Dearest Mary Angel

Often I sit at my desk trying to find motivation. And in those times, almost exclusively, I wonder how I got here; I can trace the events, but I can't see either rhyme or reason for having arrived in this chair, in front of this computer, doing what I do. I know there is purpose. I just can't seem to make it speak in a language I understand. God never creates anything without purpose, so I know I have mine. But what is it? I'd ask Him, but He and I have not been on speaking terms for some time now.

I unlock my door, turn on the computer, and go about the business of unloading my tote: three quarts of water on the shelf to my left, a bag containing either a sandwich comprised of crunchy brown bread and turkey or peanut butter, a tangerine or apple, a few CDs, a tin of Altoids. I'll then stare at the orders in front of me, stare into the monitor, and wonder just when I'll begin. A CD goes into the drive. It doesn't help. Maybe I'll feel better later, I tell myself. Maybe I just need time to noodle over what I hope will be an otherwise good day; I have more of them than you might think.

Sometimes I think it's the music-- songs to stir the savage soul, or just as likely to weight it down; keep it from flying. Fly like an eagle? a great sentiment, but a depressing song. In a world full of people only some want to fly... isn't that crazy? Seal sees it. I live it. I want to fly, but will my wings support me? Fear and I have been wrestling for more than forty-five years. I worry that I, like Icarus, will dare the sun and fall to ruin.

But these are secret thoughts. I do not share them because there's no one with whom to share. There is someone I can talk to but she is a difficult woman to share a moment with; if she were a dancer her feet would bleed. She works too hard, but when I have her in front of me she listens. She doesn't push me away. Again, when I have her with me, she doesn't push me away. We don't hold hands, we don't kiss, we don't speak of a mutual love we share. As much as I would love to be loved by her, I would rather learn to be her friend. But the baser me wants what it wants. I fight these thoughts and feelings every day; I lose as often as I win and I wonder what God must think of me.

I was thinking recently, with the turn of another year, on the desert loneliness that is the sound of most Jackson Browne songs, and the freedom he enjoys in singing as though he were speaking; absent the short-lined verses of metaphor and innuendo that populate most lyrics these days, his straight language and ideas are often a welcome breath of fresh air. So I began to write, hearing Jackson Browne sing my song, his voice to my lyrics and melody.


Afire For You

I- I've been alone long, and a dreamer
For most of my life
Though I desire soft clean linens I'll still
Sleep in the desert tonight
Another night of tossing and turning
Another night of sleeping alone
And when the morning light comes to find me
Through every hour spent trying to atone
I'm still very much alone

II- Chasing sleep down long corridors
Seems that's all I ever do
All I'm ever left with come daybreak
Are my fitful dreams of you
Another night beneath the cold desert sky
Another night of sleeping alone
Every morning that comes only serving to remind me
Despite every hour spent trying to atone
I'm still very much alone

O, And how I've wandered
How I've carried this torch for you
Never looked in your eyes, never made to ponder
How my love for you strengthened and grew
Though I be cut to the bone
And suffer to atone
I'm always very much alone

III- When I close my eyes and dream of you
While sleeping deeply through the night
The stars wheeling 'cross a glittering sky
Making love til the morning light
How do you leave the bed you've made with love
Shoulder your pack and continue to roam?
'Cause I've spent my life, all my sins to atone
Yet I'm still very much alone

O, And how I've wandered
How I've carried this torch for you
Never looked in your eyes, never kissed your soft smile
Yet my love for you strengthened and grew
Though I be cut to the bone
Giving my whole life to atone
I'll still be very much alone

. . .

If there's an angel set to observe me
Dogging my e-ver-y step
Could he have not seen fit
To lead me out of the desert
And into your loving arms?
O, Into your loving arms
With my heart on fire for you
My heart afire for you


ELAshley
Part I - 010210.11>.6
Part II - 010410.11>.6
Part III - 010810.11>.6
Revisions:
011210.111002.6


I know this was written for someone specific, though I do not yet know her name with any degree of certainty. Whoever she is, I hope she allows me freedom enough to be as open and prolific with my most inner self as each moment demands. Someone for whom a kiss speaks more than any number of letters I've written you can express in terms of unconditional love and devotion. Which reminds me of something I wrote to you last November-- speaking of kisses and moments:

"A kiss is two pair of lips embracing the soul of one fleeting moment."

