Thoughts on Love

After reading this quote in a magazine I felt compelled to write on the subject......  
(written during deployment)

    

Tigris river in the background 

The woman’s authentic fear:

“I don’t want to be manicured for the keeping of a husband, that my entire life source be wasted as the shining trophy displayed in the glass case of our home.”

I simply wonder if she poses a question that may be going through the minds of many young women today.  Humor me for just a moment because if her words are echoing the cries of what is meant to live in the modern empire of dynamic living--- for a woman that is, maybe this is a subject worth giving a couple moments.  I will pose a couple questions, maybe we can find answers to a deafeningly difficult question:  “Is it worth it?” 

My first question:  “Is the glass case of your home not enough, most delightful woman?”  Surely you are a gem of desire in a sea of male possibilities for it’s only those who are plagued with these fears that recite in this way.  “Are the tender delights of a proud affectionate husband a fearful circumstance for you?”

 I only retreat to this illustration for it intimately reveals what we all must consider, “What matters most in life? And is it worth it?”  Formulaic breakdown of the elements--- your life source will be used regardless of desire to employ it or not, in such a sense that every life source is used.  Whether in exercise of pleasure or displeasure, of tender grass roots sprouting shoots of love around you, in a trophy case, among love consummated, or in illicit discipline to your desired end.  Excellent, whatever your desire, experience or don’t experience, but realize you will still grow, you will still see all the great sights, and experience most all wonders in existence though you manage to escape love.  To escape it is your right by design, your right by refining.  Hide yourself and embrace the solitary reckoning that is your station.  Keep all ties to monetary full decking within the palms of your delicate hands.  For there in your delicate hands it will stay.  There is no fear of loss in this, and in the light that is the greatest of hope for you, I hope for your great gain.  That savage delights of beauty, success, and momentum overtake you.  Overtake you like the exhilaration of waves that wash forth the pace of your brand new days.  That your mind is saturated with the autonomous yet deft power of flight that your soul has attained.  That you be strong in this, knowing there is no taking of this away.  Secure, seeing the pleasures of your social world stay.  In the end love will catch you though.  Some way, somehow the tidal wave of love’s velocity will find you sleeping in your hometown.  It will find you sleeping like the knock at the door from a friend not seen in years.  It will catch you at the store buying groceries as an acquaintance who remembers you near.  When you’re driving, this random sight will appeal to your senses to make the phone-call, drive, or write the letter that will place you on love’s doorstep.  Though you remain a fugitive in your heart from one of life’s greatest gifts, this magnificent entity will shower you anyway with the dew of heaven wherever you plant your feet.  Though you build a bomb shelter, encapsulating yourself, it will sneak in with the arrival of supplies.  Though you reject its human representation in every being you see, it will find means to present itself to you in the inhuman associations that abide in your dwelling.  The trappings of convenience will quietly reveal the gaping wonders of ingenuity that allow your soul to be effected, affected, and infected by the trials of tender illumination.  In your great heights the prostrate embodiment will lie before you in humble desire and adoration for a moment of your attention, and significance added to its meaning.  For you can only add to love’s meaning, never take away, you can only impart the heartbeat it’s needing, not cause desire to stray.  Imprisoned, shackled, it waits for you, enslaved in the most barbarous of tasks awaiting the day of your satisfaction.  The day of your possible reaction to the entity that pursues you with the full breadth of its being.  Not for trivial pleasure of gain, or the obligatory hopes of something permanently retained.  Awaiting the reality of searing loss and loving the cost, because you are more desired than a thirsty land desires rain.  These are the raiments of affection that pursue you to the ends of the earth, for a hesitant scoop full of your attention.  Alone in the cold it wanders, shivering, destitute without comfort just for a moment to say:  I witnessed her, I saw her, and she looked into my eyes.  Ultimately, when this type of love is discovered between two individuals it's always worth it. 

--GB

Hawaiian Brian's Nov. 30th

Thank you guys so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to aid us on our path!!


