Story of My Life
THE BOXER
I know how to scrap, but prefer to refrain, whenever possible. Things don’t always work out that way, though. When you live like I do - like I have - sometimes you gotta keep your guard up, and know how to protect yourself, if necessary. Or someone else who needs it, maybe. Seems that’s been the case more often, actually. If you’re not afraid of a fight, and willing to take a punch, you can usually avoid finding yourself in situations where you have to throw one most of the time. But it’s important to know when you need to. I feel like I may have more or less written on that concept already, to some degree, and I don’t want to repeat myself, but I spose it’s been something of a running theme in my life, so it might come up again from time to time.
I am just a poor boy,
You already know I came from nothing. Depending on how you define wealth, you might say I still have nothing. Though I consider myself rich in all the most important ways. But I may be just a poor boy, if that’s all you want to see. And that might tell us both all we need to know about each other.
…though my story’s seldom told.
It might surprise you to know I don’t talk much. Not saying I’m mute, but writing is a lot easier for me. I’ve kept a journal of some sort for as long as I can remember, going back to closets, shelves and trunks now stored at the shack, full of old composition notebooks overflowing with my thoughts on life. Not that those matter much to anyone but me, but they help me make sense of my world. I think. Or of life in general, maybe.
Writing was the natural next step for me, from growing up reading everything I could find to hold in my hands since the first time I knew what words on a page were. These days, most of my reading about the world is done online. That saves a lot of room in the backpack. But the world is a fascinating place, and there’s so much of it available, so much to explore. Even my journal is digital, now, too. That saves me a lot in postage.
I’ve never had a habit of sharing my journal with anyone. Not before now. Though, technically, maybe I’m still not, because this isn’t my personal journal. It’s the journal of things I choose to share, which is selective. But I’m here for the experience of sharing, which is still new to me. My story’s seldom told because I haven’t learned to tell it. I haven’t felt before there was anyone who needed it. But I’m learning. And you’re helping. So thank you.
I have squandered my resistance
I am a man of peace, by nature. I never seek to start a fight. I’m easy to dismiss, because I don’t tend to demand my way. Don’t guess I really have a “way,” if you get right down to it. There’s so very little in this life I find that is worth squabbling over, I will quietly back down to most any more imposing force. Some might misinterpret this as cowardice, though that would be a mistake. If I give in to a greater will, it is not out of fear. There is no shame in it, either.
I have nothing that can be taken from me. Anything that is truly mine, I carry with me, in my very essence, and I cannot be removed from that. Though it can be changed. If I am living, then I am growing, as this is the essence of life. Growth is change. If I am not changing, then I am not growing, I am dying. But even that, too, is inevitable change. I will resist the oppression of the innocent. I will fight to protect those who cannot. I may have surrendered my own resistance, but only to be reserved for use by those who need it more.
...for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises.
All lies and jest.
A man will say whatever he believes he can convince you of to get you to buy whatever he needs you to for the sake of his own agenda. Everyone has one. It is the nature of who we are. Once you realize nothing in this life is ever truly real, then you can never be taken, because you never really buy anything that’s being offered.
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear,
and disregards the rest.
Everything is illusion. If you understand that, though, you can still appreciate the magic, even if you know how it’s done. I willingly relinquish whatever is genuinely needed, for those who are sincerely faint of longing, even when they don’t know how to ask.
When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy.
I don’t have a college degree. I don’t even have a high school diploma. I got my GED when I was 16, and that’s just as good, for most any place that needs it. It wasn’t because I couldn’t graduate, or because I didn’t think I could do any better in education. I won’t profess false modesty. I’ll freely admit, I’m pretty bright. I probably could have applied for a number of academic scholarships and got one. And if I’d have wanted to have paid for it on my own since, I’ve been in a position to. But I don’t put a whole lot of stock in what passed for education then, or even now, for that matter. Perhaps even less now.
American History is a shameful fiction; a disgrace to our true ancestry. To the victor go the spoils, of course, and the rewriting of the story, too; the redrawing of battle lines, and the retaking of sides. The farther we get away from our past, the more of it we sweep under the rug.
I could have pursued a life that would have required that level of prostration to the higher mind, if I’d felt that was a life worth pursuing. But that would have created a great deal of pressure - of various types I won’t go into now - on Shima, and I couldn’t bear to put her through that. I got the certificate because I needed to get out, for her sake. I wasn’t going to be a burden to her anymore. She was 66 when I left the shack, and her body couldn’t continue to take the strain of working to support us both, so I freed her from that responsibility.
