I finally caught the film adaption of Snow Falling on Cedars last night. I was tired and worn from the road, aching because I had to leave my kids behind in Boise again. I am sure that if CalCoPO had continued we would have found a way to fit that book title into our monthly reads, but, instead, it was good enough just to catch the film. I was finally open to seeing it and receptive to the message, well, one the messages, anyway.
There is something to be said for letting go. Sometimes there needs to be a wrenching experience, a transcendent moment, to make it happen, to help folks, and life, move forward.
Looking at that film I could see that the lead character needed something monumental to understand that his old love for the lead actress was holding him back, keeping him from allowing small town justice to be served. His old worldview was in conflict with his mission, which was to serve justice, to help the accused rise above prejudice and the unfairness of his wee berg's political and economic leanings.
I should know about small town thinking, about prejudice, about moral absolutes, about grasping endlessly to the pains of the past. My old love for you has been long overdue for jettisoning. I finally got the message, can see that it has gotten in the way of gainful employment, that it went beyond the pale, irked folks' sensibilities at our former employ and helped bump up their moralistic fervors to the point of blacklisting me. But even more than that my holding onto the past has kept me from moving forward into a future with my kids. It was very clear to me as I crested the rise out of Ontario yesterday morning, sun coming up, the back seat empty. I came home off of a long and lonely roadtrip, off a drive that, back in the day, I would be furiously scribbling messages to you on the seat next to me as I drove. Yesteday it was all I could do just to get home, to stop for gas, coffee, a bit of food. The tears got in the way of really appreciating the beauty. The only messages I had this time were for myself, and that was, Peter Fonda style, saying, yeah man, I blew it.
The time to let go is upon me. I know that I've said this in the past but maybe this time I can do it. Maybe this time I AM at the bottom of the satchel. Maybe this time I can honor and appreciate that special date of ours, the 27th day of August, and, for all intents and purposes, finally say goodbye to that beautiful thing we shared. You did ages ago. I suppose, after all this time and heartache and grief, I need to do the same and stick to it.
What I would like for you to do someday is to stumble upon this site, just to see the process that I have gone through to sever those ties of ours. Maybe it's just me but I think this public chronicling is what was needed for me to move forward. You hid or ran away from it all ages ago, denied or buried or unassed our past in order to secure your future. I took in the chest for the both of us, became the poster child for some sort of living dead love monument. How old and moldy it has become. No one is fighting that fight for us anymore. It reminds me of those old Japanese warriors on Guam or the Philippines, the ones who were stuck in time, fighting a war that was long over. My uniform is in tatters, my gun rusty and bent, it's time to lay it all down, walk away, get out of the jungle.
Since this blog isn't going anywhere I can leave it be. Come the 27th I'll post what is hopefully the last post, make it searchable, all that. One last opening of the satchel for all to see. Why not? Everyone who saw us together back in the day knew we were in love. We thought we were cool about it but we were as open as a book. We were "sparky" and even then we pissed people off about it. But you know, buddy, it was then and will always be a beautiful thing. But "was" is the key operand word here. Time to close the book and put it on the shelf. Good Pages that we were, we can handle that. I can handle that.
Love, your WHMB
There is something to be said for letting go. Sometimes there needs to be a wrenching experience, a transcendent moment, to make it happen, to help folks, and life, move forward.
Looking at that film I could see that the lead character needed something monumental to understand that his old love for the lead actress was holding him back, keeping him from allowing small town justice to be served. His old worldview was in conflict with his mission, which was to serve justice, to help the accused rise above prejudice and the unfairness of his wee berg's political and economic leanings.
I should know about small town thinking, about prejudice, about moral absolutes, about grasping endlessly to the pains of the past. My old love for you has been long overdue for jettisoning. I finally got the message, can see that it has gotten in the way of gainful employment, that it went beyond the pale, irked folks' sensibilities at our former employ and helped bump up their moralistic fervors to the point of blacklisting me. But even more than that my holding onto the past has kept me from moving forward into a future with my kids. It was very clear to me as I crested the rise out of Ontario yesterday morning, sun coming up, the back seat empty. I came home off of a long and lonely roadtrip, off a drive that, back in the day, I would be furiously scribbling messages to you on the seat next to me as I drove. Yesteday it was all I could do just to get home, to stop for gas, coffee, a bit of food. The tears got in the way of really appreciating the beauty. The only messages I had this time were for myself, and that was, Peter Fonda style, saying, yeah man, I blew it.
The time to let go is upon me. I know that I've said this in the past but maybe this time I can do it. Maybe this time I AM at the bottom of the satchel. Maybe this time I can honor and appreciate that special date of ours, the 27th day of August, and, for all intents and purposes, finally say goodbye to that beautiful thing we shared. You did ages ago. I suppose, after all this time and heartache and grief, I need to do the same and stick to it.
What I would like for you to do someday is to stumble upon this site, just to see the process that I have gone through to sever those ties of ours. Maybe it's just me but I think this public chronicling is what was needed for me to move forward. You hid or ran away from it all ages ago, denied or buried or unassed our past in order to secure your future. I took in the chest for the both of us, became the poster child for some sort of living dead love monument. How old and moldy it has become. No one is fighting that fight for us anymore. It reminds me of those old Japanese warriors on Guam or the Philippines, the ones who were stuck in time, fighting a war that was long over. My uniform is in tatters, my gun rusty and bent, it's time to lay it all down, walk away, get out of the jungle.
Since this blog isn't going anywhere I can leave it be. Come the 27th I'll post what is hopefully the last post, make it searchable, all that. One last opening of the satchel for all to see. Why not? Everyone who saw us together back in the day knew we were in love. We thought we were cool about it but we were as open as a book. We were "sparky" and even then we pissed people off about it. But you know, buddy, it was then and will always be a beautiful thing. But "was" is the key operand word here. Time to close the book and put it on the shelf. Good Pages that we were, we can handle that. I can handle that.
Love, your WHMB
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