I am a far better communicator in print and I feel that there are things that need some clarity about Love and support before I start doing something that is going to cause me grief in the future.

Even as my closest loved ones if you were all closed minded preachers of something that would go so far as to exorcise my demons or something obviously harsh like that, I wouldn’t have any issue with hiding all my life’s gory details from you and going about my business, but because I see you all as liberal, open-minded, wise souls, I cherish your opinions not only as my loving support group but as people I look up to as well. You make a very strong devil’s advocate to my most difficult choices. Believe that.

I know that after you saw me try to hang onto an abusive relationship and get torn to pieces emotionally by Amy, that it has become difficult to let me go out the front door and live without wanting to pull me back and protect me. She did a number on everybody. I learned a hard lesson about some people being beyond help from that, which is why when Nilofar’s true colors of non-commitment started to show I had to let her go. I tried to hang on for a while. I tried to express to her that staying would be just as safe as going to get that needed freedom. So I allowed her to leave and come back at her convenience when she would be ready.

Now I am faced with a difficult decision. What is it to father a child? Is it our sperm or our heart? If I am not a father to Shiloh what does that make Kurt to me? Welcome to the new millennium of dysfunctional family. There are no simple easy solutions in a world of complexities. If there were we would be stoic and bored. I came to realize through professional help that no matter where I go from here I will have to face loss. Something that hurts me is the losses I have already amounted of course. I lost a lot of potentially good time with Carl and Jenny. I am losing more everyday. We are all losing and that; the deepest wound of all, continues to deepen.

If we extract the notion that bodily fluids is what connects parent to child, because in this day and age, we must. Kurt Edward Nordwall, the man I see as my dad is a shining example of that. There are countless others. Something I don’t think any of you realize, is that in my heart. I have a daughter. I must repeat that again because I don’t think any of you really have it sunk in. I have a daughter. Her name is Shiloh Rose. I gave her half of that name. I cut her from her mothers emptied womb. I shared so many of her firsts. I had sleepless nights and protective reflexes. You don’t see it that way. I understand that now. You visited with it on a few occasions and probably from that perspective saw me as a mere guest in her life too. I assure you my heart is no guest. Is that scary? Yes. Challenging? Ummmm to say the least. Am I up for it? Terrified. On my own? More terrified. Can I bear to lose her and let her grow up with her wacky mom on HER own? Absolutely not. I have a duty. I have honor. My heart tells me I don’t have a choice. I have a daughter. I have a daughter that will grow into a more whole and loving human being with a father that loves her, than without.

I know you can love me and not support me. I know you can keep a safe distance so I don’t splatter any more of my wounds on you. It is safer that way. I know you all see me as an emotional masochist, and perhaps you are right. This is my nature. I swear to you, I do not seek out whack-jobs. They just find me like gravity. Something I have learned from my time with a professional is that in any difficult choice the real challenge is choosing what to lose. Every decision has gains and losses. Gains are easy. If it were all gain, well the answers would just be and astounding yes across the board. What I am realizing now is that my choice will come with losses for you all too because we are webbed together by love and proximity. You have a choice. Support me or not. I am choosing to life a life as a constantly challenged by difficulty as a father, or as a grief and guilt stricken and broken man with more regret than anything. I know you want to protect me so you advise me to stay safe, but the truth is that I have to face insurmountable loss either way. It sucks, but it is the hard truth. Now you can choose to support me, or to continue loving me from a safe distance. But know this. Your distance is will not save me from any hurts. It only makes me hurt more. It hurts me more than you know because I have been burying in hope that you might change your minds.

For any of the painful challenges my nature has caused in you, I am deeply sorry. I know my immediate vicinity hasn’t been the safest place lately and for that which you shared I commend your strength and courage. I am viscerally benevolent with my heart. It is my nature. I know my benevolence causes pain when it is taken advantage of but you need to know that I have no regrets about anything I have ever done. I have suffered lots but have lived a very rich life of love. I want you to all to be part of that more than anything.

On the first day of third grade a girl came into my life. A new student, transferred from Hawaii. Suburban Minnesota didn’t have many Islanders. I had never seen one. I heard she was coming and had no idea what to expect. She arrived mysterious and magical. Within weeks I was totally taken away to paradises I had never known. We talked on the phone everyday after school for hours without ever actually having a real date until the party. Believe it or not the party I speak of was almost three years later. Still phone dating, which I am convinced is some kind of record, we were done with elementary school and moving up to middle school, where kids were starting puberty and had style.

The elementary graduation started as most youthful parties start. The girls were on the opposite side of the room as the boys. We mostly talked about what sports teams we might try out for once we were in middle school. There were snacks. There was a scavenger hunt. Mostly we were pretty bored and segregated until the grand finale. We played a game that was sort of a mix between spin the bottle and truth or dare. Lanai and I were put in a situation where we were supposed to kiss, on the mouth for at least three seconds. Our faces timidly neared. Our audience huddled in around us leaning closer. We closed our eyes and almost missed each others tensely pursed lips. The creeping crowd counted in one-one-thousands and celebrated wildly when our time limit was accomplished.