Some might think Shima shouldn’t have let me go at that age, that maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I wasn’t properly equipped for the real world. But she trusted the teaching she’d given me to guide me in finding the world on my own terms. She trusted the man I had become - the man she had lead me to be - to meet the world with integrity. I’d just turned 17. I had a strong back, a willing heart, capable feet, skilled hands, and the sense to take me as far as I wanted to go.
In the company of strangers,
in the quiet of a railway station, running scared.
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
where the ragged people go.
Looking for the places only they would know.
When Shima took us on the road, in my school days, she was running scared, and taking me with her. It was for my sake she was afraid. But that’s a longer story; one I’m not prepared to tell just now.
Can’t say I can think of a time when I was running scared after I’d said goodbye to Shima, though I’m sure there were moments of fear, especially in those early days. The occasions that pumped the adrenaline were much more common back then, and once or twice I had reason to wonder if I would see the dawn. But there were always people who knew how to help others who needed it, and in the beginning I fell much more in the category of the latter than the former. Freight train railyards, off the grid circuits... in that time when I was the least aware of my surroundings, strangers - good people with tough stories and hard lives with whom I had not yet come to have any connection - took me in, showed me what I needed to understand. Warm, dry, places to rest tired feet for a few hours without being driven off or accosted. How to find water safe to drink. Where to scavenge for the heartiest scraps of nourishment. Whom to trust. These and other priceless treasures - some of which I couldn’t even help you comprehend - should only be relied upon from sources with the need and means to know. I have since cultivated diligence in keeping that cycle circling back around.
Asking only workman’s wages,
I come looking for a job, but I get no offers,
I’ve never had to look for work. There’s always work to be done, and I’ve always been willing to do what I can, to learn what I can’t, and I’ve never cared much about what my time is worth. I require very little to make me comfortable, and for that reason, I’m easy to employ, and generally not in want. I get no offers because I don’t need them. I make offers, to do what is missing, in exchange for what is needed. I am met with gratitude and kindness, and I am fulfilled.
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome,
I took some comfort there.
There are many ways to sell oneself. Much of today’s labor force is in some form of prostitution. The primary working class populace is doing something they don’t want to do, in exchange for something they must have to survive. This is what we teach our children is the American way. Another reason I have little confidence in our schools.
In the strictest sense, one might consider me a whore. But I’ve never done anything I didn’t take joy in, and for my pride in my efforts I have been given far more than I’ve asked for, and much more than I’ve needed. Though I’ve never sold my body for money, I’ve sold my skills - my time, my energy, and my labor; my knowledge - my perspective, my awareness, and my values; my life - my history, my character, my loyalty, and my trust; and my love - my attention, my compassion, my protection, and my warmth - for reciprocal companionship, connection, and the communal bounty of a shared path, until the roads of our separate lives diverge us. The journey of life is about more than mere survival. We are not here to simply exist, but to experience the great adventure of the universe, which requires that we must interact with other travelers, to see what they’ve seen, to learn what they know, and to try to understand.
Now the years are rolling by me,
They are rockin’ evenly.
I am older than I once was,
And younger than I'll be; that's not unusual.
No, it isn’t strange.
Life is full of riches and surprises and wonder, and it keeps on rolling, no matter what comes of it. It will roll right over you, or you can roll with it. I don’t know what I thought in my youth that 40 would be like, but here I am, and I’m still amazed by this world every day.
After changes upon changes,
We are more or less the same.
After changes, we are more or less the same.
Don’t guess I have what you’d call a religion, but if I did, it might come closest to an appreciation for the Tao in all things. Or perhaps the oneness of Buddhism. But I believe the spirit of Creator is in all that lives, and our purpose on this plane is to connect to it. We can only do that by reaching out to one another, by recognizing the spirit of creation in ourselves, and in each other, thereby becoming one within it.
You will never find it in your living room. Or your office. Or the mall. It is out there. In the hearts and minds of the living, and growing, and changing, and dying. It is in life. It is the world, and the world is waiting. It is ours to seek, and ours to find. Yours. Mine. Theirs. Ours. All embody the spirit of creation. And when we know that we are one, then we will be united.
May you find in this world all that you seek from it. And may you be at peace.
