healing

Scarred


“That moment you realize that life will hurt more than your death. While existing, we’re forced to become acquainted with sadness. There’s no antibiotic for the ridding of distress, and no alleviation of these intervals of pain we must encounter. Behind our eyes are all these things: our stories, our dreams, our deficiencies, and our scars.”
― Crystal Woods,
Write like no one is reading

Ybora20-c2016earlharrisphotography

“Scarred”, Fujifilm X-T1, ISO 200, f/5.3 at 1/320th sec., 62.4 mm

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earl harris photography
Photographing people, places, pets and ponderings
throughout Central Florida.

Unevolving

“The future is uncertain but the end is always near.”
― Jim Morrison

I have previously shared my observation that Time’s method of “healing all wounds” is most often through the obliteration of the wounded. Photographs are frequently intentional or unintentional markers and milestones of the obliteration of the wounds of the past. Nothing like Time can so effectively and completely take something that once had value and deep significance — like a home whose walls contained laughter and tears, birth and death, good times and bad, a family — and transform it into a nuisance, an eyesore, and a hindrance to progress. And what is progress but the infliction of new wounds and the ongoing assurance of job security for Time?

I hope you’ll dance.

"Unevolving", Nikon D800, ISO 800, f/11 at 1/640 sec., 28mm

“Unevolving”, Nikon D800, ISO 800, f/11 at 1/640 sec., 28mm

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Eggsistential

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Four-score Men and Four-score more,
Could not make Humpty Dumpty what he was before.
      — Samuel Arnold, Juvenile Amusements, 1797

I am a few days early for a new year’s eve message, but today’s photo prompts me to get on with it. As I was walking along a sidewalk downtown, I came upon an egg that had fallen out of a nest built on a street light above. The sun had dried out the splattered yolk and a few ants scurried about the broken shell, feasting on misfortune. It struck me as a fitting reflection and symbol of the year that now comes to a close.

Despite the many advances in GLBT rights, I will forever equate 2013 to loss, destruction, pain and death. It is the year that shattered my life of happiness with James, watching him so cruelly and horrifyingly being eaten alive by cancer. Like a new and long-hoped-for egg, we embarked on the adventure of marriage on July 29 – after 21 years together – only to have that monumental accomplishment tossed out and splattered across the sidewalk a month-and-a-half later. Now, I sit alone in a nest that echoes with emptiness while hell taunts me with thoughts of what was and what never will be.

Goodbye, 2013 – and good riddance! I pray that 2014 will be a year that holds some hope of starting to heal from the experience this egg and I have shared. Perhaps my hopes are tainted by knowing all-too-well how Humpty Dumpty turned out.

"Eggsistential" [Click the image to enlarge/reduce its size.] Nikon D800, ISO 320, f/2.0 at 1/350 sec., 85mm

“Eggsistential” [Click the image to enlarge/reduce its size.] Nikon D800, ISO 320, f/2.0 at 1/350 sec., 85mm
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No Justice for Boston

As I watch and read the continuing coverage of the Boston Marathon bombings, my thoughts turn to our condition. People keep talking about “bringing the perpetrators to justice” and I don’t believe we can.

My word processor has a “justify” option. Using justification enables me to impose margins, adjust, and balance my text. Can any justice we enact similarly adjust and balance the lives of the victims and their families? It seems the only justice the victims would recognize is giving them back what they have lost, be it their legs or their lives. We are not able to bring the dead back to life and we can’t regenerate or fully restore blown off limbs. How is it we can so readily promise justice? The murderous and diabolic acts of 9/11 happened almost 12 years ago. Despite on-going war and the death of Osama bin Laden, no one I have spoken to in conversation seems to feel justified or restored.

All we can do as a society is enact discipline. Our laws provide the means for trying and imposing punishment for those who threaten our safety. In some cases, the punishment we bestow can be as grievous as the crime committed. Punishment is a deterrent, a tool for discipline. It’s the same thing we do when a child misbehaves – it is not justice. After those responsible for the bombs are caught and punished, will the families of those who lost loved ones be restored? Will lost limbs be regenerated? Will true healing and restoration have occurred? Sadly, no.

What we call “justice” is the equivalent of a life preserver: it helps keep society and its members afloat. Without punishment and discipline, we would drift and drown in a quagmire of uncontrolled chaos and selfishness. But admit that the punishment we enact isn’t going to restore or heal. It isn’t ever going to bring justice.

Nikon D300, ISO 320, f/9.5 at 1/60 sec., 18 mm

Nikon D300, ISO 320, f/9.5 at 1/60 sec., 18 mm

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A Prize Fighter Named Rocky

Over 1.5 years ago, Rocky appeared on the back doorstep begging for food. Cats seem to know that the suckers residing at my address will give them a good meal if they are on the street and hungry; we’ve adopted two that came into our lives that way. When Rocky showed up, he was skittish but demanding. He would eat the food we’d put out and disappear again.

After several days of this, he trusted me to pick him up. People are impressed by Rocky’s size; he’s a big cat and pretty darn strong, too. I couldn’t help but fall in love with him, so Rocky got to experience a trip to the vet to get neutered, checked out, vaccinated and tested for FIV and Feline Leukemia (FLV).

Sony Cybershot, ISO 250, f/3.5 at 1/40 sec. (Auto Mode)

To make a long story short, Rocky was diagnosed with feline leukemia. His lymph nodes began to really swell up. It devastated me to be told he had maybe two weeks to live, at best. In fact, I refused to believe it. I even took him to another vet for a second opinion, only to have the first one confirmed.

I believe in miracles. When I was a child, my family and many family friends witnessed a miracle of healing that resulted in my father still being around to bless my life today instead of succumbing to doctor’s opinions and a hopeless prognosis. I have no doubt of the power of faith and prayer. Rocky’s vet still says she is at a complete loss to explain his miraculous recovery, though to me there is no question.

Rocky (aka “Little Buddy”) is a fighter. Though he’s confined to life in his own 2-bedroom basement apartment, his needs as an attention whore get satisfied daily and he enjoys being spoiled. He even likes – and demands by standing next to the sink and getting really vocal – a nightly bath so he can maintain his status as the world’s softest cat.

Rocky has blessed our home in ways I can’t even begin to describe. We’re so happy he chose us.

Nikon D300, ISO 200, f/5.6 at 1/60 sec., 82 mm

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