Dear Family Members that I invited here on the occasion of my Thirtieth Birthday, and all those weird internet-using-people that have wandered in for whatever reasons y’all came here, I offer this in the sincere hope that y’all will share the following news with whoever you feel will honestly appreciate the following . . .
I’ve come to a resolution on this, the occasion of, the rapid approach of my Thirtieth Birthday.
Said resolution being namely that . . .
it’s time to stop fucking about
it’s time to take responsibility for my actions and the simple fact that i am alive;
here and now in the slip-stream of time as it goes rushing by,
now is the time to put away childish things, and with this in mind, i am already bringing to fruition plans, which will allow me to move forward in full accordance with all the understanding of how reality works in the here and now
gone are the times for juvenile half-measures
gone are the times for good intentions
now is the time for action,
with all this in mind . . .
i just went out and got a tattoo
10/26/07 pre-dawn
(waiting to ship this out until i have the pictures)
going on two weeks with the tattoo now,
find that i’m loving it more and more
despite fairly cold weather conditions; today was the first time (other than trying to surprise my father) that i wore anything covering my forearm, it was an odd experience, i didn’t feel like myself, i felt like i was in disguise,
amazing how quickly we can adopt novelty into our world-view
this was not a spur of the moment decision
and to a certain extent i mean everything in the above letter
(feeling a moment of sadness here that mom can’t read this
[totally side-tracked me so i had to include it, i know she’d’ve got it])
because it is time that i got serious and buckled down
our time here is finite . . .
and in the midst of all the mysteries and wonderful questions
(rather alike)
that our minds can formulate
doing this strange life thing
the best that we can hope for is to find something that moves and inspires us to be –
what you ask?
all i know is that it’s whatever we were meant to be
whatever that means
save that is to be found in the quiet voices that speak to us from within
the feeling when all of your higher senses are working in tandem towards good
me, i’m my mother’s son
my father’s child
and proud of it
which in this world roughly translates to not trusting convention in the sincere belief that this world can be much better than it currently is
i’ve always felt attracted to tattoos, they are (well should be [in my ever so humble {hmmph} opinion]) a profound statement of who you are
i’ve always been able to see myself with a tattoo, i just could never think of anything i cared enough about to imprint it forever upon my flesh
i’ve sat on this particular idea for about two years
i just kept wanting it more and more
for me, the concept of the finite jester is far more than just a clever pun
i do consider myself a man of finite jest
(which is my connection to the infinite if you truly must know)
as an aside
(perhaps intriguing at this time)
So, I go to show my father the tattoo. I’m planning my big surprise, on the car-ride over I thought of the joke; ‘so i guess i’ll be getting long sleeved shirts from now on’. At which point we doff the green corduroy jacket which has been concealing the jester and watch as fun ensues, much as this letter . . . (oh dear family members, i do wish i could see your faces as you’ve worked through this madness).
The thing was, I’d dropped some hints, gone out my way to arrange a meeting, he’d been in Canada; I had to wait . . . sometimes I wait like a champ (tattoo? two years. showing your father? wait four days and lose your mind.). Anyway, the expected moment of disappointment failed to ensue . . . you see I’d rather expected this four to five second interval of . . . let’s call it loving exasperation . . . followed by an entreaty for a closer look, and then a compliment on the appearance of said tattoo, at which point life moves on. As is it’s want. But no, once again my father manages to surprise me.
He handles the moment like a champ.
“Oh, a tattoo, from your e-mails I’d thought you’d gotten a Mohawk, but couldn’t imagine why you’d have to think for two years about getting a Mohawk, let me see that-” he says, reaching for his glasses.
My dad, gotta love him, he starts questioning me about the definition of finite. I, in my state of natural high, (been riding one since getting the tattoo, each moment of disclosure to someone who hasn’t seen it before revisits said euphoria) manage to stammer out some sort of definition. This particular piece of verbage is far from the best ever explanation, but nevertheless I somehow manage to include that it’s –
‘something like the opposite of infinity’
“Oh, you mean like this?” My father says, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of his own, replete with story, on precisely the same part of his arm that ‘finite’ portion of my own tattoo sits . . .
mine says finite
his is the infinity symbol
this was not planned
this just happened
rather like so much of life . . .
i’m still laughing at the irony
(and right there, i glanced down at my tattoo and wished myself many happy returns)
i wish the same onto you
someday we’ll all find ourselves not only knocking on, but passing thru ‘heaven’s door’, whatever that means -
and while i don’t think that this human form can avoid accumulating it’s fair share of regrets (after all they are among the most vital of road-maps that we have in orienting ourselves along this weird path called life) it is my sincere hope that you don’t find yourself at the end of this finite span, straddled with the feeling that you had something burning inside of you that was always searching for a venue of expression, and you denied it . . .
i honestly believe that if there is such a thing as hell
we experience it only when we try to deny who we are
-finite