Sometimes I surprise myself with the thought-life I've been gifted with-- the level of profundity of which I am capable. Sometimes I surprise even myself.


Thanks for listening dear Mary Angel. I will now try to get some work done.

All my love,


Eric

Revisiting My First Letter, and First Post

July 16, 1997


Dear Mary Angel,

I wonder if you think of me. I think of you almost every day, and I 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 know you better, because I would love to talk with you. 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 wonder if you think fondly of me. I was very weak then; unsure of myself and looking to others for my identity (hell! 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 sang so aptly, "...still running against the wind."

Well. 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. I was so shy of girls (and still am), and you chased me so very hard. I sometimes wonder if you were my one chance to find happiness. But that's silly. It's my own fault 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 a decline and there's no room for advancement. The atmosphere of the place is beginning to smell the way St. Andrews bay would sometimes smell... seaweed drying in the sun and fiddler crabs scurrying about brandishing their one large pincer almost as if they were too poor to afford a matching pair. Well, I know how he feels, and I am miserable.

I've given my resume to a local company that I hope to be hired on with. It's a company called HealthQuest. 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 am I supposed 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 shift tomorrow in the kitchen, beginning at 8am.

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

All my love,


Eric

This was my very first letter to you Mary. I had just bought my first computer and quickly set about copying everything I had ever written onto the 1-gig hard drive-- realize, this was 1996. When I ran out of material, and miserable at my job, for some reason I'll never be able to understand I decided to write you a letter.

Looking over this thirteen year old letter I quickly notice how "fledgling" my thoughts appear-- I am a much better writer today. I also notice how perfunctory it all sounds... like I'm merely going through the motion of writing. Anything to download my daily stress so I can get some sleep. I can't say whether or not it worked.

What I do know is this... when I looked back at the string of decisions that had led me to where I then was, you seemed to me, or rather your memory seemed to be a brightly lit fulcrum upon which my life shifted from one direction to the another-- my decision to leave the car when you demanded I stay... a party was more important than you.

This, I realized, was the crux of my misery. I wanted a chance to go back and do it all over again-- and who hasn't wanted that at some time in their life? I wanted a chance to stay in the car, to quit Iota Gamma, to stop drinking and smoking pot, to stop relying on those miscreants for personal identity and my sense of self-worth. I wanted a chance to graduate and settle into a career, a wife, children. Instead, I found myself fifteen years older, and like Herman Hesse's Siddhartha... restlessly searching for my own truth. My own inner peace. I only hoped that I would not be, like Siddhartha, an old gray and bent man when I found it.

I don't know when my letters to you became compulsion. I don't know when I fell in love with you again-- the young woman I remembered, and knew would never meet again. I don't know when my memory of you became an ideal by which I judged all other women. I only knew that I needed a confidante, and knew you would keep my deepest, darkest secrets. So I poured my heart out to you, knowing I was safe.

Four years later the journals ended, and rather abruptly. I know why, but I'll not tell here. I've never forgotten you, and though the journals ended, I've never stopped writing you... I've just stopped writing daily. The journals served their purpose, I was freed of a lot of baggage, but only to discover there was more circling the baggage claim. Everyone I've ever met waits there-- they wait for their own seemingly endless train of luggage.

I started this blog more than a year ago. I had wanted to start this blog for as long as five years now. Part of me thought that if you ever read them, I would be free of you (though secretly I've never wished to be free). Part of me thought it both silly and emotionally dangerous to post so much of myself online for anyone to read and exploit. So when I began this blog I did it knowing you would never read these letters. I felt safe. I didn't RSS, I didn't advertise, I kept it strictly private. But I did make it available for Google searches.

That might not have been the wisest decision I've ever made.

I never liked the look of it. The design was unmanageable, and because of such I was an infrequent guest at my own blog. I wrote you sparingly here, but less sparingly elsewhere.

For the longest time (ten years at least) I have felt I lost my muse. But I know this is not true. My muse has never left. I have just shut her out. This is something I cannot continue. If I am to be free, she must be free.

And so I will continue to write to her. Posting old and new, with a renewed sense of purpose. Not to wallow in self pity, but to glory in a love I once had... and still cherish today. Each addressed to you in chaste and honest love.


Till next time,

All my love

E

Dear Mary Angel

I've finally managed to redecorate this place. I'd have done so months ago, had I the time. But then, I've always had the time... just not the inclination. Gone is the previous occupants design. I Finally found the right inspiration, and the right imagery. I threw out that garish sofa... too much red! And in the end I even managed to keep intact the mystery that is you.