On our lips separation she exclaimed, “You bit my tongue.”
Everyone laughed. I felt sexual embarrassment for the first time. We never even opened our mouths. I was hurt and angry, but overall speechless and confused. Shortly after the end of a brief round of that game, we had a chance to be alone for a little while. I asked her why she told everyone that I bit her tongue, to which she replied that she had bitten her own tongue. I guess she was just as nervous as I was. But now we were alone, in the dark. We decided to do it again. We stayed in the privacy of our little chamber and our lips met again, gently this time. The touch was soft at first, then slightly more passionately just before her tongue did eventually find the inside of my mouth. We hugged too, not exploring at all with our hands, but holding tight. If the house crumbled to the ground around us, I don’t think we would have noticed. It was beautiful.

We emerged from our dark room holding hands for the first time and I felt like a stud for the first time. I was ready for middle school, where we would finally part ways. I don’t even remember how that happened. I just remember the telephone and that kiss. Oh the pain and pleasure of that kiss and that night. I must have played it over and over in my head all night, which is when I learned the spooning with a pillow technique. I didn’t sleep a wink.

I know the dinosaur. He is my friend. I never knew how close I was to him until I saw the end.

It came to me in a dream of a cancerous tar pit.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex arose and rolled out a red carpet.

Come join us he said, your time has come

This world is ready for its next kingdom.

I ran up to greet him, feeling exhausted and relieved

He welcomed me with open claws and open jaws. For the first time I didn’t fear his gnarling fangs.

Your teeth ain’t so bad, I said. Just look at the hell I raised.

We toasted to a job well done as we sank into the pit.

Together we laughed about all of it.

Bwancha Swamizu, a child(that is his name) is in a museum learning about his history. According to the floating fiber-optic parchment eons ago the last species that ruled his home planet went extinct millions of years before from starvation in a climactic depravation. Supposedly a high carbon algae went extinct first then there was climactic change, then chaos, then hunger, then war, then nuclear fallout.

“Shmamsa?”, he called out. His mother came to answer whatever questions she could. He wanted to know if it was all true. She waited patiently. He told her he learned that they were now the third known species and that during the Jurassic and Triassic Periods, but that they became extinct and were followed by a more intelligent and smaller species in the Quaternary Period. What will happen to us?

“Krasmindingu”, she replied with a smile on her face. This was the secret to all of their balanced nature and put him at ease.

I would translate it for you but I have no idea what it means.

What means harmony to you?

I was asked by someone recently what religious beliefs I practice. Unfortunately, I am not going to disclose the details about my spirituality, rather I will provide a side of my background and let you use your imagination from there and since the two are related, it is a great opportunity to add some sentiment to something very dear to me.

I can tell you that I have studied several religions, and attended some of their churches. My favorite author on the subject is Joseph Campbell, who has studied religion far deeper than I could ever aspire to. He also coined “Follow Your Bliss”. What I will go into is history of oppression. The blacks were made slaves in the new world by the settlers in the south. The Jews were slaves in the middle-east for centuries, and now, a less commonly known oppressed group have been held down by the man; women. All have something in common; God. Fallible man, claims that God dictates who is not worthy of equality out of fear. For this reason alone I have chosen my spiritual path. Man is weak, therefore the church makes mistakes. I choose not to be led astray by human error. I do not condemn any church because the Churches own deities, Jesus Christ, Buddha, and Mohammad, all teach patience and forgiveness.

Now onto women, (damn this is sounding more fun). Women have always been seen as different from man, which they are. We will never be equal, because of those differences, but we were once looked at as peers rather than inferior and superior. We worshiped each other for our strengths instead of chastising each other for our weaknesses. Before the New Testament, a woman was cherished and even at times worshiped as a goddess in all religions. Today a woman is a risk to an employer and a hazard to sexual prowess of coworkers. Her strengths are a threat to the working man. In turn she fights back with every element of her being, lashing out at men, bosses and even other women. This is what happens to anyone who has been trapped as inferior for centuries. The floodgates open and chaos tears down the entire cage, scattering carnage everywhere.

We are still infants at this and have no idea what to do. The everyday rituals are lost and people sometimes joke the female orgasm is a myth. I don’t think that is funny at all. OK, maybe a little, but the truth is that the entire world needs to learn to cope with women as a part of society again, not just as a bag of flesh that does our chores and waits for hubby at home so she can hold his growing kid in her belly, just to be divorced and cursed by him later. The truth is that we are all scared. Men are become deadbeat dads because women are so strong that the men can’t restrain the fleeing beast inside of them and after generation upon generation of what we have been taught in our own homes, by the church, and the word of God himself, we panic. We must unlearn what we have learned for centuries. Put our women back up on the altar of worship for what they are, and humbly beg for their forgiveness.

On the same note we should also view the other perspective. In reciprocation we should be forgiving to the women for lashing out hard, post sexual revolution. Believe me it is not easy to deal with from a man’s perspective. We are sometimes clueless how to act on a date to each individual woman, let alone in an intimate partnership. I have been called many horrible names just for trying to pay for dinner, and like I said, that is just a date. It gets way more serious than that.

