trembling

on my trip to Louisiana some time back I wrote a letter, from my 5th generation, (great-great-great-grandson. I think,) to the Andrew of today. I'd like to share that with you soon. not today. Among other things that letter urged me to to take lightly the problems of today. here is my response. I must write this today.


Most treasured descendent,
I feel I must write you to explain myself. I hear your wishes for me to rise above my problems, but I feel I must write them before I can properly see them.

I feel connected. to this moment. I feel no space. where is the space. I read about finding the center, and looking for the space, to distant yourself from each moment, so that you may live it, and enjoy it, respond to it, but not react to it. to distance the I from my self. from my ego. from the phenomenal world that my mind projects. I can't find it today though. I can't feel that space. I'm stuck, with glue, to this moment, and to this feeling, and that thought. I AM this moment, I AM that thought. I am this feeling. husband. business owner. that's a big one lately. I am a business owner. I feel that. no space. and thus, with the ups and downs with every day, I swing as well. I tell myself I'm not worried. I tell others I'm not worried when we're down. but I am. because I am that down swing. and thus, I am that failure. and I know that an up swing will come, but it doesn't soften the blow I feel in that moment.

I want to provide for my family. I am that ability. and I can't right now. and I am that failure as well. I want to take my wife away. I want to let her travel, to set her free like she talks about. I feel that's my responsibility. I am that responsibility. and I am that failure.

I want to talk to people about what's in side me. but not for the joy. not for the story telling. for the attention. to feel that rush to be wanted. to hide those other things I feel. if everyone's looking at me, I'm too busy to look inside. even saying that, I know when I look inside, I first see the failure, then I see past that to the truth. but in this moment, I'm bogged down. I can't find that 2nd level. I can't see past the looming weight of what I feel in this moment. I am that weight.

I don't feel free. I feel pressure. I feel weight. it makes me short. sharp. my temper doesn't last long. after 2 hours at work I'm angry. tired. so tired. always tired. colors are dull. only because I can't see them. I'm a walking cliche.

I'm sick. feel like smoking. can't. it'll just make it worst. I'm alone again. feels good. I'm always alone, and never alone. I'm alone all the time and I don't feel it. then I do and I'm lonely. then there are people around and I want time to myself.

Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep Little Lion Man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems
That you made in your own head

this song rings in me. I am little. and scared. I can't find my way out of these feelings. the space is there, outside the door. but if I go to the door, it'll be one step further. always one more step.

so I ask you. how can I escape this? how can I see past mySelf? how do I set aside these small things and see the now?

I spread my dreams at your feet

Growing up, my dad taught me how to journal. He said it's counterproductive to stop and edit, spell-check, and revise. instead, let the writing flow, and ignore penmanship, spell-check, etc. don't let the pen stop writing. it doesn't matter if you're writing "I can't think of anything else to write." These days, I don't find myself writing often, but when I do, this helps. so, un-edited, here comes a journal entry I wrote on a recent trip to Louisiana.

I see my Father, stretching to the sky. I see him spreading his arms, that I may sit beneath them. I feel the ground underneath me, in which his roots grow. I see his symbiotic relationship with all around him. I see those that come before him, lying around me. I see his sons, my brothers, surrounding me. I see his wounds, and how he grew through them.
I place my hand on him, saying "My name is Andrew Harbuck, I am the one who comes to you, heart, head and ears full of chaos to share. I am here to tell my story." So I do. The beginnings. The mistakes. the wounds. the struggle for forgiveness of myself. the triumphs and the pride. the longings for peace.
Then I listen. I slap his trunk to listen to the echo. I see him. I see his long line. I feel small. I am a part of something. not a movement. not a network or an organization. a community. there are no words. an energy. a place. I'm a tiny part of a place. I feel this is the answer. I worry so much about my path. But I am a thread in a pattern. I must be aware of those threads around me. that I don't make the pattern. I am not Judged on my thread.
He invites me to see what he sees. The beauty of every living part. to feel the presence of those before and after me. He invites me to make shade, to share my strengths and wounds with all. Just as he does. to feel the breeze, all I have to do is stand up. That is the future. to feel the ground, all i have to do is lie down. This is those that came before me. to feel the sun, all I have to do is sit. this is all in the Now.