorry girl!) But when she sips it, her emotions come boiling up and her feelings encompass me in a love that is more than the 1000 miles of cyber space that separates us. I see her as a role model, a friend, a confidant, if only in-frequently. But I hope she knows she has kept me placing one foot in front of the other, more than one time in my short one year + here in thoughts.com.
She is sister.
He is prevalent. Everything he writes, touches, soothes, and promises good things ahead. He has a flat sense of humor and an uncanny tongue for the most horrid of brew, but his taste is impeccable. He is a lover of life, dogs, wife, literature, and his country. I salute him; he deserves the momentary pause in silent praise that touching my finger to brow signifies by the act alone. He has brought me from darkness and placed me on a path that led me to lighter times and alternate writing paths. He is more to me than an infrequent e-mail, or a comment every new moon.
He is brother.
I only speak of two where there should be many. Names do not suffice because they take away from the homage I pay to perfection. I assure you that these are two examples of perfection; in all of their imperfection. Although I have never seen their faces; face to face, although I wonder if meeting them will ever happen in this life time, I have never heard their voice, and one of them has never typed a single instant message to me. I must say what I say from the bottom of my heart.
You two mean more to me than you could possibly know. We are sister and brother, brother and sister, in every literary means of the term; family. Cyber maybe a word of the new age, but without it I would have never found a place in my heart that could take me to so many highs.
Thank You…
Evetspordlaw. ]]>The Maintenance Manurn:uuid:1b8d4072-4ba7-3b76-bf49-a66639175cad2009-11-21T23:13:42-05:00The maintenance man meanders through the halls of my mind. The work load increases everyday. The doors to memories past are opened with a squeal at the unused hinge’s resistance. The peal of their release echo through the caverns of my head. They bounce from side to side, and release memories long forgotten; only to come to the fore of my memory for the moment.
And the maintenance man’s frantic efforts to prevent the pain, fails on the moment of his effort. The chaos remains. The noise gives confirmation to the multiple manipulations, by me, to stuff unwanted events away, deep into the recess of my (so called) memory. With a simple routine check, I am sent on a tour of the past. A tour that I have already taken, forsaken, wrote with my actions, and regrets. Regret that they happened. Yet they did.
Although I have forgiven. Myself? Maybe not, but all who deserve to be forgive; are.
Keeling there, reeling in the realization of his mistake, I realize that the maintenance man has done his work well, even if he fails to realize it himself. Released is, yet another demon, long ago captured in the span of my life, in the caverns of my mind. Now released, to relieve me, one more burden I bear.
But when he lifts his head in acknowledgement to his success, his eyes reflect the hinges, on the doors, in the halls, lining the walls as far as his eye can see. I know he wonders, as I wonder; with every thing behind each door, all these demons; is there any help for me? ]]>Scribbles #51urn:uuid:c378679b-3639-662b-1079-55a104f747dd2009-11-03T00:53:57-05:00Fall
The end of summer’s caress bears the mantle.
It is shed to bare my skin to the autumn chill,
that tickles my spine.
Swathed in the glory of lamb's wool,
to comfort against the death of the sun's rays.
Borne witness by the lifeless maple leaf,
crunching beneath my feet.
As the passing of so many seasons have been witnessed before,
So shall she pass, with reluctance; fall.
That the gnarled hand of father winter,
shall take into his grasp the fragments of autumn's past.
When the end of autumn’s caress will bear the mantle,
and that mantle is shed to bare my skin to the winter frost,
that stiffens my spine.
Swathed in the glory of silky down,
To comfort against the death of autumn's caress.
To leave me with the reluctance of her passing;
fall… ]]>Dash out to the Desert for Dinner with Circeurn:uuid:b9dddf30-2061-bc5d-ff49-edff84251c8a2009-10-23T01:24:58-04:00
As I sat in the L.A. traffic, four hours of contemplation fueled my determination to visit one of thoughts.com’s most prolific, talented, wise and generous, souls. At that point, even the dull grey flakes of ash, resting on the metallic paint of my car, could not deter my path.
StilKickin called my cell phone about 30 mins prior to my planned arrival. After finding out where I was sitting in traffic, he informed me that I still had better than 90 mins of driving left. Driving with out traffic. But patience and determination won out and 60 mins later than I expected, I walked into the restaurant that we were to meet at.