Neither men nor women alike are to blame for this hypocrisy. In fact no one should be blamed. It is human error and fear that, centuries ago, decided to burn strong willed women at the stake for being heretics. Joan of Arc became a military leader and freed France. If a man had led a country to freedom, which also happened, he might have been killed for treason by the opposition, but not by his own people. Joan was killed because she was a woman who under the voice of God grew in power strong enough to liberate a country. She must be a heretic. Kill her, she has a strong will. Burn her! Burn her! Her own government under Christian influence did that. Do you think that would have happened if Louie XIV would have led them to freedom? Men ordained by God! Think about it. Women, our beautiful women deserve their voice in the spotlight. Women are our caretakers, our compassion, our muses, and our reason to do justice. They give the world balance. They deserve our worship. They deserve our loyalty. Most of all, they deserve forgiveness from the fear of humanities need for power.

No matter how far the
distance you have traveled
nor the failures
that have gathered,
hope would still
meet you anywhere.

Any instrument played can be played beautifully. Some instruments are very forgiving, which is not to suggest that one can suck at it. There are many qualities in Love. The forgiveness of a guitar is beautiful because its liberal nature has shaped the peaceful and passionate freedom of rock and roll. The mathematical precision of a piano teaches our children the beautiful foundation of the language of music and can be played with any style, fitting in nicely. My friend Josie comes to mind as she is a teacher of piano. A saxophone is a direct extension of the wailing tears of a temper tantrum and the excited joy of a roller coaster. Percussion is the footsteps of life. It guides us along our path with a determination that won’t allow us to slow down if the beat is furious. Unconditional determined Love is a huge sound from a tiny instrument, and that instrument is the violin.

When you pick up a violin for the first time, first you notice the delicate work that went into the craftsmanship. The greatest luthier of all time was from Cremona, Italy in the late 1600’s named Antonio Stradivari. His violins are still around and worth hundreds of millions of dollars. No really. I am not joking. Some say he worked for God. The thin wood is bent into ergonomic shapes and appear as though they were constructed for aesthetics alone, yet the function of the acoustics defies all definition of sound with a supernatural booming voice. The strings are suspended by their own tension over a thin slice of blonde wood not even attached to the instrument. The pegs hold the tuning tension in a scrolled headpiece, gracious and bold like a seashell. When you hold the bow you don’t grasp it. You guide it with the very tips of your fingers. The way that you hold the violin between your cheek and shoulder, forces you to tilt your head penitently before its delicate power.

The tuning of the instrument being that it is very short is extremely sensitive. The slightest movement of a peg could take you up or down an entire step. The fingerboard is traditionally ebony with no markings or frets. It may sound like I am implying guesswork to find the proper notes, but that is the point you have to get to know this instrument, not just the basics of the mathematics of an octave, but taking the time to memorize the way it feels with each hand movement. Your fingers must explore every position and sound of the violin and commit its graceful sounds to memory everywhere with every touch.

Guiding the horsehair across the strings is another temper that makes this instrument so special. The speed of the stroke, the tension on the string and the direction of approach are all things that affect the fine sounds. If you don’t rub it the right way, believe me that there will be no guessing. The violin will scream the most hideous screech you have ever heard in protest of its delicate needs. When you do it right, it will sing more beautifully than any sound you could ever think might come from your own hand. The passion in your heart shines through your fingertips, extended along the bow and end up coming out of a tiny, curvy box, humbly nestled into the side of your neck.

Having the intimacy of the violin memorized into your sense of touch so that the passion of your heart can be properly expressed, is a marriage of a work of Love and the submission of yourself. When you take the time to give yourself to it, and give some more, until you feel like you cannot give anymore. You keep on giving, and in the end you find out that there no more pain in failure. There is, instead, more Love. You are now ready to sing your Love to the world, through your heartbreaking failures, painful learning experiences, and strength of not giving up. That is Love.

Today was a fabulously fun day. I slept in which was nice. I rescheduled an appointment for the following day to preserve fuel and emissions into the world, and because, well. Maybe I was a bit lazy too. I thought fondly of the city's great library and wrote a blog to help people with their windows. It was a blog that I planned earlier in the week and snapped a few photos at a job I had worked on to accompany the blog. I hope someone gets some use out of it someday. Then I actually had to go to the library to publish it. That was worth a giggle since I was just thinking of being there earlier that day with Lia. While I was writing I was listen to chillout radio and sharing videos or romantic space travel. It was the highlight of the writing process. How to blogs are kind of a drag to write in comparison to the things I really like to write about. Fantasy trumps reality almost all the time. I wonder if my long distance relationship is a fantasy that won't be as swell in reality, but then I remember that we are two real people sharing real thoughts and real feelings and I get even more amazed and nervously excited about my heart and what it is doing.

As a side note: someone picked on a friend of mine and remembering another's feelings of helplessness and desire to be defended, and knowing this wasn't the first time some bullying happened I went in and stood up for my friends. I strapped on a set of brass balls and boldly spoke my peace, by calling out a power mongering bully. Fuck yeah!