Aloha and our many thanks for giggin' with us......

Surfer's coffee Bar

Wednesday night at the surfer’s coffee bar in Wahiawa are collective jam sessions that turn out being pretty fun.

There was a fellow off to the left watching with this intense gaze, he was older and looked a bit rough around the edges. After playing some music, then taking a seat near this gentleman we got to talking and he imparted to me about some of his time in prison and other vices he succumbed too after he lost his wife of thirty years to cancer. “I was angry for a long time,” he said with almost tears in his eyes...... then he relaxed, “when I should’ve been thankful for all the years I was able to have with such an amazing woman.”

Really startling was the man's striking resemblance to my father who passed away 5 months ago. It was good to talk to Bill — he’s out on a mission’s trip with a group from Wisconsin.

“It’s a hard sale trying to tell your church congregation you’re headed for a mission’s trip to Hawaii,” some of them told me.
“It is,” I smiled.

Toni, one of the ladies said something remarkably profound: “......you know if you love people..... anywhere you go can be home. Because people have some differences but for the most part people are the same. I really like to meet and get to know folks. My friends have a joke that I tend to know everyone on the plane just as landing gear is approaching the runway.”
“That’s a pretty courageous attitude!” I applauded her.

BLUE LIGHT FUNK BAND

Gyn is the lead vocalist in a group called Blue Light Funk. I went to see them late last night in honolulu at Gordon Biersch. These excellent musicians remind me nostalgically of times growing up and seeing the Rippingtons backstage and performing in LA. Blue Light Funk has a musical prowess that leaves novel listeners and students of music alike with volumes of knowledge from their performances.  People's reactions are part of the entertainment!

This is not why I’m writing this narrative though; it takes alot to inspire me to sit down and flesh out ideas in written form with surf season in high gear. What's important particularly about last night was that I witnessed what may have been possibly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen between a couple. No love story, movie, novel romance efficiently demonstrates what happened in one instantaneous action that would’ve been unseen if you weren’t looking for it. All the virtues, descriptions, narratives and illuminations of imagination designed to provoke or engage the stimulation of love were funneled into a singular action.

I was sitting at the table when Gyn came over and sat down....... his vocal counterpart Melody was handling the vocals for the moment so Gyn was sitting out for a song...... his wife took a seat, and another woman who I hadn't met. I introduced myself, her name was Margaret—she was Marc’s wife (the guitarist). Marc is a studied and expressive guitarist.

The area in front of the stage was full of dancers letting out nervous energy from the sensory overload Blue Light Funk produces. Just so you have an idea ---Blue Light’s bass player Cat lays down bass lines and bylines --- under, over, around the melody, through the groove and in between his legs. Cat doesn’t resist it, his entire body is in syncopation with the sound like sonar traveling from his bass.  Drummer Josh dishes a ground and pound rhythm filling every gap and edge of musical tone like a coral reef covered in wet cement....... wet cement, because his arrangements will lock your ass into a groove if ya let him sit for too long.

In the midst of all the dancing Margaret stood up and walked over to the side of the stage where nobody was, near Marc, and started dancing. I watched as Marc quickly stepped down off the stage with guitar in hand trading dance moves with his lady without missing a beat. They went back and forth in a dancing dialogue trading move for move. It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed-- kind of thing that gets tucked away in your psyche teaching you for years and years to come....... stuff like, ‘I hope one day I can love that courageously and gently'........ Marc didn’t stand up on stage, or demonstrate any type of resistance like ‘I’m up here playing right now.’ He quickly stepped down and reached over and touched the foot pedals a couple times with his hand to change tones on his guitar; to be near to her, to shroud her in love and support........ his guitar is screamin’  like a mad fool in love. 

Blue Light Funk delivers the hurt, they funk up every venue in hawaii.  Take the opportunity if ya ever get to hear them Live.