Moar Storeez!: Disregard the Lies and Jest*
i can haz votes, pleez?*
* Please especially see the skillful works of Team Clueless:
• Ode to Homer - ellison
• You Can’t Handle The Truth - i_love_freddie
• Metal Machine Music - prog_schlock
• A Tale of Madges - sinnamongirl
I know how to scrap, but prefer to refrain, whenever possible. Things don’t always work out that way, though. When you live like I do - like I have - sometimes you gotta keep your guard up, and know how to protect yourself, if necessary. Or someone else who needs it, maybe. Seems that’s been the case more often, actually. If you’re not afraid of a fight, and willing to take a punch, you can usually avoid finding yourself in situations where you have to throw one most of the time. But it’s important to know when you need to. I feel like I may have more or less written on that concept already, to some degree, and I don’t want to repeat myself, but I spose it’s been something of a running theme in my life, so it might come up again from time to time.
I am just a poor boy,
You already know I came from nothing. Depending on how you define wealth, you might say I still have nothing. Though I consider myself rich in all the most important ways. But I may be just a poor boy, if that’s all you want to see. And that might tell us both all we need to know about each other.
…though my story’s seldom told.
It might surprise you to know I don’t talk much. Not saying I’m mute, but writing is a lot easier for me. I’ve kept a journal of some sort for as long as I can remember, going back to closets, shelves and trunks now stored at the shack, full of old composition notebooks overflowing with my thoughts on life. Not that those matter much to anyone but me, but they help me make sense of my world. I think. Or of life in general, maybe.
Writing was the natural next step for me, from growing up reading everything I could find to hold in my hands since the first time I knew what words on a page were. These days, most of my reading about the world is done online. That saves a lot of room in the backpack. But the world is a fascinating place, and there’s so much of it available, so much to explore. Even my journal is digital, now, too. That saves me a lot in postage.
I’ve never had a habit of sharing my journal with anyone. Not before now. Though, technically, maybe I’m still not, because this isn’t my personal journal. It’s the journal of things I choose to share, which is selective. But I’m here for the experience of sharing, which is still new to me. My story’s seldom told because I haven’t learned to tell it. I haven’t felt before there was anyone who needed it. But I’m learning. And you’re helping. So thank you.
I have squandered my resistance
I am a man of peace, by nature. I never seek to start a fight. I’m easy to dismiss, because I don’t tend to demand my way. Don’t guess I really have a “way,” if you get right down to it. There’s so very little in this life I find that is worth squabbling over, I will quietly back down to most any more imposing force. Some might misinterpret this as cowardice, though that would be a mistake. If I give in to a greater will, it is not out of fear. There is no shame in it, either.
I have nothing that can be taken from me. Anything that is truly mine, I carry with me, in my very essence, and I cannot be removed from that. Though it can be changed. If I am living, then I am growing, as this is the essence of life. Growth is change. If I am not changing, then I am not growing, I am dying. But even that, too, is inevitable change. I will resist the oppression of the innocent. I will fight to protect those who cannot. I may have surrendered my own resistance, but only to be reserved for use by those who need it more.
...for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises.
All lies and jest.
A man will say whatever he believes he can convince you of to get you to buy whatever he needs you to for the sake of his own agenda. Everyone has one. It is the nature of who we are. Once you realize nothing in this life is ever truly real, then you can never be taken, because you never really buy anything that’s being offered.
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear,
and disregards the rest.
Everything is illusion. If you understand that, though, you can still appreciate the magic, even if you know how it’s done. I willingly relinquish whatever is genuinely needed, for those who are sincerely faint of longing, even when they don’t know how to ask.
When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy.
I don’t have a college degree. I don’t even have a high school diploma. I got my GED when I was 16, and that’s just as good, for most any place that needs it. It wasn’t because I couldn’t graduate, or because I didn’t think I could do any better in education. I won’t profess false modesty. I’ll freely admit, I’m pretty bright. I probably could have applied for a number of academic scholarships and got one. And if I’d have wanted to have paid for it on my own since, I’ve been in a position to. But I don’t put a whole lot of stock in what passed for education then, or even now, for that matter. Perhaps even less now.
American History is a shameful fiction; a disgrace to our true ancestry. To the victor go the spoils, of course, and the rewriting of the story, too; the redrawing of battle lines, and the retaking of sides. The farther we get away from our past, the more of it we sweep under the rug.
I could have pursued a life that would have required that level of prostration to the higher mind, if I’d felt that was a life worth pursuing. But that would have created a great deal of pressure - of various types I won’t go into now - on Shima, and I couldn’t bear to put her through that. I got the certificate because I needed to get out, for her sake. I wasn’t going to be a burden to her anymore. She was 66 when I left the shack, and her body couldn’t continue to take the strain of working to support us both, so I freed her from that responsibility.
