Jones' Jarbs
... Things to say
Sunday, April 30, 2006
75. J.A.R.B - Just one lifetime
Comin’ home. I’ll be there soon. Wishing for one more moment, one more chance to make this right; perfect. If only there were more time; time spend with you, time to spend wondering just how perfect this could truly be. Just how perfect this is; just a little longer to disprove those people who say perfection is just a dream. Just a little longer? I swear I’ll take just one lifetime. Please spare the goodbyes, we’ll stay in touch. Spare the tears and save the good times. Save these moments, these days. Savor the wind, there’s something special in this summer breeze. And please, save the person who can stop me in my tracks with just a look. Spare the forget-me-nots. You should know by now I’ll always remember you.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 2:52 PM | View comments | |- 
Thursday, April 27, 2006
74. J.A.R.B - Spinning
Head spinning, mind tumbling down. Maybe this was the mix up I was looking for; the last thing I wanted. Starting to feel a bit nauseous; just a bit of reassurance could do wonders. Spoiled the mood. Something’s gone wrong. Too much at once. And still I find it in me to write, the only thing to let it out. You tell me all I want to hear, but not what I need. All I need is to pull it together. Just promise me not to show that sword. Please, don’t. Please, make this head stop spinning; tell me there’s somewhere I can relax, somewhere worries wash away. Say there’s nothing more to say, tell me we don’t need conversation. Wipe these tears away; the first I’ve cried in a while. And to be honest, they feel good. Never mind that last bit; I’ll keep them here for a little while. Calmer now, still no sign of what I’ve been waiting for; all well. Maybe someday. Oh! Here we are. Sigh… And on we go. Tears gone now. That was refreshing.
Strong enough.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 4:02 PM | View comments | |-
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
73. J.A.R.B - If only I knew
If only I knew how to say this. If only I knew just what lay ahead of me. If only I knew who would be there for me, so that I could be there for them. If only I knew. If only I knew just what was going to become of me and my personality. If only I knew for sure I’d be able to stay myself, rather than closing off in a place where no one knows my name. If only I knew for sure what was going to happen to us, but only time does. I guess I’ll just play this one by ear. Wing it; hope for the best.
If only I knew what the next move was. If only I knew where to go, in this small space there is left to go. If only I knew. How much of this secret to tell you all. How much of myself to reveal, I’d rather not point out a weakness. If only I knew what it really feels like to be sad. It’d make these glorious days all that much more glorious. If only I knew how to practice as I preach; follow all these rules I’ve set out for myself. It seems I’m lagging. If only I knew how to improve this life of mine, it seems like perfection as it is. I can’t complain, and yet here I am. Wishing there were a flaw; hoping for a hole to drain me of my joys, so that next time I have them so high, I’d be able to really appreciate them. Wishing for something to go wrong, because this seems way to right. If only you knew how painful perfection can be. But please, don’t get it twisted, I’m not asking for a problem, more so that I’m asking for something to want; something more to yearn for. Maybe all I really need is some answers, maybe all I want, is to know. Uncertainty is certainly not something to feel secure around. That just wouldn’t make sense.
If only I could write well enough to say what I mean, not what you think I mean.
Don’t get it twisted.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 7:27 PM | View comments | |-
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
72. J.A.R.B - What to say?
What to say? We’ve said it all before; Love, lies, bleeding, leaving, reflection but no refraction, regret, response. We could always reflect on what we’ve reflected on, realize how silly we used to be. And then a few years from now, we’ll put it in perspective again, and see how silly we are now. But for now, we can just talk. It seems it’s all I’m good at, so I’ll stick with it. What to say? I love you? I’ll miss you? I’m not so sure… but then again, certainty is certainly not very consistent in these lives we lead. So let’s just tell of the good old days, talk of those times when we didn’t have to worry about a thing. There were always those days when things weren’t as complicated; simple. Yet, simplicity was all we ever wanted. Little did we know; there was so much to want. So for now, let’s remember, desire, devour these memories of broken hearts. And laugh. Because that was then. This is now, tell yourself you’ll live for the moment, but live in the past. Live for the past. Let’s make these days last, and let’s never forget the ones gone by; there will always be a memory to fall back on; for the next time you cry. So, what to say? Not much… just chillin.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 7:00 PM | View comments | |-
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
71. J.A.R.B - Let's Pretend
Let’s pretend this never happened. Just say we were all good for one more day. Let’s pretend this would continue; as is. Let’s pretend we didn’t need change. Let’s pretend change didn’t need us. These days could go by, over and over. Let’s pretend we wouldn’t get bored. These days would return. These days would return. Repeatedly. Let’s pretend we could seriously take this for a good thing. Who would we be kidding? Let’s pretend it will all get better. Would we really try? Let’s pretend there weren’t so many questions. Would we be satisfied without answers? <--- there goes another one…There goes another one.