I had never seen a picture of Circe. I had however, saw a picture of her husband, Stillkickin; he shows himself as his own avatar on thoughts. His crisp white beard and crop of white, curly hair are distinguishable. It was this that kept me from asking around blindly for Circe. But when I saw her, I knew it was her. Before her husband even came into view to confirm what I already knew, she was there, sitting shyly, looking up at me with timid eyes.
Circe is not what I had expected, at first. Her battle in the past few months has caused her to question her appearance, but I assure you that she is a beautiful person; almost as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside. I pictured Circe as a frail, older lady, with much confidence, a piercing stare and an all knowing smile. My first few seconds in her presence caused me pause. Circe barely kept eye contact with me, she did not speak directly to me, but more at her husband, who immediately took up the conversation and drove it forward, throwing the focus on me and less on the two PERFECT people sitting in front of me. However it only took a matter of minutes until my expectations of Circe came to the fore. She began talking to me, conversing, she pulled out a book of pictures, and her entire focus became her, children, her husband, and their past.
She spun the tales of Stillkickin and the buildings, houses, and lives he built. She showed me pictures of her children, their homes, their animals. She showed me pictures of paintings she painted long ago, before fire consumed them all. The entire time, when she was not looking at the pictures, her eyes were piercing, looking directly at me, the confidence exuded during her dictation was enthralling, and her smiles were genuine, proud, and not in the least timid. When she raised the corner of the blond hair piece she wore, to expose the grey hair hid beneath, it showed me the woman that I had seen in my mind, as I thought of her. She is exactly the person that she portrays when she writes for the lucky ones on thoughts.com.
Her gift to me was a tin of cookies, complete with recipe and chocolate chips, included was a crate of avocados, limes, lemons, and a grapefruit, all of which grew from the trees in front of her home. (Except the cookies!) O,o
As our time wore to an end, I found myself longing to spend more time in the presence of both of these fine people. As I buckled myself into my car and shot out on the highway toward my home, almost 1100 miles away, I knew that I had just spent 90 minutes in the presence of greatness. I assure you that people of this caliber do not exist everywhere in the world today and I consider my self one of the lucky few to have had the experience of a life time….
All my love…
E ]]>An open letter to a young man and his Grandmotherurn:uuid:cc9df4f8-6844-4159-e742-139225df55892009-10-19T20:58:09-04:00 Mom, I am joining the Marines.
She is not easy, this lady of ours; Liberty. Her demands fall deaf upon those who believe freedom is free. Yet there is more freedom in the brother/sisterhood of the Armed Forces than any but one of them could know.
Few on this earth can boast of living in the Spanish Americas, Asia’s, or Europe. How many can boast of leaving home straight out of high school with pay check guaranteed? To be looked upon by countless thousands as a hero, is phenomenal. There are parties, money, social acceptance, and almost immediate fame. It is a dream to serve the people of this nation, yet there comes a price for your freedom. That price is essentially, your freedom.
When you give your word to serve, you give yourself; in totality. The price you pay, you do not pay in coin. You pay in flesh. The first pound of flesh comes when they shave your head. This serves many purposes, but initially it is this that garners your immediate submission to the way of life that is the military. Your way of life…
Next you are re-taught how to walk, talk, eat, dress, and even sleep. If you master all of this you are given a weapon. Fail to learn how to use it; you fail the brother/sisterhood. No fear though! They will teach you how to use it. If you already know how, then forget it, you were wrong! Do it their way. Succeed and you experience your first of many proud moments… You earn the right to wear the uniform, to be a member.
You will be told by all how tall you stand and straight you stand; how good you look. Your friends will view at you differently now, they know you have been taught how to kill, they know you have come to a higher plateau in life. People will respect you for what you have accomplished, they will be proud. And they should, you deserve it, you are now the product of the American Military; the most powerful force of men and women on the face of this planet. You are a member of the biggest, toughest most feared gang ever. And the initiation was not easy.
