20090621

Frozen Love



You may not be as strong as me
And I may not care to teach you
It may be hard to keep up with me
But I'll always be able to reach you

And if you go forward, I'll meet you there
And if you climb up through the cold freezing air
Look down below you; search out above
And cry out to life for a frozen love

Life gave me you; the change was made
And there's no beginning over
You are not happy, but what is love?
Fate gave you me for a lover...

And if you go forward, I'll meet you there
And if you climb up through the cold freezing air
Look down below you; search out above
And cry out to life for a frozen love



Stevie Nicks, Linsey Buckingham 1973

20090614

That Which Remains



“The fragrance always remains in the hand that gives the rose.”

Heda Bejar


The brilliant white light which illuminated everything is gone. Drifting into consciousness my eyes are a fixed on a handful of sparkling specks of brightness in the still night sky. Through the black silhouette of a sheltering oak tree I trace the pattern of dots as the big dipper emerges from my foggy mind like a series of pinholes punched into cool flat gray cardboard. The silence is consuming as there is no breeze to animate this solemn moment of passage. Against the dark tattered foliage is an intermittent yellow beacon of the first firefly of the summer. As it lazily drifts in and out of the arching boughs I slowly follow its assent from tree to tree in search of another firefly to complete the union. Where are the clouds of fireflies of my childhood which filled the meadows in a dancing choreography of abundance? Waves of shimmering sparks lost in the sultry heat of a summer dusk. No longer the ambassadors of nigh center stage beckoning us to take pause in the waning day, but now hiding in the dark shadows to few in number to reveal themselves in the ever expanding recesses.

I slowly realize that the pain is gone leaving a comforting sensation of warmth as I lie in a sanguine puddle of blood which trickles down my chest searching for earth from a small hole in my heart as I lie naked under the stars. The thick salty taste of blood in my mouth is familiar as it congeals on once hopeful lips. The chill of the evening floats over my skin but I do not shutter as numbness rebukes any sensation. For the moment all feelings and desires have been replaced with the ambivalence of simultaneous conflicted feelings toward life. I can not determine if I am grateful of survival or regretful of not perishing in the light. Appreciative the brutalizing chaos of toxic thunderstorms of rogue emotions have abated leaving an exhausted soul without the will to measure gain or loss. Lying motionless with no pain there is no need to discover the extent of disfiguring mental and physical wounds that invariability exist. Future disabilities have no relevance in this restful state of disconnection and isolation; there will be adequate time to hide the scars under a pall of normalcy and blinding routine. In the aftermath there is no one willing to help shoulder the suffering of loss so it will be hidden deep in a black hole where the demons play, where a past world of light and love are trapped by the inescapable gravity of darkness. Naked before the ebony curtain of closure, emotions have nowhere to cling, like a smooth granite surface the seeds of fragrant summer flowers can not germinate falling helpless to the ground. Seeds destine never to germinate in the fertile ground of aspiration. Seeds of dreams that once held the promise of a future of spiritual discovery while quenching flames of self denial, seeds of limitless possibilities will never support life.

Hanging on the pregnant dewy air is the charred scent of Pinyon long after the burning embers have given their warmth to the hungry land leaving only undetectable residual ash from once was a vibrant embodiment of life. Returning to dust its story of existence forgotten, its struggle for life unrewarded, the Pinyon will leave no mark other than meager trace elements it deposits on a cold mantle of soil which has no memory. Like the Pinyon my struggles, triumphs, loves, losses and memories will accompany me to the grave leaving the rest of the world knowing no different. In my foggy ravished mind the clarity of it all is so dreadfully apparent, nature does not care. Nature can not care favoring one action over another; it operates blindly to the equality all and the pretence of none. We all exist as a collection of our experiences, hopes and dreams wishing to find meaning in the random violence of indifference, but in the end even those fragile mental processions will be taken from us as the last struggling breath escapes our cold lips. The lesson we must learn is that tomorrow is not ours and can never be, so we must throw caution to the wind and capture every kiss, every embracing caress, and every opportunity to love regardless of the consequences of unknown probabilities. Endeavor to expose our soul to excesses of bliss and to debilitating suffering of pain, only then will fate assure us that maybe one of those fragile memories will fall to the ground to be cherished up a loved one before death erases them from the chronically apathetic record of existence.

