Can You Hear Me Now

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

Robert Frost

40-plus years ago one of my dearest friends spent three years in prison. For the sake of his privacy, I will call him Greg. I didn’t know Greg back then and he tells me that he was not someone I would have wanted to know. From what I have heard of his story, I am inclined to believe him.

Thankfully, Greg is no longer the man he was. Many years past his incarceration and subsequent release, he has become one of the kindest, most generous people I know, and I am sure that if you met him today you would agree. He laughs easily, is generous with his time and money, listens more than he talks, asks meaningful questions, is quick to offer support, and lives a life of integrity. There are many people in my life, but this convicted felon stands head and shoulders above most of them.

Over the years, Greg and I have had some remarkably profound conversations. We are both married with kids and grandchildren and so the trials and joys of being a father and grandfather are high on the list. We are also men of a certain age and regularly share what that means to our ever changing bodies. All in all, there really isn’t anything we cannot or do not say to one another. As someone who lived far too many years without strong male friendships, I treasure our relationship.

You might think that Greg would like to put his criminal history completely behind him, but that is far from the truth. While he is not proud of what sent him to prison, he firmly believes that it is an important part of who he is today. Greg will tell you that everything he has ever said, thought, done, or had done to him is still alive within him today. It’s not like he can only pick the happy moments to define himself.

Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content. Hellen Keller

While a simple, less truthful story might make people comfortable having him around, it would not be an honest representation of who he is and how he found his way to the man he is today. Even more, to deny his past would not allow him to make the choices he needs to make every single day — the healthy, positive choices that frame his life and guide his actions.

What Lies Below

Bear with me for this seemingly unrelated tangent. It will make sense soon enough.

In terms of its white population, the roots of the Twin Cites stretch back to the early 1800s. It began as a collection of tents and shacks populated by French and Canadian fur trappers and over the years grew into the cornerstone of the Northern Midwest.

My city of Saint Paul took serious root in the middle 1800s and soon became Minnesota’s capitol city. Although many of the oldest buildings are long gone, more than enough remain giving us the look of an eastern city. While my house isn’t as old as others in my neighborhood, at 124 she is a grand testament to a bygone era.

I say all this because even though we are a modern metropolitan area, so much of what lies below the surface is still there to tell the story of our origin. I love coming up to road construction projects and seeing a layer of brick or cobblestone just below the blacktop. I have also been told that some of the city’s water mains are still made of oak. That is both fascinating and scary. 

On more than a few streets, you will also find trolley tracks embedded into those bricks. Rather than the city pulling them out when they jettisoned trollies for cars and busses, they were simply covered up. Whether it was due to cost or laziness, they are still there for us children of the future to gaze upon during pot hole season.

Fun Fact. The notion of the past mingled with the present has been on my mind for a long time. Employing my more geeky voice, 11 years ago I wrote about ancient technology still found in modern communications protocols. You can find my 2015 thoughts here.

Into the Woods We Go

Last Wednesday, I was biking on a path just above the Mississippi River when I came upon this sight.

This is a bike path I ride all summer long, but with no leaves on the branches and bushes, and prior to the tall grasses coming up, these ancient trolley tracks practically jumped out at me. Like the tracks below the city blacktop, they were simply left there when the Minnehaha Trolley Line was discontinued.

In addition to being happy to see this normally hidden glimpse of the old Twin Cities, I immediately thought of Greg and his belief that everything he has ever been is still within him. Even here, deep in the Mississippi River Valley woods, part of what was still is. There may not be any trolleys left to ride these rails, but here they are for all the world to see. At least the world that takes the time to look before the spring and summer foliage take over.

When first she sang
it was as if the sirens of Ulysses
had sprung from the pages of Homer
and all who heard the sweetness in her tone
were transfixed and transformed
surrendering everything for a place by her side

But mistakes were made
and trust misplaced far too often
leaving only the mournful song of a battered soul
dashed on the rocks of misguided love

And so she waits for salvation and redemption
for a path back to the woman she was
and the song she sang
so sweetly

Human Tracks and Rails

The farther I walk down my spiritual path, the easier it is for me to see the tracks that lie just below my surface. Like my friend and that stretch of Mississippi woodlands, I too carry everything I ever experienced within me. The many mistakes I made, the people I loved, the people who loved me, the times I disappointed someone, the times I acted beyond my own self interests, the times I failed to listen to my inner voice, and the joys I felt — they are just as much a part of me as what I did ten seconds ago.

While I don’t celebrate my shortcomings or wrong turns, I am willing to embrace the fact that they are mine. They are here for a reason and that reason is only as good as what I learn from them. To hide them away and pretend they never existed teaches me nothing worthwhile. If I have learned anything from my characters flaws, it’s that they only change when I shine a light on them. The brighter the light, the bigger the change.

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. Desmond Tutu

So, while the underneath layers aren’t always immediately obvious, or all that pretty, wait for the leaves to fall and the grasses to bend. There they are. There I am. There we are. There we will always be.

Thank you for reading.

When every step is a parallel step
with every dream aligned
when soul folds into soul
like the teeth of a zipper or fingers entwined

When wish precedes action
fulfillment follows desire
when chest pressed to chest
resonates with the sounds of a pounding heart
and a momentous breath

Passion unto passion
borders reached
explored
broken wide open
when the inhale of one is the exhale of another

Everything is everything