The first time you jump from a plane, the first time you drive a vehicle, the first time you sit behind the gun in a turret, the first time you pack your bags for a deployment, you do so with an excitement mixed with fear and fueled by adrenaline. Your training becomes more realistic, the days get longer, and the nights get shorter, the decision become burdensome. You work hard each day to become the best at what you do, so that you can add to your team an element that they can rely on, you drive your body and mind each day so that your team knows they can place their lives in your hands. They come to trust you, respect you, and depend on you. And you push yourself harder; if you are good.
You work hard, you play hard! 12 hours you work; 5-6 days a week, you deserve to enjoy your time off. The peer pressure becomes insurmountable, if you do not smoke now, YOU WILL! If you do not drink, YOU WILL! If you do not party, YOU WILL! And you will enjoy it. You will see places that most people never get to see in their lives. You will be able to send things home to your mother, father, sister, brother, and Grandparents. You will grow fast, and you will grow hard. This is the way it is.
The first time you place your booted foot on the ground in a combat zone, you will truly know the real meaning of fear. And you should… If you are not afraid, turn around and get back on the plane. Fear will keep you alive; it will keep the men and women to your left and right alive. Keep your eyes open, your wits about you, and never let your guard down.
The first time you loose a friend in combat, you will know sorrow as you have never know it before. You trained with him/her, you know him/her like no one knew them, not even their loved ones, because it was them that kept you warm in the mud, talked you off the ledge when you did not think you would make it, it was them who carried your drunk ass home and got you to formation in the morning. Now they are gone. I pray you never experience it. Death is preferable.
When it is over, be it the training, the war time mission, or your military time served, you will come home. And it will all be different. You will be different. Nothing will be the same again. Some things will be better, some may be worse. Life will have become a mission and when that mission is complete, you will need another mission. It will become part of you.
But I assure you that you will be a hero, be it for a moment once, or a moment many times, I promise, it will be only a moment at a time. When you are done and you have given all there is to give, they will want more, if you are not capable to give it, then you are patted on the back, served an award and dismissed. Even if the papers prove, or the physical, or mental scars prove, that you were a hero once, that status will fade and when it does it will all be a memory, just like the memory of what once was at home, that now you have to rebuild, restructure, and grow.
I do not write this as a deterrent, I do not agree or disagree with one or the other. I simply give to you my experience in words. Experience that I have personally born witness to, experience that I have seen countless times in many young men and women. There are good and bad perks to becoming a member of the Armed Forces, the good times are great, some of the hard times are great memories, but the bad times are bad, and they have the potential to be worse. It is a decision not to be taken lightly, and if taken, must be done so with heart, mind, and body.
When/if it is taken, it is a duty, an obligation, a courtesy demanded that each of your family members respect, support, and encourage you with the love and honor that is deserving of a selfless individual that would give his/her freedom, flesh, and fears in the defense of their nation.
The sun rests low on the horizon; a red stain across the sky. Like blood pooled in the corners of the world. It gives proof to the death of the earth, its populace now gone, except for me. But I am only one.
Nothing serves a purpose anymore. Gone are the hopes for salvation, reincarnation, or miracles. Only cockroaches breed. As out of dreams, nightmares are bred; bred when dreams are shattered. Shattered when nightmares are dreamt.
My dream has become a nightmare; my nightmare has become a reality; reality is useless to me now. Reality used to be my push. My push? Drugs… Money for meth, cash for chronic, hundreds for heroin. Ask and you would receive. It was a pleasure to serve, to provide that high, to fix what was broken. If only temporarily.
It was my world, crumbling though it was; recession, war, political upheaval. Dope did provide escape; I provided the means to get away from it all. Now it is gone, all lost, to the whim of man… With a command, with a word, apocalypse has come. There is no fix now, no escape, not even temporarily.
These roaches that I step upon, they are all that is left, all that has survived, and me… It was not supposed to be like this, but there you have it… ]]>Scribbles #46urn:uuid:2b952066-9ac1-c614-5e0c-faca28dbc6a22009-10-10T00:40:31-04:00Say it to my face. It is the essence of my ire-
this commonality of man,
a saddened fact-- that he fails upon the altruistic path.
While talking along paralleled lines for the sake of saving face,
his actions bounce to the perpendicular…
Behind your back he will spit bile,
expecting you to fail to digest the truth.
Leaving you only to guess.
Often your emotions are left-
as junk in kitchen drawers.