Some might think Shima shouldn’t have let me go at that age, that maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I wasn’t properly equipped for the real world. But she trusted the teaching she’d given me to guide me in finding the world on my own terms. She trusted the man I had become - the man she had lead me to be - to meet the world with integrity. I’d just turned 17. I had a strong back, a willing heart, capable feet, skilled hands, and the sense to take me as far as I wanted to go.
In the company of strangers,
in the quiet of a railway station, running scared.
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
where the ragged people go.
Looking for the places only they would know.
When Shima took us on the road, in my school days, she was running scared, and taking me with her. It was for my sake she was afraid. But that’s a longer story; one I’m not prepared to tell just now.
Can’t say I can think of a time when I was running scared after I’d said goodbye to Shima, though I’m sure there were moments of fear, especially in those early days. The occasions that pumped the adrenaline were much more common back then, and once or twice I had reason to wonder if I would see the dawn. But there were always people who knew how to help others who needed it, and in the beginning I fell much more in the category of the latter than the former. Freight train railyards, off the grid circuits... in that time when I was the least aware of my surroundings, strangers - good people with tough stories and hard lives with whom I had not yet come to have any connection - took me in, showed me what I needed to understand. Warm, dry, places to rest tired feet for a few hours without being driven off or accosted. How to find water safe to drink. Where to scavenge for the heartiest scraps of nourishment. Whom to trust. These and other priceless treasures - some of which I couldn’t even help you comprehend - should only be relied upon from sources with the need and means to know. I have since cultivated diligence in keeping that cycle circling back around.
Asking only workman’s wages,
I come looking for a job, but I get no offers,
I’ve never had to look for work. There’s always work to be done, and I’ve always been willing to do what I can, to learn what I can’t, and I’ve never cared much about what my time is worth. I require very little to make me comfortable, and for that reason, I’m easy to employ, and generally not in want. I get no offers because I don’t need them. I make offers, to do what is missing, in exchange for what is needed. I am met with gratitude and kindness, and I am fulfilled.
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome,
I took some comfort there.
There are many ways to sell oneself. Much of today’s labor force is in some form of prostitution. The primary working class populace is doing something they don’t want to do, in exchange for something they must have to survive. This is what we teach our children is the American way. Another reason I have little confidence in our schools.
In the strictest sense, one might consider me a whore. But I’ve never done anything I didn’t take joy in, and for my pride in my efforts I have been given far more than I’ve asked for, and much more than I’ve needed. Though I’ve never sold my body for money, I’ve sold my skills - my time, my energy, and my labor; my knowledge - my perspective, my awareness, and my values; my life - my history, my character, my loyalty, and my trust; and my love - my attention, my compassion, my protection, and my warmth - for reciprocal companionship, connection, and the communal bounty of a shared path, until the roads of our separate lives diverge us. The journey of life is about more than mere survival. We are not here to simply exist, but to experience the great adventure of the universe, which requires that we must interact with other travelers, to see what they’ve seen, to learn what they know, and to try to understand.
Now the years are rolling by me,
They are rockin’ evenly.
I am older than I once was,
And younger than I'll be; that's not unusual.
No, it isn’t strange.
Life is full of riches and surprises and wonder, and it keeps on rolling, no matter what comes of it. It will roll right over you, or you can roll with it. I don’t know what I thought in my youth that 40 would be like, but here I am, and I’m still amazed by this world every day.
After changes upon changes,
We are more or less the same.
After changes, we are more or less the same.
Don’t guess I have what you’d call a religion, but if I did, it might come closest to an appreciation for the Tao in all things. Or perhaps the oneness of Buddhism. But I believe the spirit of Creator is in all that lives, and our purpose on this plane is to connect to it. We can only do that by reaching out to one another, by recognizing the spirit of creation in ourselves, and in each other, thereby becoming one within it.
You will never find it in your living room. Or your office. Or the mall. It is out there. In the hearts and minds of the living, and growing, and changing, and dying. It is in life. It is the world, and the world is waiting. It is ours to seek, and ours to find. Yours. Mine. Theirs. Ours. All embody the spirit of creation. And when we know that we are one, then we will be united.
May you find in this world all that you seek from it. And may you be at peace.
Moar Storeez!: Disregard the Lies and Jest*
i can haz votes, pleez?*
* Please especially see the skillful works of Team Clueless:
• Ode to Homer - ellison
• You Can’t Handle The Truth - i_love_freddie
• Metal Machine Music - prog_schlock
• A Tale of Madges - sinnamongirl