Hold on.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 3:57 PM | View comments | |-
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
70. J.A.R.B - Tuesdays with Morrie
I’ve finished the book “Tuesdays with Morrie” recently, and a few lessons, I think, are worth the blog.“Morrie’s doctors guessed he had two years left.
Morrie knew it was less.
But my old professor had made a profound decision, one he began to construct the day he came out of the doctor’s office with a sword hanging over his head. Do I wither up and disappear, or do I make the best of my time left? He asked himself.
He would not wither. He would not be ashamed of dying. Instead, he would make his death his final project, the center point of his days. Since everyone was going to die, he could be of great value, right? He could be research. A human textbook. Study my in my slow and patient demise. Watch what happens to me. Learn from me. Morrie would walk that final bridge between life and death, and narrate the trip.
“The culture we have doesn’t make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it.”
“Amazing” I thought. I worked in the news business. I covered stories where people died. I interviewed grieving family members. I even attended the funerals. I never cried. Morrie, for the suffering oh people half a world away, was weeping. Is this what comes at the end, I wondered? Maybe death is the great equalizer, the one big thing that can finally make strangers shed a tear for one another.”
“‘Mitch, you asked about caring people I don’t even know. But can I tell you the thing I’m learning most with this disease?’
‘What’s that?’
‘The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Let it come in. We think we don’t deserve love, we think if we let it in we’ll become too soft. But a wise man named Levine said it right. He said, ‘love is the only rational act’”
“‘Everyone knows they’re going to die,’ he said again, ‘but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.’
‘So we kid ourselves about death, I said.’
‘Yes. But there’s a better approach. To know you’re going to die, and to be prepared for it at any time. That’s better. That way you can actually be more involved in your life while you’re living it.’
‘How can you be prepared to die?’
‘Do what Buddhists do? Every day, have a little bird on your shoulder that asks, ‘Is today the day? Am I being the person I want to be?’
He turned his head to his shoulder as if the bird were there now.
‘Is today the day I die?’ He said.”
“When you learn to die, you learn how to live.”
“‘Mitch,’ he said, laughing along, ‘even I don’t know what ‘spiritual development’ really means. But I do know we’re deficient in some way. We are too involved in materialistic things, and they don’t satisfy us. The loving relationships we have, the universe around us, we take these things for granted.’
He nodded toward the window with the sunshine streaming in. ‘You see that? You can go out there, outside, anytime. You can run up and down the block and go crazy. I can’t do that. I can’t go out. I can’t run. I can’t be out there without fear of getting sick. But you know what? I appreciate that window more than you do.’
‘Appreciate it?’
‘Yes. I look out that window every day. I notice the change in the trees, how strong the wind is blowing. It’s as if I can see the time actually passing through that window pane. Because I know my time is almost done, I am drawn to nature like I’m seeing it for the first time.’
He stopped, and for a moment we both just looked out the window. I tried to see what he saw. I tried to see time and season, my life passing in slow motion. Morrie dropped his head slightly and curled it toward his shoulder. ‘Is it today, little bird?’ he asked. ‘Is it today?’”
“‘What I’m doing now,’ he continued, his eyes still closed, ‘Is detaching myself from the experience.”
‘Detaching yourself?’
‘Yes. Detaching myself. And this is important – not just for someone like me, who is dying, but for someone just like you, who is perfectly healthy. Learn to detach.”
He opened his eyes. He exhaled. ‘You know what the Buddhists say? Don’t cling to things, because everything is impermanent.’
‘But wait,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you always talking about experiencing life? All the good emotions, all the bad ones?
‘Yes.’
‘Well, how can you do that if you’re detached?’
‘Ah. You’re thinking, Mitch. Bet detachment doesn’t mean you don’t let the experience penetrate you. On the contrary, you let it penetrate you fully. That’s how you are able to leave it.’”
“In the beginning of life, when we are infants, we need others to survive, right? And at the end of life, when you get like me, you need others to survive, right?’
His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘But here’s the secret: in between, we need others as well.”