Clutched in a drawn fist is a small charred image of yesterday which I can recognize without looking at. Its edges are worn and familiar where they are not burned. It is the only procession that remains from before the light. My fingers tremble as they caress the smiling figure of beauty incarnate as if the power in my touch could invigorate life into restoring an era of captivation. The wistful face in the photo did not make it to the other side with me, swept away by the storm unable to share in that which remains. An ocean of tears is beginning to ebb as I search my mind for chards of broken memories that I may have overlooked in the conflagration. Like fine sand these visions of the past will slowly seep from between my fingers as the erosion of time washes away what remains until it is uncertain if it ever existed at all. Nothing will prevent the once vibrant colors to fade until the indistinct stains evoke no meaning, seldom visited in the cluttered junkyard of abandon paths. The weight on my chest is heavy but is no longer crushing as I exhale deeply allowing my thoughts to wander aimlessly amidst scrapbook of the all too few fleeting encounters with happiness. Time permits perspective to evolve, but time can not be allowed to distance the feelings. Questions which were so abundant are unimportant as I attempt to heal in confines of desolation.

Fearful to move knowing that pain is still hidden below the placid surface of calm, there is little need to disturb this comforting void of solicitude. At the crossroads what lies before, the path remains highly uncertain as a forceful disregard for tomorrow is omnipresent. This mortal struggle to capture that which is impossible to capture, has exacted a horrific toll on the stamina required to move forward especially when a soft blanket of exhaustion is numbing the pain like a burning spoon of heroin raging through my veins. Lying so still that my own breathing keeps rhythm with a muted fragile heartbeat, I understand will need to stand erect and decide which path to choose. Aware that each new movement may reveal the prospect of searing pain hiding slightly below the façade of normalcy, it will be a long time of repeated motion before the agony will seek a new sanctuary to take root. Physical and emotional trauma can alter the foundation of perspective as new patterns reroute themselves around damaged pathways. Even in this relative state of inertia, the new patterns are emerging, some darkly foreboding while others are filled with possibility of restoration. Unfortunately those pathways continue to remain in the future and the future does not care. The future is as unattainable as the as restoration of the past, so I am investing little energy in the consequences of what is to be and instead be present in the moment with only that which remains.



“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”

Nelson Mandela (1918 - )

20090607

Acquisition of Influence


“He who wishes to exert a useful influence must be careful to insult nothing. Let him not be troubled by what seems absurd, but concentrate his energies to the creation of what is good. He must not demolish, but build. He must raise temples where mankind may come and partake of the purest pleasure.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832)


The stage is arranged as if it was a presidential debate, flowing silk curtains drop from the ceiling in billowy cascades as the green stage lights paint a theatrical illusion to the floating platform. Mounds of green tropical plants decorate the foreground as a single glass lectern rises from the center like alter in an ancient place of worship. Flanking the stage is two drive-in size projections screens which explode the event as if staring into a microscope. Massive association logos glowing on the screens suggest power and influence as the soft light washes over 800 eager spectators arranged neatly at circular linen covered tables festoon with glassware and plates. A din of frivolity echo in the expansive ballroom as the sounds of dinnerware mix with idle conversation, while every table is filling as waiters dressed in black tuxedos scurry about in a silent choreography of restrained movement. Many different languages can be heard in gentle whispers as the spectators have traveled from around the world to partake in this exchange of knowledge and celebration of achievement.

At a slightly larger table with a small reserved sign, I sit silently as individuals drift by smiling and offering kind gratitude of the opulence of the banquet. A black on black pin striped suit I acquired on a trip to Chicago has recently been tailored so that it fits perfectly over a crisp white cotton shirt and a stunning yellow and black patterned tie which adorns my emotionless expression. The executive director next to me leans over and whispers in my ear, “you should try to eat something, it always helps me.” Smiling I push a few chards of romaine lettuce around the plate in a concealed attempt to satisfy his concerns. I have lost an interest in cuisine lately as I nod at the dean of a prestigious Canadian university sitting across from me. Someone taps me on the shoulder and introduces a stunning slender young lady dressed in a simple ebony evening gown with long black glistening hair that gently arcs toward her cleavage as she leans over to explain the basis of her research into the physiological response of humans when viewing natural environments. Her eyes deeply search my face as if holds a secret she is seeking while her voice slightly stammers from nervousness as a river of appreciation flows for the association which has brought her from Chile to accept an award. My mind is wandering as I am distracted by the detachment I feel for the activity swirling around me, unable to focus on what she is saying and I stare into her soft appreciative face which calms my own butterflies. Standing to thank her she cradles my hand with both of her warm hands in a familiar caring touch which lingers longer than I would have expected. With a disarming beautiful smile she turns and disappears into the crowd. I search my mind for her name but have already forgotten it as I realize it is possible I might never meet this person again.