God be with you.

I'll write again soon,

All my love


E

Dearest Mary Angel,

I just posted at another blog, and in fairness to you, I'm reposting here as well...

Where E Is...

...is where I now am. I can't think of anything better to label it than 'midlife crisis'. There is an anxiousness, a depression, a cacophony of emotions and angst that I can't shake... an emotional malaise that threatens to sweep everything away, pushing inland like a psychic tsunami. I can't believe how depressed I am right now... I just want to cry...

But what would that solve? It wouldn't make me feel any better... the pain would still be there. I would still be tired. I would still be lonely. I would still be unfulfilled...

I would still be unfulfilled


As is my wont I am listening to a song, over and over and over and over again.

Andrew Gold, 1978...

Passing Thing

Slowly sailing leaves
The children of the trees
Evicted by the wind
And can't return again

Young girl by a stream
Has lost her younger dreams
Her childhood will end
And won't return again

'Cause it's only a passing thing
It's only what time will bring
Though we are together thrown
We're all alone
We can't go home

And you only have a heart
To see that only love guide you

I am just a man
Following my heart
Following a flame
That never stays the same

                    ...

'Cause it's only a passing thing
It's only what time will bring
Though we are together thrown
We're all alone
We can't go home

And you only have a heart
To see that only love can guide you

Okay. I will write some now... off the top of my heart. It won't be as good as Andrew, but maybe it will be good enough...

Who Loved Me (And Let Me Go)

Oh how I miss you
How I miss your loving arms
How I miss the thought of you
The very sight of you
Who loved me long ago

Oh how I cherish you
How I cherish the memory of soft skin
Cherish the very thought of you
The very warmth of you
Who loved me then let me go

When all of this is done
When the world is gone away
Our world beneath a dying sun
My heart and soul written in the stars
Forever of you will say
How you broke my heart
Tore my soul apart
Left me to wander
A stone skipping cross
The blacknesses of time

                    ...

Oh how I desire you
Desire your long forgotten kiss
How I desire the memory of you
The very picture of you
Who loved me but let me go

When all of this is done
When the world is gone away
Our world beneath a dying sun
My heart and soul written in the stars
Forever of you will say
How you broke my heart
Tore my soul apart
And left me to wander
A stone skipping cross
The blacknesses of time

Oh how I weep for you
For all of time mourn you
Desire you
Miss you
Cherish you
Sweet Mary Angel
Oh how I love you

ELAshley
111709.064430.6
No matter how bad it is, I will not revise it. Ever

Who is she you ask?

She is the ideal. The kind of woman I will never see or meet again. She is the very image I look for in every woman I meet... and have always been left disappointed.

But it's only a passing thing, right? this 'midlife crisis' of mine?

Tell that to my heart.

Dearest, Most Loving Mary Angel,

How I miss you. How I miss your genuine love and caring. How I wish I were with you today. Not the you of today, I need that young woman I knew twenty-seven years ago. Or barring that, I wish there was someone in my life today who was as accepting of me as you were. Someone who held me accountable in love and understanding.

Welcome to my very own mid-life crisis Mary Angel. Never married. No children. No friends. Too afraid to step out from where I am to where I want to be.

God help me, Mary Angel.

All my love,


E

Dearest Mary Angel,

I wrote something the other evening. I was up late doing it too. It's interesting to me that I have written more in the last couple of months than I've written in the last year. Last years New Year's eve poem was a departure from war and conflict, concentrating for the first time on my own personal war with loneliness.

And that's where I am. And yet, where I am now, I've found new inspiration. This I believe is why so much writing of late. This someone truly inspires me. And even though I know she's not interested in me as I am in her I'm not bothered by it, which is refreshing.

So I found myself writing introspectively of the past, the present, and future. She's the fulcrum upon which this poem is balanced but she is not the object. If there is an object, she is yet unknown to me.

So I started out with a phrase... 'something really bad'. I thought at the beginning it would be a bad composition, because I wasn't in the mood to write. But the more I opened up to what was churning in my heart I realized I had to find a way to incorporate the line into the body, rather than personify the it in the whole.



