I went back over the editorials I have written over the past couple of years and noticed something interesting (distressing?) – I noticed that there is a distinctly large number of somewhat complainy (I know it is not a word but I am avoiding whiney) rather sombre columns.

I never imagined myself as a negative kind of guy. Usually I tend to drift through life rather oblivious of the darker shades that surround us as I happily assume that in the end, all will be well.

So you can imagine my annoyance at the trend toward negativity I have detected in my writing. While I could defend myself by saying I am merely reflecting the world and our community at large I am painfully aware that the media is largely portrayed as being overtly focused on the negative and I don’t want to feed the stereotype…mostly because the stereotype is true.

I cannot quite bring myself to recommend a Bobby McFarrin “don’t worry be happy” sensibility because, while I appreciate the sentiment, a certain attention to the troubles of the world is what often leads people to engage and seek to transform things.

Still, from time to time it is a good thing to take a step back from the shadows and look at some of the brighter realities around us.

I was in Ontario last weekend for my brother’s wedding. This was definitely a brighter and joyous time. I bring it up because I believe we all need to be reminded that no matter how crumby things seem to get joy has a way of persistently bursting to the surface.

We live in a world that is not simply filled with death and destruction, hate and unhappiness. In this same world there are people getting married, there are children being born, there is art being created, there is laughing, there are town-wide celebrations simply for the sake of celebration (read Winkler Harvest Festival, Morden Block Party and Corn & Apple here). While it may not necessarily be happening to you I am reminded by old John Donne as I have been so often in the past that we are involved in one-another, you and I, humanity and to that end another’s joy should become our own as well.

We don’t have to work hard at finding misery…one need only listen to the news. That being said we are a remarkably industrious bunch when it comes to having the ability to find light in the dark places and I want to advocate for that more than ever now.

Take some time out this week and intentionally look for the good things around you…they are there but sometimes they can only be seen when you take off the dark glasses.

Perhaps the noise of neighbourhood children that so typically annoys you will come through differently as the sound of innocence and play and exuberance. Maybe the neighbours late night party will sound more like a celebration and bring a smile to your face instead of a scowl for the knowledge that celebration is a good thing.

This is an abundant way of thinking and the best thing about an abundant person is that they tend to have more than they need and they start spilling joy into other people’s lives making a beautiful, wonderful mess that you never want to clean up.

It’s worth a shot I think.

ache is a beautiful moon
shining out of reach
hanging in the cold black
dangling like ice
like the promise of cool
in the desperate drying day

in its old age
singularity takes hold
of every passerby
and never lets go
just hangs on tight
crushing, collapsing, killing
to fill the ever-empty void
all rage at the memory
of another age
a younger hopeful age
when all was glowing light and warmth
and every movement with every other
was a waltzing dance in grace-filled gravity
just a swinging, slinging embrace

but…
but that was…
that was before… 

before the great collapse
when bright went black
free-falling in upon itself
like an inescapable well
pulling worlds into darkness

there
out the window
it is grey and light
indistinguishable
but alive
dancing like insects
across the surface of the car
speaking of other things
of places far away
that blaze with life and love
beckoning to see everything anew
and unlearn the world behind 

I am anxious.

Who knows why, I stopped wondering about the weird place that is my mind a long time ago and consider myself more of a passenger aboard this ship of a body that is often sailed through dangerous waters on a journey God knows where.

Mostly I attend to my duties and try to stay out of trouble and below deck but once and awhile I wonder about the trip.

I am anxious.

The problem with anxiety is that it could be anything, a tad imbalance in the grey matter or a poor breakfast. When you try to puzzle out what the source might be it requires you to journey into all the potentially worrisome things going on in your life and this only feeds the anxiety.

Normally I am a fairly relaxed sort. One that does not dwell too long on the darker things if I can help it. One that dismisses worries as phantoms in the night that will be blown away in the winds of dawn.

Still there are things that can lead to anxiety after 44 years of learning to be alive.

I have two fantastic jobs that keep me more than busy – full time working at the Canadian Fossil Discovery Centre as acting executive director and part time writing editorials for the local weekly The Winkler Morden Voice. Both of these things are fulfilling. The people I work with at the museum are amazing and talented. The place itself has endless potential and requires me to exert all of my skill (such as it is) in various areas of management, business development and marketing.