Yet when you meet again—
hands are shook, smiles exchanged,-
and again the knife is pulled from it’s sheath… ]]>Fallingurn:uuid:f304e8ed-a571-81d4-582b-012a32b3a02b2009-10-05T23:33:16-04:00Shall I apologize for these tears?
For the trails they trace from saddened eye,
across broadened cheekbone,
to leap from masculine chin?
I have seen you Capitalize on your moment of need,
where my support was integral.
Yet now it is my moment…
And the favor is not returned.
It is rejected.
My hand is slapped away,
when I reach to you for support.
I am falling.
________________________________________________________
Dedicated to my brother with the utmost respect and love. I am sorry you must bear this burden...
E ]]>Scribbles #43urn:uuid:6cf9c264-50b8-b24f-9c46-e00370e1e5bc2009-09-13T03:07:17-04:00Voices-Violent
The voices in my head are violent.
Tooth and nail, I fight-
each and every day, each and every night-
to keep them silent.
Can I sustain-
keeping the anger at bay?
And fighting the memories that remain?
I fail; each and every night, each and every day.
Even after my successes, (which I find hard to acknowledge.)
I dig into the recess of my mind-
and there I find;
Voices-Violent…
Unattended…
But I continue on-
as if nothing is wrong-
and only hurt the ones I love-
when I fail to have compassion for their efforts.
Because I fail to see, that they realize-
the pressures in my life.
The pressures belong to them too.
But the voices are in constant battle-
Over choices, (that in my head) rattle around.
And hands down, their every sound?
Sound violent.
Thus I choose to keep them silent…
And in that effort-they become louder… ]]>Scribbles #42urn:uuid:bce8e0ba-dc07-2bd5-b8d8-fb3ebb6dc0442009-09-03T01:12:58-04:00Death is easy
Here is to the living,
in their sprint through life.
Meeting the demands of the demanding,
putting the wrongs to right.
Worrying away at the mountain,
wearing their hearts on their sleeves.
Mountains made of stress,
stressing on their needs.
Recklessly aimed on their wants,
on their way to the end,
seldom to stop for a moment,
to recall the places they’ve been.
However; when they do take pause,
realization a-lights,
and frantically they continue,
their head -long plight.
Through the hustle and bustle,
the horns, the screams, the loss,
forcing one foot in front of the other,
they careen through life’s chaos.
I am amazed each and every day.
This consistency is unforgiving.
Death is the easiest thing to do.
Here is to the living… ]]>Scribbles #41urn:uuid:d35fac37-9264-320d-ea96-0e4c582f64f92009-08-25T02:02:14-04:00The Art of Life
Birth becomes you… You are the bearer of life’s grace.
For there are few born into this world to whom creation has not given the tools to live. Whereas one’s tools may be better or worse than the next soul’s-- the ability to craft life around one’s existence is merely fate.
Fate is a shot in the dark.
Yet they, who fail to mold their fate into the form that they wish life to take, may find it could just be their inability to use the tools that they were given at birth. This is not an easy project, because the canvas of life is far from perfect. Yet the royalties are in the effort, the consistency, the determination put forth in an effort to receive the dividends.
The dividends? An existence of satisfaction.
And when your work is complete, your masterpiece unveiled, only then should you lay down your tools.
Only then will you find peace in death.
E
________________________________________________________
*Clause- Is it very well understood that there are those in this world whose tools in life are far from capable to mold a life from. (The war torn, the terminally ill, the desolate, ect…ect…ect…) The message behind this write is for those who have the tools at their disposal but fail to use them out of lack of effort.
]]>Scribbles #40urn:uuid:cbd67b0e-4261-1f13-4241-de1cf27e13792009-08-20T02:32:28-04:00Last time
Hanging the pants upside down, I place the outer seam at the leg cuff in line with the inner seam. Doing likewise with the second pant leg, I align the inner seams of both legs. This creates clean creases down the front and back of both pant legs. Placing the pants on a flat surface, I ensure that the pleats on both cargo pockets are flat. Finally, I fold the pants in half, and then in half one more time.
I place the pants in the bottom of a card board box.