“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.” – Gandhi
“Love is how you stay alive, even after you die.”
“In the south American rainforest, there is a tribe called the Desana, who see the world as a fixed quantity of energy that flows between all creatures. Every birth must therefore engender a death, and every death bring forth another birth. This way, the energy of the world remains complete.
When they hunt for food, the Desana know that the animal they kill will leave a hole in the spiritual well. But that whole will be filled, they believe, by the souls of the Desana hunters when they die. Were there no men dying, three would be no birds or fish being born. I like this idea. Morrie likes it, too. The closer he gets to good-bye, the more the more he seems to feel we are all creatures in the same forest. What we take, we must replenish. ‘It’s only fair’ He says.”
“Forgive yourself, forgive others. Don’t wait, Mitch. Not everyone gets the time I’m getting. Not everyone is as lucky.”
“As long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on – in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.”
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 3:40 PM | View comments | |-
Monday, April 10, 2006
69. J.A.R.B - Talk, Time.
Time’s moving faster now, catch every phrase thrown your way, and let’s not forget about the important ones; another “I love you” spiraling away in the wind is something to fuss about.
Time’s leaving now, what to do… Time’s leaving now… where to go. When the future seems so uncertain; we’ll have to make up our minds on this one. It seems there’s some thinking to do ahead, but please, think aloud; for I wish to cherish these last words, these last thoughts. Time’s getting to my head. There’s so much to talk about, let’s not tell each other we won’t be talking soon, instead; let us talk. Let’s spend these days and nights wasting away our time. But let’s waste it with you, me, with her, with him, with them. Let’s see how far we can go without realizing we won’t be able to go any farther. You never know, this could go on forever. But only if we forget about the endings; forget about all the sad bits and just talk. Leave those worries at home, we don’t need them here. Forget about the endings, the sad goodbyes, the never-ending hugs, and make that metaphor spring to life. Let’s leave this class knowing we don’t really have to say goodbye to each other, for we’ll stay in touch. We won’t have to ask how life’s been 20 years from now, we’ll know. We’ll know. But enough about the future, I have no idea what I’m talking about there… Hopefully I’ll make the right choices. Maybe there is a “for sure” mixed in here with all these maybes. Maybe I really do have someone, something to rest my head against.
Say we’re fine.
Say we’re tough enough, strong enough,
My love"
- Jones posted this bad boy on 7:42 PM | View comments | |-
Saturday, April 08, 2006
68. J.A.R.B - Perfection
A lot of work in today’s world is wasted on perfection. I say wasted because perfection is not what anyone’s really looking for. Imagine the “perfect” person. Imagine trying to get along with someone without a flaw; imagine trying to be comfortable around a person who’s never had a bad day. Imagine trying to relate to them. I think truly beautiful people are far from perfect, and in that way they are. It’s the little things you do, and the little things you do wrong that make you into you. It’s the small things, like a little strand of hair always out of place, or a crooked smile, that really set someone apart from the crowd. It’s the way we silently speak, the way we know we’ve gone too far, but don’t do anything about it, that makes us into who we’re becoming. It’s the way we deny change and try to hold on, even though we know there’s no chance; that makes us human. It’s in that way that we become the person we are. Not the person we want to be. It’s all in the little things you do and do wrong, that make me smile; because that’s you, and no one else.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 8:03 PM | View comments | |-
Sunday, April 02, 2006
67. J.A.R.B - Springtime
Springs back, but I miss the thunderstorms. I miss the soft rain pitter patting on my window, trying so desperately to get in. I miss fighting it, but I don’t miss that once, just once, when I let myself get wet. Spring’s here, but I miss the thunder clapping from above. I miss the lighting striking off in the distance, and counting seconds to see how far off the storm was. When I reached 12 seconds, I would tell myself there was nothing to fear. But underneath it all, I knew, those drops were falling right on my forehead. Springs here, flowers are blooming. But I miss those days I spent without color; without them, spring wouldn’t seem so vibrant. Spring’s here, the birds are chirping. But I miss those times I spent laying in silence, thinking of how nice it would be, just to hear some music. Those days make these ones appear so deep, so rich; loud. Spring’s here, It’s warm out now. But I miss those days I’d spend warm and cozy, knowing nothing could touch me. I felt so comfortable those days. It’s spring now, those thunderstorms are bound to return. And I can’t wait to anticipate more days like these. Please, don’t cry.
-Jones.
- Jones posted this bad boy on 7:28 PM | View comments | |-