The editorial job is pretty sweet as well. I love to write. I write. Sometimes I feel as if it is coffee and writing that keep me alive.

So why the anxiety?

The future.

It is the true undiscovered country…not death as Shakespeare said (although certainly death is a part of the future so perhaps it deserves to be a province in the undiscovered country).

Sometimes when I ponder my future fortunes I begin to understand why people tend to move their lives into the past. The past is comfortable and safe and one can be selective about it. There is no change. It is reliable.

I saw my grandmother for the first time in seven years last week. I would see her more often but the trips are costly. It was good to see her but she has moved securely into the past and taken up residence. She has built a stone fortress of the past and sits by the fire of old memories.

She is lost there.

I love my grandmother. At 90 years of age she is much as she was really. Certainly more frail but she has the same voice, the same laugh, the same eyes, she can hold a conversation fluently, lucidly and this makes me happy. But she has no need for the present any more. It, and those in it, have been lost to her in favour of her history. Her story.

I dread the past. The past is dead. I am not. I value it for lessons only but do not want to live there. I am a person of the present…this is where I am…the present is the only real thing in the world. The future is simply a possibility.

I am anxious.

The possibilities for the future are impacted by the present. My present is filled with much that I wish to bring with me as I move forward…my children, my loves. Matt and Caleb and Itsy, all warriors of a strength unique to each. I have an unhealthy pride for them that is unquenchable. They travel with me and to a degree because of me. I am responsible for them and this binds us forever together…some reason to be anxious maybe?

Ahhh it goes away now. I feel it diminishing like a healing wound or a swelling reduced with ice…writing is like a lance to the variety of boils that can come my way.

It is nice to have this therapy. It keeps me from becoming one of the walking dead…you know them – they hate everybody and everything and life is burden which was thrust unwillingly upon them…I cannot imagine bearing up under the constant strain of such a perspective…it wearies me just thinking about it and makes me sad.

“It was a pleasure to burn…”

One good measure of a book is the impact it has on readers and the length of time said impact lasts. Ray Bradbury’s opening line to Fahrenheit 451 was such a line that has stuck in my mind for 30 years.

Crazy.

The power of words must never be under-estimated and the power of the author and poet, while oft ignored, is significant in comparison to all other forms of power.

Ray Bradbury died yesterday at the age of 91 and with him the world lost  significant power. Known for his science fiction, he wrote the genre as it was originally visioned (arguably first in 1726 by Jonathon Swift in Gulliver’s Travels) – as a commentary/critique and satirical look at society.

His book Fahrenheit 451 is as relevant today as it was when it was first written in 1953. A sharply critical look at censorship gone awry and the abuse of authority by government the book did what so many brilliant masterpieces do – it took a system of rules and government authority that we so often ignore in our tendency toward apathy and it humanized the issues to a point where we got it. We understood the dangers that could overwhelm us if we do not keep careful watch.

While I appreciated F451 I must admit my favorite story of Bradbury’s will always be Something Wicked This Way Comes. The brilliance of the novel starts with the title which is a quote taken from Shakespeare’s Macbeth and needs to be understood in context (students of literature take note – you need to understand history and biography too). 

The words of the title first appear on the lips of the second witch in Act IV, scene 1 and are filled with irony as they refer to the approach of the protagonist Macbeth. It is ironic because Macbeth perceives himself to be just and good while the witches are certainly an image of evil. With this the scene is set for Bradbury and the story is framed – a story of good and evil and the often difficult task to differentiate between the two.

Bradbury was brilliant. He will be missed. His legacy will live on and he should stand as a an example.

I would like to especially point out to parents who are not fond of their children exploring the realms of fantasy, science fiction, comics etc. that Bradbury demonstrates (as do others) that it is in these realms that some of the strongest lessons of morality and humanity are forged and learned. It is in these realms that a social consciousness can be developed and matured – all of which serve us well. All that to say children should not be discouraged from science fiction, fantasy etc. but they should, with all effort, be directed toward them.

I learned these things from Bradbury and artists like him…may there be many more.

This empty well
it echoes
when the smallest
of stones
falls in
reminding us
of the deep
reminding us
of the dark