In The Surf... The Edge of the Ocean

For what it's worth I am not who I was when I wrote the following letter. Technically speaking, I am not who I was 24 hours ago, but that's not a point I wish to argue right now. Suffice it to say, I am still learning to be who I am... still running to shed who I was.

I came home from work this evening later than usual. I carried the dog out, fired up the iPod, and there it was... the edge of the ocean...

There's a place I dream about
Where the sun never goes out
And the sky is deep and blue
Won't you take me there with you?

Ooo, we can begin again
Shed our skin, let the sun shine in
At the edge of the ocean
We can start over again

--Ivy

For some reason I cannot now fathom, I thought this bit of verse important to share with Mary Angel. I remember I began to, but was distracted by Paula, an old friend of my sister. She had been emailing me, and I was all too willing to chat at the time because "things" here were... empty [and that's as far as I'll go here, right now]. I was willing to chat with just about anyone, but in fairness to Paula I was very pleased with the time she gave me, and the chance to talk to someone from whom I had nothing really to hide.

It was the verse, 'shed our skin, let the sunshine in' that had taken seed in my mind. It seems that's all I've ever wanted since high school, since Gulf Coast Community College and one of the worst mistakes I've ever made. A chance to shed who I was.

But then I wouldn't have met her-- Mary Angel.

As usual, when something goes to seed in my mind, I began writing. I was torn between where I was and where I wanted to be... Who I was... who I wanted to be. I felt that with Mary on more than one occasion, struggling with where I wanted to be; which was with her, and where I continually found myself, with people who cared nothing for who I was.

Unlike her. Mary Angel cared. And there I was decades later chatting up Paula and feeling the same way... stuck between where I was and where I wanted to be. Which is where "In the Surf" came from.

May 5, 2002

Dearest Mary Angel,

I wrote a bit of verse today. Something I thought you might appreciate. Something that speaks volumes to the indecisions I have clearly committed fornication with over the last decade and a half, if not outright adultery-- I have been unfaithful to my own dreams...

"In The Surf"

I came to the shore
And stood in the surf
Felt the ebb and flow of life
The push and pull of sand
      Beneath my feet
And the sand on which I stood slipped away
The rug pulled out from under me
And sinking deeper with each rush and retreat

I stood unmoving at the edge of the sea

And I wondered about you
      about us
And realized
To stand at the edge of the sea
Is to be caught in its ceaseless turmoil
To sink slowly into obscurity
Neither here nor there
Neither in your arms, nor out
Get in or get out, is what it whispers to me
But do not stand in the surf,
For nothing lives here where
Shells are tumbled and ground to sand...

Get in or get out
For no Love can abide long
Where hearts are tumbled and ground to sand


ELAshley
050402.110310.6

A dilemma, for me, if ever there was one. Where does life and love begin? On the beach? in the Ocean? I only ask because nothing begins in the surf but oblivion. And I'm tired of living in oblivion.

Sleep well my love,

      Eric

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Music for me, dredges up memories like the surf dredges sands from about and beneath your feet. With each sweep of tide, in or out to sea, I sink deeper. My perspective sinks deeper. I become myopic-- unable to see the horizon. So it becomes, for me, an exercise in focus. Focus on what I can affect, and cast aside like so much driftwood those things I cannot.

Question is, can I cast you aside?

Where I am this moment, there is no answer for me.

Dear Mary Angel,

I never would have thought some twenty-five years ago that I would be where I am now. But this is not a unique observation to make; many I'm sure can and do say the same. Here I am in my office. MY office... a long way from that first letter I wrote you more than eleven years ago. My office. I'm sitting here, done with what was on my plate, and spending the last remaining moments tweaking this blog.

Twenty-five years ago I worked a few short weeks at Wendy's, the job you got for me. There I was doing every crap job some assistant manager gleefully threw my way-- the one who himself had a crush on you --and doing it because I wanted to be someone you wanted to be with. Not because I enjoyed the job. Washing dishes and breading chicken breasts? I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life accept make you smile... and get drunk... and get high. I was a mess but you saw something in me worth rescuing. Or did you? --I looked in the mirror then and saw a face that was not unattractive. I still see such a face, though somewhat careworn; the years have been kind to me in some respect, but I wonder what it was you saw.

