over time, the black moon came to mean several things to me, but it started as being directly representative of an eclipse, and therefore for eclipsed thoughts: forms of creation which existed internally but never made it to the light of day. had blogging been around (read: common) back then (the mid-to-late 1980′s), i’d have been one of the most prolific bloggers on the planet, but even then, there still would have been creations that fell beneath the black moon. poems in particular had a peculiar tendency to creep up on me when i had no way to write them down, and songs seemed to always wait until i was either out of music paper or far away from any musical instrument.

but, at least those melodies would often stay in that mental playlist of mine, and would often be rendered sometime in the future, at least in some way. and especially after i enlisted in the Army, the most common way for a song to be written down was as a “poem”. these poems were actually mnemonic sequences, crafted for the sole purpose of capturing the song they actually represented. call me crazy, but the methodology works. i can still hear the song represented by the poem below (the title of which was an intentional double-entendre), despite a series of edits which, for me at least, lifted it from its role as mnemonic device and into something which might just stand on its own.

i’ll have to record the song itself someday. it is the melody that underlies the entire process of my departure from my unrevivable marriage.

this was written at a time when i still considered the possibility of reincarnation, multiple lifetimes, and all that other tomfoolery which is ultimately just as unprovable as religious dogma. for that, i must beg your indulgence.

within the realm of the black moon rising
~ October 2, 1989 in Lubbock, TX

called in and deeply hidden:
something more grand on this large scale
than wisdom;
and the changing patterns on the ceiling
mark the windfall
of the endless colors on the Wheel;
and for all that it seems,
something deeper hidden than the nightfall
is colored by the days it has failed to express.
so much, then ~
so futile ~ is the star-gazing wonder
of a few pale expressions of our doom.

so lying alone, i remain in wonder,
pondering for a while
the termination of the colder hand;
and gazing now beyond these wayward turmoils,
i symbolize the Law of Universal Doom.
it all shall end.
it shall.
and creaking like the back door of our memories,
slowly it opens,
and slowly, i begin to understand.
there is something more here than what is waiting ~
something more full of despair
and empty sadness;
and i search again the long streets of our wanderings,
and my memories fly the pathways
of so many lifetimes.
and so my question, unanswered still,
begs unasked upon my lips:
“when shall i be with you again?”

within the realm of the black moon rising
(and the planets all are melting),
i turn to see the stars,
and you are there again.
i lay my eyes upon thee, my love,
and thou art full of light.

or maybe that was just me.

fuck if i know.

my return to singlehood was finalized on February 11, 2010. Since this was an amicable endeavor on both our parts, and not a court-battle, we weren’t informed until the 16th (her) and 17th when we got notification in the mail.

after much thought and consideration, i decided to stay here in town. in fact, i made an offer on a condominium on Friday, which was accepted on Saturday. so, i’ll be in town for a while.

so how’s that for probably the most succinct update i’ve ever given?

and it is still a little strange
a strange little thing
stranger still than having nothing
but having nothing would be stranger

now the struggle begins, truly learning how to be on my own. i’m not good at this, i’ll admit.

but i’ll figure it out.

For more than a decade, I had resigned myself to those first dreams I’ve described. They had a certain appeal, after all, just not the type of appeal I’d have recognized as a younger man. I chalked up my resignation to those dreams as a function of my maturation. In the world into which I had committed myself in marriage, the example was to grow older with a calm, ever decreasing desire for risk. Life was destined to grow increasingly more stable, predictable, uneventful—that false sense of security that so many fall for in their later years. It was a conscious decision to look at life this way, or a series of conscious decisions. At the time I made them, security was something I felt I needed, and “knew” was something I “deserved.” I wanted to end my solace, or so I told myself. Convinced myself. For although I possessed them, used them, made them feel like my own, those dreams of a quiet egress from life were never truly the desire of my heart.

Over a decade ago, when I was but a handful of years into this marriage, I began to realize the internal inconsistency to which I had limited myself by taking those dreams into myself. I tried to ignore the realization, tried to stifle it in the presumed interest of my need to “mature.” That never really worked, but after several attempts I became so adept that the act of swallowing the uneasiness, and even the displeasure, began to pass virtually unnoticed.

