I apologize for my absence the last week, friends. Turns out I got quite sick. Still trying to dig out of it. I got the flu (non-stomach virus), with full on body aches and a high fever. Not fun, right? Well, the day after my fever broke and I thought on was turning the corner, I woke up unable to swallow at all. Surprise! Strep throat! Well, all of us writers know that comedy and tragedy must come in 3s and 5s, so we can’t just end with flu and strep. Yesterday my doctor told me over the phone that I probably have an upper respiratory infection as well. Ding! Ding! Ding! We have the trifecta!
I’m not sure if I had/have all three of those or just a combination of two, but let me tell you, I really don’t care. I just want to be done with it.
Anyway, that’s the reason for my absence. I apologize.
But I have good news for you!
If you have been wanting to get Pieces Like Pottery and just thought that $5.00 for mocha and $4.99 for a whole book was just too much to spend, well you’re right. Stop spending so much on coffee! You could be saving for your retirement! You don’t need that much sugar! Caffeine? Yes. Sugar? No!
You’re in luck, though, because Pieces Like Pottery is on sale this week! Just $0.99 cents!
About a year ago my book reached bestseller status on Amazon. I was delighted and honored and humbled. In return, to celebrate that anniversary I decided to put it on sale as a thank you to all my supporters. Thank you!
I did not expect it at all, but I logged on this morning only to find this:
We’re back, friends! Wow! Thank you for your support. I’m honored and touched.
Since this is Holy Week and my book explores the themes of the Five Sorrowful Mysteries, I figured what better time than now to basically give it away to readers. This is a great week to do some heartfelt reading and some reflection on what it means for us to be human.
So, if you’ve been waiting to buy it, now’s your chance. Get a copy for yourself! Gift one to your friend! You can currently get 5 books for the normal price of 1. Don’t miss out!
And if you prefer print copies, worry not! I am discounting my print book 33% off the $15 cover price this week for anyone that wants a signed print version. Simply send me an email at danburi777 {at} gmail {dot} com.
If you’ve been waiting to get it, don’t sleep! Now’s your chance!
I have a story in my book Pieces Like Pottery—”The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery”—in which I experimented with a number of different literary devices. More and more readers have begun to notice one of the devices more regularly.
In addition to breaking the story up into ten sections, each of which follows one of the themes from the fifth sorrowful mystery, each section in the story also has a song that is paired with it. Yes, you read that right. I paired a song with each section. Like a fine wine paired with a good meal, the song’s lyrics are intended not only to add another layer of meaning to the words, but can also be listened along with that section of the story.
While more and more readers have been picking up on this, it’s certainly not an easy task for the casual reader, especially not one reading the print version of the book. I’ve promised to do this for quite awhile, so here you go. In ten parts, here is “The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery” paired with each song. Enjoy!
(For those of you that might be interested in how this section ties into the fifth sorrowful mystery, the fifth sorrowful mystery is The Crucifixion and the “spiritual fruit” is the Pardoning of Injuries. Part 10 reflects Jesus’ words to one of the criminals hanging on the cross next to him, “This day you will be with Me in paradise.”)
Mike knelt at the gravesite and kissed his fingers. The sun continued to shine brightly. It had been a year since Chris’ passing. It had felt like a lifetime. He placed two fingers on the stone and whispered, “I love you.”
As he rose to his feet, Lisa handed him the handkerchief she was holding. Mike wiped his tears away and thanked her.
“You think that’s it?” Lisa asked, putting the handkerchief back into her purse.
“What’s it?”
“Do you think this is the last one?” She pulled the folded blog back out of her purse.
Mike stood in silence for a minute, pondering as if Lisa had asked the meaning of life, or the meaning of death, for that matter.
“I’m afraid so,” Mike finally replied. “It’s finished. That’s it. Isn’t that what the last blog said?” Lisa unfolded the blog and read the last paragraph aloud again.
So as I am stuck in traffic that’s moving slower than I can walk, I realize that how I react to unforeseen problems, what I do each moment, what I even spend my time thinking about, they all greatly impact my character and my life’s direction. Life’s simple moments are not wasted and unimportant. They are the foundations that shape our lives. They are the formational moments, one added upon another. At least that’s how I see things. But what do I know? One thing’s for sure, I guess—it’s finished. That’s all I have to say. Thanks for reading.
She finished the final sentence with a question mark that wasn’t on the paper as if to question whether Chris actually cared if anyone read his blog or to question whether she could accept they were finished.
“It is finished, isn’t it?” she exhaled.
“It looks that way. I hope so at least. I don’t know if I can handle any more. Constantly checking back to the website. The disappointment that comes when there’s nothing new posted. Not to mention the range of emotions I face when reading those blogs.”
Mike would have previously hesitated to say this, fearing that his words would hurt Lisa or that she would think it meant he didn’t love their son. He no longer found himself able to worry about those things. He thought what he thought. He didn’t want to read the esoteric words of his deceased son any longer.
“I’ll miss them,” was Lisa’s response. “I found them cathartic.”
“I know.”
Mike reached over to give Lisa a hug. They embraced at their son’s grave for a minute. Then, with all the love and sorrow and time the two of them had experienced together, Mike kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll always love you both.”
