- Buddha

Some of my family members from another offshoot stopped me. I tried to play it off because they thought I was tired. I didn't speak at first. Then my cousin looked at me more intensely and wanted me to talk to her (she happened to be one of the three wise women I told you about). I stopped her in her tracks, knowing that I needed to be alone. I walked out of the lobby and took a walk.

The tears that I had held back finally flowed. The anger... I could almost taste it on my tongue. After a few blocks one direction, I decided to turn around. I found myself in the Peabody upon returning to the hotel, which was right across the street. (I know that this may begin to sound like a short story that I am writing, but as I am trying to tell you what happened, I find that I need to paint a picture or something--as if that makes sense. So forgive me.) The Lobby Bar, which is this spacious area as you enter the hotel, had ritzy all over the place; various seating arrangements, intimate cozy spots mixed with sections of seating for gathering small groups of people, were all over. It was casually crowded, so nobody noticed my mood.

I finally found a seat away from everyone that was part of an arrangement of two chairs and two couches. I sat and began boiling with negative feelings; anger, sadness, emptiness, loss, and frustration seemed to have sat around in that arrangement to brood with me. I decided to myself, now this is a good time to write some poetry. After finding some pen and paper I did. I'll post it some time, just not now.

I had the poem written, I made a couple of minor changes, and was done when two couples along with five children invaded my space. I had stopped crying and was just clearing my head. I wanted to go back to the hotel so that nobody would be concerned about me. In retrospect, I felt the urge (that is for you non-spiritual people; for you who believe, God spoke in my ear) to let someone that has no idea who I am tell me if my writing was good. Who else would be better than a perfect stranger to tell me the unbiased truth?

I got the woman's attention that was neares me to ask her to read. Now, since this has gotten to be a long blog, I will just serve the steak of the conversation. She was concerned about the depth of sadness I had inside. With the poem, not only did she draw that what I was feeling was nearly embedded in me, but she also grasped that I had been feeling this sadness for a long time. That was true. I poured out my heart to this woman. I told her about my relationship with my father. She pretty much said that I needed to be around positive people and that if he is affecting me like this so much, that I need to release myself from it. She was concerned about my well being and I told her that I would be okay.

As I gave her a big bear of a hug, I told her that I was glad that she had it in her to speak what she said to me. (Yup, you non-spiritual people. Here's a warning. I felt like she was an angel in the flesh that came to me. I'm admittedly kind of deaf when it comes to hearing God.) That's when she told me that she was a clinical psychologist. I should have known; she kept asking me if I were going to do harm to myself.

Reassured, I went back to the hotel suite to speak to my father. To my recollection, he was not there.

Yeah, there's more including my hushing a completely packed restaurant, the three wise women, and the guy I met. That last one… well, I’ll just have to refer only part of it. The rest may be placed on the community blog, Original Man, because this is a family blog.

Curious? Don’t worry, it’ll be worth the wait. At least I think so.

Labels: My Writing