My shallow daydream is interrupted by a slight nervous tremor in my hand as I watch someone glide up the stairs of the podium to address the crowd. I’ve become tolerant of the physical toll this level of travel and stress imposed on the body. The sound of glass twinkling lessens as a spotlight appears over the lectern. A distinguished colleague with a Bostonian accent addresses the crowd with a style that demonstrates a long history of standing before large crowds. My mind wanders not really listening to the speaker as I search the crowd for a face, a particular face which could personally share in the upcoming moment of adulation, but I know I will not find that face staring back at me. My spirits sadden as I ask myself why do I push so hard, what is the personal purpose for spending an entire life on the road at the expense of just about everything. I begin to fall into a hole of despair having spent now 30 years of my life chasing this elusive concept without any feelings of advancement or significant achievement. A few words from the speaker catch my interest because he is now working outside the script, into the realm of improvisation. I am always fascinated with the ability to work on the high wire without a net, the realm of high danger, my realm of speaking off the cuff. “Our master of ceremonies is a five time award winner and has won so many awards at this banquet that we felt we could prevent that occurring again if we made him a judge and kept him onstage…..I think we succeeded.”

A smile breaks my stoic facade as I find the comment quite amusing. A creatively crafted bit of restrained Bostonian humor which fits the moment perfectly. It is a skill acquired over long periods of time to be able to work a large crowd so that they find you both engaging and personable. Before long I once again begin scanning the crowd for a familiar face only to discover the stunning lady with black hair is met a few minutes ago is staring at me from a few tables back. As I attempt to return a smile she disappears in an explosion of white light as a spotlight singles me out from the audience. The words of the speaker climb to a credenda as he concludes with “Please welcome a dear friend, a valued colleague, and our next chairman….Mr. Blue

As if I was turning on a switch, my mind is swept clear of any thoughts, only feeling I possess is a slight nervousness as I stroll through the tables toward the stage watching myself on the two huge flanking screens. The sight of yourself twenty feet tall in stereo could be intimidating to most, but I am fascinated with the muted color patterns as I approach the stage. Adding a slight bounce of energy in my gait, I jog up the steps to the lectern as the crowd continues its applause. Embarrassed by the reception I hold my hands up to silence the rolling thunder of clapping. All of a sudden there is a silent anticipation of the moment as I wait for what seems like a short eternity allowing it to build. At that precise moment I am completely alone and naked before a crowd of my peers, unable to hide in the shadows, unable to conceal the insecurities and flaws that I am composed of.

The origin of my nervousness is that most all of this ceremony is completely scripted in a binder that sits atop the podium. It contains over 60 pages of descriptions, names, companies, categories and explanations. My entire professional speaking career I have formed a general opinion of how I was going to deliver a speech and just ran with it, allowing a feel of the crowd and my rising emotions steer the content of the dialogue. Today is a steep departure from my typical routine; I will be expected to execute this event with precision, a precision that includes (insert joke here). This is a degree of structure I am unfamiliar with and it serves to destabilize my sense of confidence. After welcoming the crowd I joke “Anyone that knows me understands that I am an outline the lines type of person, and they have me heavily scripted today.” Holding up the binder to show the crowd I conclude with “we’ll just have to see how well this is going to go” as a polite laugh rolls across the hall.

The list of acknowledgements run on for ever as I have each individual stand when their name is called, the organizing committee, the host local committee, the board of trustees, the executive committee, the conference committee, the association staff, distinguished delegates from around the world and finally the awards committee judges. It is common practice in providing a keynote address to open with a joke, especially for a master of ceremony, so I explain the background of how I have been the force in pushing a number of controversial policies and agenda directions in the organization which has resulted in a split in some of the membership. It is my opinion that a professional organization is not breaking new ground if there is not a vigorous debate that brings members for from the sidelines; this is the edge where new ways replace old ways as the paradigm shifts. I continue, “Just for this conference I was informed that I get a special new name tag which indicates my new status in this organization.” Reaching from under the lectern I pull out a hunting target with a lanyard which I slowly place over my head allowing it to hang over my chest. The crowd roars in laughter as I model my new nametag. Squeezing as much out of the prop I continue “and for some unknown reason the staff tells me its works the best if I allow it to hang from my back, something about better visibility.” Turn the hunting target around so that it hangs off my back I turn facing away from the crowd exposing the target to all as cat calls fill the hall. The gag is a complete success as I use a divisive issue to create as sense of community.