I was miserable just a short eleven years ago. I hated where I was and who I had become. I'm still not entirely happy about who I am but I've come to terms with a number of things, not the least of which is where I now find myself.

It took ten years to get from master control operator to creative services. The pay is not fantastic, but it's not far from where I was when the lights went out at the restaurant. I have a lot of things, but what I want the most still eludes me. When I could really have found a lasting love, I ran from it. Now I find myself wanting such a love, but it might as well be the end of the rainbow for its elusiveness. What I wouldn't give for another Mary Angel to enter my life! I would not run away. I swear.

Now I build online advertising and web pages for a local television station. Soon I'll be out taping and editing commercials. From there, there are any number of opportunities the kind of skills I'll have will open for me. And while that should be enough to make anyone happy... none of this changes where I currently find myself.

Still single.

I want someone like you. I don't think that's too much to ask. Someone vibrant and filled with light. Someone I can share my heart with.... someone with whom I can share my poetry; that's the big test for me.


Well, enough for now.

Take care, and my you have a blessed and happy new year.


With all my love,

Eric

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Dear Mary Angel,

I have written hundreds of letters to you. For some five years I wrote, then stopped. I know why I stopped then, but I can't honestly say why I am starting once more.

This first letter was, at the beginning, nothing more than an experiment, to see how long I could sustain an effort; I wanted a diary, but I didn't want to address my letters to a flat and unfeeling book. The only one I could think to address my letters was you-- you were first in my mind then, not so much now though still a cherished memory.

Dear Mary Angel,

I wonder if you think of me. I think of you almost every day and remember you with great fondness. Of course we both know why, and because of it I remember you still. I wish I had taken the time to get to know you better, because I would love to talk with you now. You were such a good listener...but you're probably not the same girl I knew. In fact, I know you're not. I'm not even the same person I was, and what you found attractive in me then you probably wouldn't think so attractive now. People change. I have, and will again. I wish I had not lost touch with you.

I wonder if you think fondly of me. I was very weak then, unsure of myself and looking to others for my identity [Funny thing is, they didn't even know who THEY were!], and in a lot of ways I'm still unsure of who I am except to say that I am Eric Lee Ashley and, as Bob Seger so aptly sang, "...still running against the wind."

Let me tell you about myself. I'm thirty-six and eleven months old. I've never married. In fact I've never come close-- I'm still running. Remember how you chased me? And I just ran and ran. A part of me still smiles to think of it, another part curses sulphurously. I was so shy of girls [Still am, though now they are women], and you chased me so very hard. I sometimes wonder if that was my one chance to find happiness. But that's silly! It's my own fault that I'm not happy.

I hate my job. I'm a manager at a restaurant that has long since seen it's day in the sun. The company itself is in decline and there's no room for advancement. The atmosphere of the place is beginning to smell the way St. Andrews bay sometimes did, seaweed drying in the sun and fiddler crabs scurrying about their one giant pincers brandished high in warning... "we may be poor, but watch out!" And I am miserable.

I've given my resume to a local company that I hope to be hired on with. The corporate office is located very close to where I live. Minerals and herbs are the company's business and I've acquired an interest in such things over the last few years. I just love the way I feel when I "take my vitamins" on a regular basis; almost as though I can do anything.

I know the owner of the company through a mutual friend and the owner suggested I submit a resume because he could "...make me rich." The offer was very tempting especially in light of the fact that I'm very unhappy with the direction my current career is taking me. It was two days ago that I took him my resume, but I've heard nothing yet. I'm almost willing to take a pay cut initially if it will lead to advancement and pay increases in the future, but when someone says, "I'll make you rich...," what is one to think? "Rich" is a hell of a lot more than what I am right now.

Well, It's late. 10:45, and way past my bedtime, seeing as how I have a twelve hour kitchen shift tomorrow beginning at 8am.

Think on me and I'll think on you...

All my love,

Eric

A simple enough beginning, and much more to come.

Till next time, and with love,


Eric

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