"Something Really Bad"

Moving through the eastern sun
I saw you first upwind of tomorrow
Hands caressing the long tall grasses
Heart swung knells of bells you rung
For all tomorrow's sorrow
And here I am wanting, wishing too
For early morning and morning dew
Wanting and wishing only for you

I caught you in the noonward tides
Sun above, beginning to fall
Embraced you in these arms of summer
Raim'd in love and light besides
And dreams we swore, nor did forestall
Now here I am wanting, and wishing too
I'd caught you in the morning
   ~Made love upon the dewy dew
No more wishing, but wanting of you

The pipers in the trees
Orchestrating accompaniments
To the rhythm of our cries
Perfect echo to our sighs
Safe in long tall grasses
Away from all their prying eyes
Something really bad could happen
Were it not for our many allies

Sun falls swiftly in the sky
Shadows threshing our lover's bed
Our dewy bower in sepias warm
Where long tall grasses yet lie
Where love, life and promise wed
Yet here we still are wanting, wishing too
We could see again the morning
   ~Make love upon the early dew
Ever wanting and wishing for you
   ~You for me
Ever wanting and wishing for you and
You for me
Ever wanting and wishing forever for you
And you for me
Wishing again to be

Pipers in the trees
Orchestrating accompaniments
To the rhythm of our sighs
Perfect echo to our cries
Safe in the tall grasses
Away from all of their prying eyes
Something untoward might very well happen
Were it not for all our many allies
Here in the tall tall grass
Ever wanting or wishing for you, and
You for me
Ever wanting and wishing for you, and
You for me
Ever wanting and wishing forever for you
And you for me
Wishing again that we might be
Again


ELAshley
110309.111456.6
Revisions:
110309.104203.6
110409.031117.6





I'd like to think there was a melody in my head while I wrote, but rarely is this the case. And I know it's not a particularly inspiring title, but for now it is what it is. Perhaps I'll change it... but not today.

I listened to David Gray's Babylon (Live) throughout this effort...

If you want it
Come and get it...
Let go your heart
Let go your head
And feel it now

What I want I cannot have, and that dearest Mary Angel has been the story of my life. But I'm not complaining. I am somewhat content where I am, with but a vague internal impression of lurking wantonness. I guess you could say I'm experiencing my very own mid-life crisis. No Harleys or Corvettes... Just lots of introspection, and a very deep and powerful desire to belong to someone.

This someone I mentioned prompted an exchange where 'the Kiss' was pondered and mulled. I quoted one of my characters in the book I'm writing, who said of Romance,

"Romance is a blanket woven from deep affection, and a desire to fulfill another's desire. Perfection in romance is when both share the work of weaving."

--Angelina Marni
From The Gardens of Loveplay

I sent her one of my poems, One Kiss, then reflected upon just what a kiss was. This is what I came up with,

"A kiss is two pair of lips embracing the soul of one fleeting moment."

This too did I share with her. I guess you could say I am flirting with her, but I also know she's not particularly interested in me, in that respect. But then... my ability to read women hasn't changed since I unconsciously ran from your overtures all those many years ago.

And I'm listening still to David Gray's Babylon

Friday night I'm going nowhere
All the lights are changing green to red...

So I'm doing what I can to reverse that... all the lights changing red to green... looking for that woman who will put a ring on my finger.


Until then, I am ever yours, sweet Mary Angel


E

Dear Mary Angel,

I told Cristal about my lunch buddy last night. She wasn't angry-- probably because of how I presented LeNee, but she was jealous, as I knew she would be. You see, Cristal does love me, but she'll never marry me. She won't marry anyone-- she is the daughter her father raised. And while I can choose to lament the fact that twenty years have been wasted hoping for Cristal to see I am not her father, I am choosing instead to approach women who will accept me at face value... who will have lunch with me and share conversation without the baggage of 'dating.' Because I am NOT dating LeNee`. I made that clear at the outset when I asked her to lunch a couple of weeks ago.

I was nervous when I asked... BIG time, and I babbled a bit. I knew in my heart that I am very, VERY attracted to her, but I insisted I was not asking to date her... just lunch... for now, though I didn't actually say that. I'll know in time if she's even interested in dating. But for now, I don't have any friends to speak of, and I'm very interested in learning how to be a friend, and LeNee is just right for me in that respect. She's even interested in being my movie buddy. How cool is that? Too cool.

More to follow, I'm sure, but for now please take care. I hope all is well with you and yours.

Till next time, all my love,

Eric

Dearest Mary Angel,

It is hard not to think about her. It is hard to imagine I will soon be free to pursue anyone I wish. But knowing this make bitterness spread throughout my heart. I wish I had not run from you. I wish I had listened to you. I would not now be where I am. Perhaps I would be happier.