As each award recipient steps onto the stage they are a mixed bag of raw emotion, running from fear, to elation, to confusion, to overwhelmed, but they all have a single trait that unifies the experience which an extreme humility that they are on stage with me. You can see the admiration in the eyes and feel it in the handshake. How have I acquired such a degree of influence? Will I fulfill the expectations which clear ride on my leadership? Can I build a legacy of vision that will translate into action and become an agent for change? Have I ascended too far above my rudimentary skills of public persuasion to be effective? I am filled with doubt and insecurity, not out of fear of failure, for I have failed to many times to count, but fearful of letting an entire industry down that has invested their faith in my ability. In order to manage their expectations I again joke with the crowd “I just wanted to thank our past chairman for raising the bar so high in this organization that it is impossible for me to clear it.”

By some odd stoke of fate I will become chairman of two separate North American organizations at the same time one with a two year term and the other a five year term. Two entire industries one under attack and seeking to reinvent themselves in order to evade becoming totally irrelevant and the other that is gaining relevance and credibility while growing 40% in the worst market in 80 years, have staked their future on my leadership. Most disturbing is that it comes at a time when emotionally I have achieved my greatest level of ambiance and distain for the ability of society to correct the damage occurring in the world. Society has reached the tipping point of environmental degradation that I’m not sure we can impact the impending cataclysm. As the Neil Young song goes “And there ain't nothin' like a friend who can tell you you're just pissin' in the wind.” Is it my role to tell the world that they are just pissing in the wind? I struggle deeply with the fact that my inspiration and motivation for continuing to invest in the world has been abruptly eliminated. I have built my world on a foundation of childish dreams and fallacies that could never be achieved and like the sand castle on the beach the rising tide of reality has swept it away leaving only indifference and detachment. The desire to check out of society and spend the remainder of my life in a self absorbed escape to some distant isolated beach where I can indulge in self gratification of contributing nothing but fulfilling a hedonistic exploration of myself, is real. Why not buy a boat and consume as large a carbon footprint as possible, is not this the reward of capitalism, is this not my personal reward in having won the game of financial security. Would anyone really care if I disappeared from their life, or is my value really defined by their continued financial security? I am at a terribly confused crossroad in which deciding on what path to take is quite meaningless.

What an ironic circumstance that at the point where I have finally acquired significant influence to effectuate change that is real, my motivation and will is almost not existent. I am highly disillusioned by the fundamentals of human behavior. Society as a general rule never seeks to achieve what is possible but rather settles for mediocrity and the most convenient solution. This extends to all phase of societal behavior, we settle in our relationships, we settle in working for some else instead of starting our own business, we settle for the soma of network television instead of volunteering for change, we settle for like status friends so we can spend the empty hours discussing other people’s lives. It was said that mediocre minds talk about people, enlightened minds talk about new events, and brilliant minds talk about ideas. What does that tell us about a society which is addicted to reality television and electronic social networking? I am most recently a fatalist that wishes to find comfort my childish dreams, but understands that seeking the possible is doomed for failure when the rest of the equation desires to settle for a false sense of security induced by our own disregard for the future. When individuals realize their mistake, this window of opportunity will have closed leaving us a future which much less fulfilling than we had dreamed. Am I to gain a sense of glee in reciting to everyone, see I told you so, I find that prospect very sad.

I have now been on stage for almost 90 minutes, my mistakes and flubs are probably more apparent in my mind than in the audiences. A couple of mispronunciations, a name or two skipped, a few extended pauses as I try to find my place in the text, a few forgetful moments to wait for the photographer to snap a picture of me with the award winner. Not bad for my first scripted banquet. The past chairman sneaks up to the podium to hand me a glass of water as my voice begin to get raspy. I have become comfortable in the spotlight and the experience has drained me of most of my emotional energy. I conclude with a small joke as the executive director get up to promote the next conference in Canada. In his polished familiar way he pumps the crowd into a second round of applause as I bow and exit the stage. I once again flip the switch in my mind and I turn off the amplified enthusiasm and passion as my minds drifts back to emotionless detachment. Scanning the crowd I again look for a face than will never appear as a touch of emptiness washes over me but the question remains, what will be accomplished with this new acquisition of influence?

Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men. Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for powers equal to your tasks. Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you shall be the miracle.”

Phillips Brooks (1835 - 1893)