Words to an invisible friend . . . printed here because I realized after sending the message this morning how very few times in my life I have asked people to stay.
I got your messages this morning, and then I cried.
Your words sounded too much like a goodbye.
I have no magic …Stay
A man who is no longer young.
His shoulder-length hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
He is bearded and attractive in that scruffy way that just is here in Oregon.
He is lit from within with . . . something.
Enthusiasm? Intelligence? Creativity? Happiness?
He catches my attention.
He is perhaps 35.
…Put out the fire
When I was 9 years old, there was some sort of open-house at my elementary school.
I don’t remember all of the details.
I just remember my part in the evening.
Our class put on several short skits for the parents. I was the little boy who cried wolf.
There were seven of us …Offstage
I sat down to write today. I sat down to write about a sensation that occasionally floods my being with a reality other than the one before me. This sensation is ephemeral and fleeting. I reach for what it is . . . and it is gone.
A memory? A dream? An imagined something?
A long time ago, in a psychology class, I remember learning about a therapeutic technique called “mirroring.” If I remember correctly, the goal of mirroring is to listen carefully, pull the moist salient bits of information from a speaker’s words, and then “reflect them back” at the speaker. This reflection or mirroring is supposed …Eyeseeme