But I am where I am, and I have to make the best of what I have in the here and now. Whatever I do tomorrow it will be built upon what I've done and built for myself today. This has been a very hard lesson to learn, but I am better for it.

If I had time, I'd tell you more of what's happening here but... just know that I'm thinking about you.

Love

Eric

Dearest Mary Angel,

I've met someone new here in my self-imposed exile*. Someone with whom I never expected to have so much in common.

I met her in the course of my work; initially at the luncheon given in honor of a departing coworker. This new someone sat beside me and engaged me in conversation. And you know me, had she not I would've avoided any conversation at all. But she drew me out, asked me questions, and shared a dessert with me. She made me feel really good sitting beside her.

Since that day we have been together on a couple of shoots and I've had opportunity to talk with her more, and she has remained throughout just as delightful as that first lunch. I say first, because last week I approached her and confided that I was intrigued by her and that I would genuinely love to get to know her. Strictly as friends, I was quick to add, since I am not in a position to romantically chase anyone. On top of which, my confidence level is through the floor... but then it must not be too low since I had enough confidence to ask.

Lenee and I had lunch just the other day** at a buffet line. I'm slowly immersing myself into a new way of eating, so I ate light-- almost nothing compared to before, but just right considering what I'm working to achieve. For me, it was awkward conversation at first. I had been worried in the days between my invitation and that moment about sexual harassment. People have been fired at work for inquiring 'favors' or women, among other things-- just about anything can be construed as sexual harassment these days. I was worried more about what I said than any intent behind what I said, because I was not asking to date her. I thought perhaps I had come across to her as somewhat 'stalker-ish' since another thing I told her when asking to get to know her was, and I paraphrase, 'I can't get you out of my head.' So first thing I did was assure her that I was not trying to do anything other than acquire a new friend. And this, for now, is the absolute truth.

She assured me I had worried for nothing, and was happy to strike up a friendship, since she too was somewhat of a loner. After that my nervousness eased and I began to relax and enjoy once more the same kind of great conversation I had enjoyed since I first sat down beside her some three weeks before.

I discovered she's much like me. I explained my situation with Cristal, she explained a little about her ex. I spoke about how my past has informed the man I am today, and why I am the way I am in some respects. We spoke of hobbies, books, movies; you know, safe stuff. We like the same kind of movies, dislike the same kind of movies, and she even asked if I'd like to be her new movie-buddy since she had just lost her last one. Why would I not agree?

Before too long, and before I realized, it was time to leave-- her to clients and appointments, and I back to the virtual world of computer graphics. I genuinely enjoyed myself.

Later that afternoon she appeared in creative services where I and my two compatriots were talking. She walked in... and leaned against me. I didn't even feel awkward. It felt natural, and it was welcomed contact. After she got what she needed and left my partners were amazed that she just leaned up against me. 'You had lunch with her, didn't you!' one said. They, like you dearest Mary Angel, know how reserved I am. They were surprised that I had taken the monumental step of asking someone out.. something I haven't done in more than twenty years.

I look forward to further shoots, and further lunches with Lenee. I feel very comfortable around her, and I do want very much to get to know her. As I said, romance is not in the offing, and may never be... and I'm fine with that, because what I really want is a friend.

Does this mean I've matured?


Till next time, thank-you for listening.

With all my love,

Eric

---

* I know I've used this line before, but in truth this 'exile' has become home, whether I intended it or not.

** Because I wish to remember the day, it was October 1st.

Dearest Mary Angel

I have discovered that I am enamored of a deliciously sweet coworker. I think about her almost constantly, but I wouldn't go so far as to call my daily string of "flights of fancy" an obsession. I am intrigued by her, not lustful (though I can see the seeds of such awaiting desire's precipitation). And I think she knows.

I think she realizes I have trouble averting my eyes when she is in the room. She knows I've noticed the way she sways when walking... I playfully scolded her for complaining about her "chubby" hips, which are, in reality, non-existent; I told her she had the kind of swish in her walk that made any notice of the size of her hips irrelevant. And truthfully, I can't see anything wrong with her hips. Nothing. And the way she walks is enough to bring eyesight to the blind.

Sorry to burden you with this, but I thought you might understand. And i know you do. Thank you.

All my love,

E

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

-----

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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