Bridge Of Sighs

I cannot imagine what world it is that she finds herself now—that place which is somehow beyond stroke. I know only that the therapists tell us if she is to return, we must somehow find ways around the damage. They, for example, suggest that the parts of brain that deal with music and emotion are unaffected and urge us to work with her accordingly.

So, every day, we have a session of, well, call it nursing home Karaoke. My father brings his recently purchased boom box and we play her everything from bluegrass to Vivaldi. I sit or sometimes kneel beside her bed and sing along, half aloud and half in whispers, songs of her youth or which she simply liked…Amazing Grace, Scarborough Fair, Frère Jacques, Silent Night, And Bingo Was His Name-O…

And thus we call her back, or try to, from that other place…with memory and mumbles, songs and snatches…across a gossamer bridge of hope.

Hope…unwarranted. Incandescent. Indestructible.

INFJ counselor

I hadn't given much attention to the "Myers-Briggs Type Indicator" tests until I took one and discovered that I am (supposedly) an "INFJ counselor." I am not quite sure what that is supposed to mean. However, I confess that on reading descriptions of the "type" I felt much that resonated with me, and rather powerfully at that.

My problem is that I am by nature a wary beast. I distrust ideas that are complete unto themselves, and so are easily digested, for fear they might be poison.

And so I wonder if the real underlying principle is not that we come in predefined types, and know so from our innate resonations, but rather that the human brain is built to find things with which to powerfully resound.

at the Shooting Star

So, once again I'm at the Shooting Star Café in Albuquerque, NM. Once again, the sky is a featureless gray. Once again, I'm just a wee bit exhausted. The only difference from yesterday is that today I'm here shortly after the local high school, Eldorado, has released its classes. I'm now surrounded by a great many teenagers who chatter and flirt, and regard me with an expression that says clearer than words that they suspect me of being an escapee from the nursing home at which I just spent several hours.

Not that I blame them. If I look a thing like I feel right now, the wonder is that someone hasn't tried to bury me.

On leaving Cambridge College

Just finished teaching what will probably be my last ever class at Cambridge College. I was surprised (and yet not surprised) by how sad that made me feel. To leave the building and know that I would probably never be in the place again was, well, rather a melancholy thing.

It is a good school and I've met good people there. I will miss them.

Still, there will be other classes. I will teach in other places. Or, so, at least, I trust.

I apologize to you and the universe… And to you FOR the universe.

As you know, I've been sorting through all my worldly goods in preparation for my move to New Mexico. This means going over a great number old papers, which, in turn, means reviewing many memories—not all of them pleasant. They include encounters with people who, for whatever reason, caused me genuine injury.

And I found myself doing what we all do in such situation, i.e., reviewing my wounds and taking that strange satisfaction which comes from considering exactly what extractible b*stards one's enemies truly are.

But that's a dangerous thing because, eventually, it leads you to consider what evils you, yourself, might have done and those people you, yourself, might have done them to.

It's unsettling to remember such individuals—people I've offended, by design or (worse) by accident…people I've yelled at in moments of depression or ill-temper…people I've failed…people to whom I've been rude…

So, on reflection, I've decided to apologize to them all…everyone I've ever offended for whatever reason. And since I've no idea who you are, you who read this, maybe that includes you. Maybe I've hurt you somehow, knowingly or not-knowingly, in ignorance or bliss.

Ergo, to everyone, whether I know you or not, please accept my apology for whatever I have done. It is heart-felt. I truly regret my transgressions.

But saying that has led me to another observation. To wit, we are all of us subject to insult and injury, to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and such is the nature of the cosmos that it does not feel concern for its offenses. Rather, it careens along, in its vast and chill indifference, leaving our mangled bodies in its wake.

Therefore, I decided to cover that one, too.

You will never receive an apology from the universe. Therefore, please accept one from me in its stead.

For all its sins, I'm heartily sorry.


Michael Jay Tucker
12/02/2011