The Voice of Legend

Jonathan's father officiating his wedding in 2015 (courtesy of JB)

When the voice of legend speaks, many times you must endure the drudgery of opening your heart and mind to listen. If you make the initial effort though, you will often find that the truth and the voice of legend embody many similar qualities. So much, they could be compared to two lovers on a beach walking hand in hand with a backdrop of incomparable beauty. This story is worth a second look, or an extra set of ears.

Tonight is Jon Burlingame’s birthday, he rounded a couple of us up to join him and some family to a dinner out to celebrate, we’re headed to Dixie’s on Oahu. Jon’s father and brother meet us at the restaurant. Don sits down at the head of the table, we didn’t know how to take his father at first but he and Jon chatted comfortably enough. The rest of Johnny's family is on the mainland taking care of family business as they call it.

Don tells us:
“I had ten children that I raised on this island.”
“Really,” I say surprised.
“Six boys and four girls.”
“Wow”
“Yes……. big family,” he says. “We moved here in 86’ and have been here ever since.”
“Where were you guys before Hawaii?”
“Oregon….. little town with a populace of 300 people.”


Jon is sitting next to me shaking his head, as if my asking questions are breaching a dam, a dam with enough water to take over the entire evening. Jon changes the subject quickly and starts talking to his dad about army business. I let them chat for a bit, I’m completely intrigued by this man who successfully raised ten children on the island of Oahu.

“So how.......” before I finish my sentence, Don says:
“I worked 80 hour weeks for thirteen years.”
I chew on that for a second.
“You should’ve seen the house we built,” he adds. “Seven bedrooms, three bathrooms.”
“I’m sure it was a lot of hard work,” I indulge. “Did you guys live in a mad house or what?”
“An animal house,” Jon's brother offers.
Don continues - “we always had a lot of people over, we lived right next to a halfway house so my wife was always inviting folks over for dinner.”
I sat amazed, Jon continued shaking his head – as if to say ‘thanks Gabe…... you breached the DAM.’
“She’d cook a dinner for 25 people” his father continued. “And I’m not talking just food for the masses, we’re talking about really good stuff!”
Jon's brother nodding in agreement as if he could smell the good food from so many years ago.

Jon and I worked together on deployment, and what a stubborn guy--- but what a huge heart! I was always getting angry with him because he’d get diagnosed with severe back injuries by our PA, and the next day I’d see him in the gym on a decline bench with a 45lb plate across his chest doing sit-ups. I’d give him a piece of my mind, and then he’d go on this tirade about how his dad was superhuman, had thrown out his back 49 times (really 5-8 times) and never needed a doctor, or surgery, and had been in construction in the outdoors every day of his life. One story in particular sticks out; he explained a time when his father and another guy were carrying a bathtub weighing hundreds of pounds down some stairs and the weight shifted falling down onto his father sandwiching him to the concrete. Completely collapsing one of his discs in his lower back. After getting the tub off him he tells his co-worker: “I need a back adjustment from the chiropractor….. I’ll be back.” The chiropractor tells him he broke his back and he’ll need a referral to a doctor for surgery where he’ll take a short 4-month break to recover. Deciding against it his father goes back to work the next day. His father’s ability to recover Jon felt traced back to his background as a bodybuilder in his younger years. After having repeated assessments by medical specialists years later, the only thing they could surmise is that his Don's lower back development is what fused parts of bone back together after injury keeping him functional. There’s parts of his spine that are completely missing, discs that have been disintegrated. Iron will, a true to life bad-ass not in select theaters.