Next I take the jacket and lay it flat, on a hard surface. I align both sleeves much as I did on the pant legs. Again I ensure that the pleats on all four pockets are flat, with seams tucked. Turning the garment face down, I fold each side panel backward. Simultaneously, I fold each sleeve forward, thus narrowing the garment to approximately twelve inches. Next, I fold the garment back on its self and in half so that the name tape and affiliation are readable and I adjust the collar so that it presents a professional appearance. The jacket is placed in the a-fore mentioned box, on top of the pants, with the name tape and affiliation readable.
Finally I close the box, tape the seams, and label the lid clearly. The box is placed in my attic. As I turn to walk away, I stop to re-read the marking that I had made on the lid of the box:
UNITED STATES ARMY
1989-2009
]]>Scribbles Blood Bankurn:uuid:60393919-6aca-61fd-a0a0-eb03d02234fd2009-08-19T03:08:04-04:00At Peace… If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. Friedrich Nietzeche
Shadowed for so long, it is tantalizing to watch the struggle. Finger nails bent back, in strain, clawing at the lip of sanity -- always aware that INSANITY can never stay its grip.
The scratches mar the silver at the back of the mirror. So much so that it creates a void in the reflection. The reflection is true but the permanence is false -- for there is a path out of the abyss.
Where the end of that path lay? Only God knows. That is, if you know him.
Yet I stare deeply into the chasm. The eyes that stare back are mine own. And I know my darkness has subsided. That which seeks to pull me down will look deep into the abyss which is me and know there is peace here.
And any attempt to take that from me will be hell to pay.
Evets...]]>The Good, The Bad, and The Uglyurn:uuid:8bc9836d-9553-2faf-627c-42198ab331942009-08-13T01:39:45-04:00Usually things do not turn out the way you envision them. If you read me, you know my family and I have returned home from a three year, Army tour of duty, in Germany. This tour of duty involved a 15 month deployment to Iraq.
Now a Soldier is what a Soldier is told to do. (Yes that is written that way on purpose.) But often times what you do not know is that the hardship on that Soldier’s family is ten fold.
Take two children who have lived in one house (for the most part) all of their lives, you uproot them, send them to a foreign country, and then send their daddy away to War. It can be daunting on the mind of a 6 year old boy and terrifying for a 9 year old girl. The Soldier’s wife gets to deal with all of it. Trying to pay the bills that are written in a language that she can not read, restricted to one grocery store, rationed gas, and then you have the Army in every aspect of your personal business. Why? Because going there is a privilege, NOT a right. As if all of this and the everyday concern of your husband being killed by a road side bomb are not enough to earn the right. They call it a privilege. Now do not get me wrong, Germany is a fine place. I encourage everyone to visit. I just can not recommend living there. I want my home right here in the Great Pacific North West of the United States of America!
So I quit the Army. If you want to call retiring after 20 years and 5 combat tours; quitting. I packed my family up and I brought them home! How sweet it is. Except! When we walked through the door it smelled like a dog kennel! DAMN! You see we have owned this house for 7 years. I had to rent it out when the Army sent me to Germany. It seems as if the renters never let the dogs out side. The urine stains on the carpet were sickening. Some of them were so bad that I thought I would have to remove the sub-floor also. I spent 6 straight days removing carpet, treating the floors with chemicals, primer, and Kilz (great stuff for removing the nasty smell), we painted the entire inside of the house also. While we did this, my wife went shopping for flooring. We were smart enough to save some money off to the side for an emergency. WHEW!
SO the rental management company got out of any liability because I allowed the renter’s to have a small dog. And the rental insurance does not cover damage done by domestically kept animals. (Kind of figured all of that before I looked into it.) Anyway, I could probably fight the management company and get the security deposit returned, but I got enough going on, and it would probably cost me more in court fees than the security deposit. If I was not so tired and ready to get into my home I would do it on principle alone, but hell I just want to get things done
Anyway, we are amazed at the out pouring of friendship through all of this. We had friends in that house helping everyday... all day. People were lending us tools, bringing us food, offering their homes to stay in. We ended up staying in a neighbor’s camping trailer. (Well more like a mansion on wheels.) We are still there now. The floors get installed Friday. Our furniture items begin to arrive next week.