Emphasis on “virtually.”

Years later, or just a few years ago (depending on how you wish to view it), I began having different dreams. A lot of flying dreams, if you wish to go totally Freudian on the subject, but also dreams which would leave my heart racing whenever I would wake, even when they couldn’t be remembered. I began seeing myself not old and quiet and resigned to my fate, but instead envisioned myself dismantling the walls of predictability with bloody fingers and screaming for the sheer joy of the effort. I visited places in my dreams I’d never seen before, met people whose origins were beyond my experience, and did things of which I’d never conceived, let alone conceived possible. One day, it struck me: I was dreaming like I had when I was young.

And the day I made that connection, I became wrapped in a melancholy which is only just now beginning to part and lift away like the deep, cold fog it had become.

Now, melancholy and I are old friends. We first got acquainted when I was in ministry school in Austin, Texas, and I realized that no amount of prayer, no amount of wishing, no amount of hoping, could save me from destroying myself if I was truly intent on doing so. God didn’t save me from myself; that’s one of the reasons why I left him back then. And what was left when I left Him was melancholy. There’s nothing like being woefully unprepared for life on your own (a topic for another day) and undertaking a course of actions that ultimately leave you entirely alone and bereft of any support, be it tangible or spiritual. At any rate, my relationship with melancholy grew from there over the years, until she and I ultimately became very familiar, for she has been a frequent and steady visitor over the years. I had never minded her visits before, but at the age of thirty-something, despite being comfortable with her, I suddenly found myself quite dissatisfied with her frequent appearances.

Ultimately, it was melancholy which drove me out of that situation. It took her a long time to convince me, even as dissatisfied as I was with her, because she’d only come by every once in a while, and the times between her visitations were happy enough. But each time she came, I hated her more, until I hated her so much that I couldn’t ignore the fact that I needed her out of my life. My dreams spoke of far better things than where I was at. They spoke of hope and passion that melancholy could never provide. And through it all, I realized that those old dreams of peacefulness and serenity were melancholy’s original footholds. It was the last time that melancholy came that I spoke to my wife about the changes that I needed. And she, being melancholy’s handmaiden, said no word against those changes, made no move to prevent or facilitate them.

So, I walked away.

And that’s the underlying story to that.

I seem to have this natural tendency to make things sound worse than they really are, and that bothers me, because it is a quality which I abhor, and only barely tolerate, in others. I am, actually, doing quite well, but because the bulk of my time is spent in isolation, I find myself reaching out to people with whom I’d normally share very little, and at a depth which I’ve never wanted to share before. And all because my life is in a state of turmoil, which after roughly forty years of varying degrees of change, upheaval, and unrest, one might presume I could handle with a bit more facility.

I mostly do so; I just have this tendency to start along a path, from which I often, and quickly, have to pull back.

In some ways, “until again” is an attempt to forestall that tendency. I write in the hopes that once having written whatever it is I’m feeling at any given moment, I won’t have this intrinsic, insipid need to have it come dribbling from my lips in what is fast becoming my typical, self-deprecating fashion. Because I hate it about myself. I am, like most people, the most intolerant of what I view to be my own shortcomings, after all.

“until again,” is also an allusion to how I sign my personal letters to those with whom I am close. It is a “dawnnism” for “until we meet again” which I’ve been using since I was in my early twenties. I dropped the “we meet” from it because the sentiment had nothing to do with whether or not we might meet again in physical spaces. And of all the catchy blog names I’ve come up with for myself and others over time, it ultimately seemed the most apropos. For indeed, I greet you, and will continue to welcome you here, until (we fail to meet in the physical world) again.

So, I’m going through a divorce, but that’s just the very beginning of what I do not doubt will be a long and involved journey of the rediscovery of myself, as well as the redefinition of myself as an individual, a friend, and a father. For I am many things besides a pending divorcee, but all those things are changing along with me, and the person whom I was, and whom at least a few people across time have loved and admired, will never be again.