On the way home from dinner Jon says, “when I say we were poor I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t have shoes growing up. You don’t need them till’ seventh grade, that or a T-shirt at schools here in Hawaii.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” I tell him. “You had guys going to class in board shorts, without a T-shirt and barefoot at the schools here.”
“You have to remember,” Jon says, “the school we went to in Kailua was very poor. So shoes, and even T-shirts weren’t required for the boys until 7th grade.”
“Whooooooooaaaa” everyone in the car was in Hawaii awe…

The Burlingame’s contracting and construction management company became very successful. While we were still at dinner Don explained how they managed projects in Kenya and Uganda. Building schools, medical aid facilities, and providing fresh water. One project in particular was about $32,000 and they built a school with a medical aid facility: “You got these super tall tribal leaders,” Don says. “They’re like the hunters and warriors of the camp. They run fourteen miles to work and fourteen miles back every day—barefoot.”
“Whooooooooaaa” everyone at the table was in Kenya awe.
“This one evening a pack of lions ramble right into the center of our camp!! There’s a lion scratching its back alongside the spine of a tent just across from ours! So the tribal leaders get up and chase the lions with machetes!! They chase the lions out of the camp! ‘The lions fear us,’ they tell us,” Don was astounded by that statement. As we sat at the table it felt like info was being compressed and compacted into my wind tunnel brain. I knew immediately the cause of Jon's embarrassment – because his Dad had some of the best stories that would captivate anyone within earshot.

I couldn’t stop asking him questions on the way home, “Why did they have ten kids?? Did your father just start making a ton of money?” I was completely flustered.
“No,” he replied. “We were always in debt, just until a few years ago…. my parents just genuinely loved each other.”
I asked him about Kenya, he was about 18 at the time and at the last minute his father had raised the $6,000 dollars to take him along on the trip.
“There were these Muslim rebels going around slaughtering people. In fact the tribe we were working with had been ravaged and killed by the rebels, mostly all males of military age.”
“Why” I asked him.
“Because they’re Christian. So these Muslim soldier types come in and just kill people.”
“And you guys are there while this is going on?”
“Yeah, basically while we’re there these UN soldiers stop in at our camp… and they mention they’re expecting an attack and we may have to leave.”
“God that’s insane dude.”
“Yeah, then all of a sudden a week later they come back, and real calm they tell us— ‘the threat’s been neutralized.’”
“Wow…. sounds like a lot of work that Special Forces and Seals are doing there in Africa.”
“Oh yeah, all kinds of SF are working out there. But get this, right after they tell us that—like a day or two later we’re out on the road and we’re passing all these UN soldiers, and we pass their Bradley vehicles. And there’s all these black bags piled up.”
“My God.”
“They just slaughtered like 200 of those Muslim rebels with Bradleys and had them in body bags.”
One of the times Don arrived to Africa he had a shotgun held to his chest and was questioned who he was and what he was doing there in Kenya by a local. Oddly enough, this was happening while a cup of coffee was being made for him. Don pointed to a nearby building, “Do you see that school?”
“Yes,” the man answered.
“I built that school”
The man set his shotgun down, “that school was built free of charge. Why did you do it?”
“Because there is great need here." The man gave him a hug.

We had a couple more laughs before calling it a night and Jon says to me:
“Bravo…… I hope you don’t get offended”
“What’s that, “ I say bracing myself.
“You remind me of Pastor Perry, this guy at my church in Kailua growing up.”
“Really,” I ask. “Is he a stud…... does he get chicks.”
“Actually, I’ve got a funny story about something like that.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, he was in Puerto Rico too, he was in the navy like twenty some years. After his trip to Kenya he decided when he retired, because of that he was going to dedicate the rest of his life to ministry. Anyways, he told me about this really gorgeous girl he met while he was in PR. She was this amazing Spanish girl; you know from Spain.”
“Yes, well most Spanish girls...... are from Spain.”
“So he’s all into this girl, and her family is living over in the US. They end up getting engaged and he buys her a plane ticket to go visit her family before they get married. Three weeks later they’re talking on the phone and she says, “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What” he says.
“I can’t be with you anymore…. I’ve decided I’m going to commit myself to a life of celibacy and join the convent.”
“Ahhhhhh,” Green says. “I don’t like that story.”
“Yea, neither do I Jon,” I grumble. “You’re saying I inspire women to a celibate life. You realize this is hanging over my head now like a dark cloud for the rest of my life.”
Jon laughed.

At least somebody did.