Anyway the house is almost done, my dad brought my jeep home to me, (First thing that almost made me cry! ) And to top it all off I got a job! Yup I will be a Cable guy! YUP! Just like Larry! I am extremely happy. SO no matter the bad and the ugly, it is just good to be home! So now you know why I have not been by to see you all in a while. Although I have dropped in for a peek every now and again! So bear with me I will be back soon.
Miss Ya…
E ]]>Home Sweet Homeurn:uuid:965966e8-2d6c-215d-2a48-61b1e755dd652009-08-03T10:42:49-04:00It does not seem as slow as it felt at the time. Years have flown by in a blur-- yet, in my mind time seemed to resist passing. Now that it is over my throbbing feet give witness to the miles this body has endured--to the miles that this family has endured.
All the signs are there. Signs like the aging grey in my beautiful wife’s hair, the somber face on my once jubilant baby girl, the flat stare and slumped shoulders of my little man. They have equally shared the burden borne by my decisions.
They were not poor decisions. Each one made in an effort to better our life. Maybe some were selfish or vain. But the decisions made were stood by—accomplished. For the most part they were rewarded.
You know regret has been a bitter taste on this tongue for a few years and in that regret I now see an abundance of self pity. While I never let slip my grasp on the goal of retirement, I find that goal has not always been worth the attention. That goal should never have been singular. Goal should be plural—GOALS; as they are for this family today. Had I made an effort to spread my attentions to more than one goal, when/if I failed to meet the one, I most assuredly would have met others. I find today that I have met one and there are so many,many more to attain and none are necessarily for self.
So the pity need not be wasted; it is my own doing. Yet I do not regret achieving that one goal of retiring. It has laid the foundation in the building of many more in the future to come. Many have been the day that I, (better yet, WE) have dreamt of coming home. The ideal of a safe haven for our family, the desire of a sanctuary for our piece of minds in this chaotic world, it is all about roots and becoming grounded. That time is now.
We have arrived. The blankets are spread. I can feel US in these walls. This corner of the world permeates our existence. This is our home-- and sweet it is…
Evets... ]]>Scribbles #39urn:uuid:c8aaf83b-dcee-87ea-f8da-d74f7f5b80c92009-07-30T00:35:09-04:00Cycle
Although the willow weeps,
It is not due to-
the company it keeps.
It is just its way of life.
For from the willow's boughs-
a child does swing.
Noticing not; the whys or hows.
She fails to notice anything.
Except maybe the wind on her face.
And the willow bends to the child’s will,
to listen to her cries of glee.
For when she is old and grey-
she will remember her saddened tree.
And he, her.
Remember-- in his own somber ways-
slouched over in seeming sorrow.
As if remembering those days
Yes. Today is tomorrow.
And tomorrow is just a memory.
Because now she is grown,
And her child now resides-
on the swing,
that in the willow’s memory-
her mother would ride.
And once again-
the willow weeps.
But never-- not ever-
for the company he keeps.
But for the company that’s gone.
Again… ]]>Scribbles #38urn:uuid:b3c85a00-b7d2-ceb9-c693-8b0c300bec732009-07-25T22:21:56-04:00Pleasant Memories
I broke my foot. How? Walking too far, for too long, with too much weight on my back. We started out at 8PM at night and walked until 3PM the next day. Yes 19 hours. I carried an Infantry Soldier’s full complement of gear plus a PRC-77 radio and extra batteries. Thankfully it was during a training event and when my foot finally gave out we were 300 meters from our objective. They placed me in a cubby hole and continued on. Every person that made it to the objective became training casualties! I was the only one that lived. PLEASANT! Except in real combat I would have either died from exposure or became an enemy prisoner of war. But being the only survivor of that training mission and pushing myself as hard as I did, well it earned me respect in the eyes of many.
…
110 degrees, full combat gear, desert storm, in 1991. I remember the sweat, fear, and adrenaline as we rolled a HMMWV through a combat zone while listening to Cowboys from Hell by Pantara. We made it with no casualties and I will remember it to the end of my days. I remember being pinned down and my Sergeant Major making me take the shot with a live AT-4 (Anti-Tank Gun!) I missed because I was pissing myself scared, but the second shot rang true! That second shot was fired milliseconds behind mine by the Sergeant Major. Pleasant memories.
