Open Letter! (Hidden Message)

Ever have one of those days when you just want to stop the world, get off, and walk to your friends house and play for a while?? Only to look around and find out you’re not in Kansas any more? And where the hell is Toto? He was just here five minutes ago. You’re sure because you can still smell the poop on your shoes. Oops, that ain’t Toto!! 

If you’ll entertain the thought of hanging on with me for a short trip, I give my word that this essay won’t slip into something to sappy, overly poetic, or flowery. It may however, run the risk of chasing down the rabbit hole of occasional weirdness.

We’ve established we’re not in Kansas any more. So.. The question begs, where the *%@$ are we?? Well, you are there, and I am here. Clear enough!?!? Not for me. Somewhere along the way we have come to the place in our society where we have replaced good-old-in-your-face conversations with the dreaded inter-face-IM-email. The phone still works, but that’s become to personal. This means that one cannot just go and see that friend, look into their eyes, feel that warmth, or touch one who may need the softness of a human hand. Everyone needs to remember what a touch feels like. When we deny society of that, we are responsible for the monster’s we create. I’m not going to get into the spitting match about technology. It’s here. It’s great. We use it. That’s a discussion for another time. 

Yet you may see how one can ponder just how easy it is to get disconnected, and then stay that way. What is easier, to write upon this screen, or drive 30 miles and hug a friend? To tap out a note in our sweat pants, or call someone from the dark ages who may need to hear they are loved, forgiven, not forgotten, needed, or at least validated as a person whom you knew for so many years??? There is no blame, no guilt. No fingers being pointed. If so, then it is I who assumes that burden, for this is my chosen profession. I use words to connect and convey. It’s just the way it is. This is the world our generation has shaped and built. (Well, not I, I just play guitar really loud.) 

There comes a point in every persons life when this, is just not enough. Where you are in this process is unknown. Perhaps today, perhaps next year. You will know that point when you have to have what’s behind the screen. What’s beyond the keyboard.

Yes, all have grown and moved away. All have families, jobs, responsibilities.
Responsibilities. That’s a funny word. Coming from a guy who was dared to wear nothing under his graduation gown but a smile and socks. From a guy who went to Meijer’s in nothing more then a purple bath robe, black army boots, and a smile. (You gotta see the video.)

Where was I?
Sometimes I just want to be around real, breathing, living, drinking, smelly (yes), and laughing people. Although I can see photos and read thoughts, the internet just cannot replace the soul I once knew. I am missing something most humans desire, contact with intelligent life. (It’s a sin to lie. I’d like contact with anyone I could understand. Intelligence would just get in the way)

Recently I have received a lot of notes from people replying to some of my postings. I am grateful, and deeply humbled by your comments. First, that you would actually read them, ( as this is why a writer writes). Second, that you would actually remember me or care enough to comment. I was not part of any big group in my school. Not a stand out guy. Just one among many trying to find my way. Yet now it is almost a Half Century Later. And collectively we stand atop the mount of midlife, with our days numbered greater behind us then before us. 


Suddenly voices from the past come and offer words so kind. People whom I barely knew, some whom I looked up to, others who took my heart, and some who surly didn’t know I even lived, have taken time to read and report upon my work. 
That one person has read one line of anything I have written, I consider my gift to have been given. As everyone of you have given so freely of the gifts you have received.( I knew I’d find my way back eventually, Told ya’ we weren’t in Kalkaska any more.) This essay is about you. 

An editor gave me great advise, once. Write to YOUR audience. Well kids, that’s you. See, You and I are not that much different. I’m a forty-seven y/o, hair thinning, mustache and beard, gold earring and lamb skin hat wearing, guitar playing man. Today I want to speak to all my friends from K.H.S., FMB, FB, Internet,. And, any family members that may stop by. 

From each of you I have received more then I can possibly express, and you have my lasting gratitude. I ponder the wonder of life’s mysteries, and the mystical journey we have taken to get where here today. Names, Faces, Voices, Places, Sights, Sounds, and Textures create a vision of time never ending. In this vision I see my friends, my family, all doing exactly what they were meant to do. For Jesus said “ To whom much is given, much is expected.” And I see how greatly you have been blessed. Each of you speak of your family. Your friends. Your work.
Hobbies. You post photos of children smiling. Spouses Loving. Life happening. Life living to it’s fullest. Each of you have a received a gift, perhaps multitude of gifts, and by display, before God, you’ve shown how these gifts have impacted the world in such a way that it has changed the very face of the planet we inhabit. ( to bring one smile to one face, wipe away one tear, pleases God.)

I could write for days. Words upon words. We both know that would serve no end, and no meaning would come. It’s true that a nasty disease is taking my days, If I talk of it I’m a whiner, complainer. If not, then I am just stuck up. I choose to remain silent because this is for me and my wife and God and I to talk about. Cool??? Perhaps down this rabbit hole of ripened memories and aged thoughts, I found away to convey a message of hope. Of desire to reach out and touch someone.
Because I believe that each and everyone of you are extremely important, indispensable, irreplaceable, unique, created by God to be who, and what, you are. Maybe you’ll never believe that I’m a writer, or musician, but my brother, my sister, I believe that you are the Greatest, Best, Most wonderful and talented, and may I add, Loving, Persons I have had the pleasure of knowing.
This is not the end. But the beginning of our lives. From here we choose whether to interface, or spend a moment and get in-their-face. 


JD 17, 03-2010