…
I remember my final jump in airborne school. A proper parachute landing fall is supposed to be balls of the foot, to claves, to thighs, to ass, to side of the body. Well even after 4 other jumps, I still went from my feet straight to my head. Then I forgot to pull the riser free and when the chute did not collapse and filled with air, it dragged my ass through 100 feet of freezing October, Fort Benning, water. Then to top it off we graduated on the drop zone! I have been colder since that day, but never that cold prior to that moment! When they pinned those wings on me I was a proud man! Pleasant memories…
…
I remember the day I put the Drill Sergeant hat on for the first time. It was a dream! But it did not even come close to how it felt to take my first 63 civilians and turn them into basic soldiers in 9 weeks! That was a pleasant memory. Even with no sleep, having anger issues, my voice burnt out, and my wife and family wondering if I would ever come home! But it was good. A great time in my life…
…
Then on 22 July 2009, sitting in the transition office, when they lady pulled out the folded American flag, retirement pin, and letter of appreciation signed by Barack Obama; this, my friends was the most pleasant of memories, even if it was viewed through a haze of tears…
Peace,
E]]>Civilianurn:uuid:22d21256-237a-f555-5fc9-46db21f251412009-07-23T17:32:58-04:00Yesterday at 1PM, I signed out of the Army for the rest of my life! Today I awake as a civilian. I am on the outside looking in for the first time in 20 years.
Early tomorrow I will board a plane with my wife and two beautiful children and fly from Germany. We will spend 7 days in Walt Disney Florida!
Just letting you all know that Thoughts.com has assisted me in my transition probably more than anyone could imagine and I look forward to many years in the company of such a beautiful community.
With all my love,
Evetspordlaw ]]>Anti-Socialurn:uuid:e9bb9658-a3c9-fa6b-e151-a85f83a400622009-07-18T16:15:55-04:00In awkward silence,
I remain.
No true reason.
I have no one to blame.
My faults are my own,
I chose to become,
distant and separate.
Inside I am alone…
If! In my head,
my absence will forever remain,
silent with regret,
the regret is mine own to proclaim.
Even if admitting,
only to myself-
will I understand?
Why do I have no desire,
to depend on fellow man.
Or rather than rub elbows,
with the current masses,
I flee in utmost haste-
and live in my own moment -
these solitary ponderings-
that will so soon surpass us.
The petulant social fires?
They burn throughout the night.
Fingers damaged by false flame,
true intentions brought to light.
Here I sit and convince myself,
My solace is justified,
It is not the growth of social hate,
but the maturity of a bigger lie. ]]>Changedurn:uuid:0376efe1-2e7d-6a09-11dd-4f560ad5d0212009-07-14T18:42:24-04:00Stumbling he falls. The crustacean laden surface of the rocky shore digs deeply into the soft skin of knee and palm. Tears stream in reverie as Charon works his way down the coast of the forgotten shore. His cowl rests listlessly over his sodden, sweat soaked crop of hair. Stopping, he eases to a sitting position and turns his gaze toward the tiny pier that had served as his guard post for as long as memory allows.
Unbelievable is the thought that permeates his every moment. Surreal is the feeling that captures his heart and soul. Nothing can explain his sense of loss or his sense of longing to be back upon the smooth worn surface of the dock. Never can words express the feeling of loss in the inability to guide and comfort the souls transitioning to the afterlife. Want is useless upon the winds of change.
Aimlessly he shall wander until purpose finds him. Desolate, his soul will continue on until task takes him to finality. Never had he thought to look ahead, for, before him the endless expanse of the future had been the fruit of his labor. His labor had been his life and life had been the task of transitioning.
Now the transition is his.
Gazing back upon the dock, Charon’s replacement stands resolute, unwavering in his mission to provide ease of movement. Young and stalwart the replacement peers across the watery expanse in quiet contemplation, fearless, his hands rest upon the smooth pole that guides the water craft. Portent exudes from his very being and confidence is his stance.
Charon looks upon the newest charge in approval. As hard as letting go is, it is nothing compared to the pride in the replacement chosen. Fractured becomes the soul who fears the final embrace of the boat’s delivery. Deliver? The newest man in the boat will!
With that! Charon rises to weary feet. With calloused hands, he grips the staff of the ancients and continues forward. Wherever forward takes him, only time will tell, only the future knows!
With patience and acceptance, his travels take him onward…