He turned and walked back down the path from where he came. Lisa watched him follow the path as it curved out of sight behind a grove of trees.
“Me too.”
Lisa sat down on the grass. She took her son’s final blog and put it underneath the candle, which continued to burn protected from the wind and elements by its glass casing.
I have a story in my book Pieces Like Pottery—”The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery”—in which I experimented with a number of different literary devices. More and more readers have begun to notice one of the devices more regularly.
In addition to breaking the story up into ten sections, each of which follows one of the themes from the fifth sorrowful mystery, each section in the story also has a song that is paired with it. Yes, you read that right. I paired a song with each section. Like a fine wine paired with a good meal, the song’s lyrics are intended not only to add another layer of meaning to the words, but can also be listened along with that section of the story.
While more and more readers have been picking up on this, it’s certainly not an easy task for the casual reader, especially not one reading the print version of the book. I’ve promised to do this for quite awhile, so here you go. In ten parts, here is “The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery” paired with each song. Enjoy!
(For those of you that might be interested in how this section ties into the fifth sorrowful mystery, the fifth sorrowful mystery is The Crucifixion and the “spiritual fruit” is the Pardoning of Injuries. Part 10 reflects Jesus’ words to one of the criminals hanging on the cross next to him, “This day you will be with Me in paradise.”)
Things went on like that for two months. Mike kept thinking Lisa would return. He would arrive home from work every day expecting to see her on the front porch, but she would never be there. He would turn on the television for company and with every creak of the wind outside or slam of a car door down the street, Mike’s ears would perk up in anticipation. Lisa would never arrive, but the alcohol would. He was numb, and the alcohol allowed him to actually feel; at least that’s what he convinced himself.
In actuality, he was too scared to feel anything anymore, so he ran to the bottle to hide. It was a safe and comfortable place. Lisa sat across town in a similar fashion, not running to alcohol, but she hid in a host of other things. She continued to “investigate” her son’s death. She made slideshow montages of her son’s life. She drowned in her sorrows and lost touch with most everyone near and dear to her. She fell into a cloistered routine that alienated her from everyone she ever knew. No one could understand her pain and her sadness, so she stewed alone amidst sepia photographs. In the end, both Mike and Lisa were grasping for lifelines wherever they could find them.
They would speak occasionally over the phone, but as the days wore on Lisa became more distant and Mike began to give up hope that they could return to any normal life together. They met up for coffee once. It was clear to Mike that Lisa was simply checking up on him to make sure he still cared about Chris, and it was clear to Lisa that Mike was just wondering when she would move on and they would get back together. The conversation stagnated quickly as they just spoke about the weather and the latest news.
Not long after that, Mike cut back on his drinking, slowly at first until eventually he cut booze out completely. His had been a two-month bender on the train tracks of a functioning alcoholic. Mike missed drowning his sorrows at first, but soon he felt better. He found solace in cold winter walks and cups of tea by the fireside. Moving on from his son was never something he’d wanted, but it was something he was callously forced to face. In reality, he didn’t move on, he simply kept moving. He found he would sink into a desolate despair if he stopped, or he would lean heavily on alcohol, so he just kept moving. It wasn’t so much that he moved on from his son, as it was that he was just forced to continue. He was forced to face a similar reality in his marriage.
It was only a few days after cutting his drinking that he found Chris’ latest blog. Mike had stopped checking back to the blog on a daily basis. He found this one had been posted for three days already.
“If my savior comes, will you let him know I’ve gone away for to save my soul.”
December 15th
I watched a young woman the other day who was completely distraught over her lost keys. She was riffling through her purse and frantically checking her pockets. As I sat at a café across the street, I could hear her mumbling things to herself not so quietly. How can you be so stupid? What the hell is wrong with you? You ALWAYS do this? You’re going to be late; serves you right. I smirked as I watched her because I could see what she couldn’t.
The keys, the ones for which she had been frantically searching, were sitting right in front of her just on the other side of the curb. I quickly realized that as she was overwrought on the sidewalk, she was unable to see the keys, which were gently hidden wedged up against the curb. I walked across the street and handed her the keys.
Maybe this is how we all live our lives. Maybe what we need is right in front of us, if we’ll only take a moment to actually look. Like Peter Leavitt’s Rule of 48, maybe it’s not just scientists that are blind; maybe we’re all blind. What if the happiness we’ve always wanted, our own personal heaven in this cruel world, is actually all around us? What if our bliss, our utopia as a society, is in fact right here in front of us, pent up in the subtleties of life? Maybe we just have to peek over the edge of that curb.
Mike sat momentarily before grabbing his jacket and winter hat. He waded out into the cold winter air. He could see his breath before him. The night was peaceful with the thinnest layer of snow blanketing the earth. Soon the snow would accumulate into larger snow banks, and the cold nights would drag on well into the new year, but for now, on this night, there was only a thin cover of fresh snow.
Mike wandered the streets longer than normal for how cold it was. He found the temperature stimulating. It acted as a cardiac shock to remind him that despite the pain, he was still alive; he could still feel through the fog of sorrow. There wasn’t another soul out that night as Mike wandered the neighborhoods. The stillness seemed to call him in deeper as he walked. It was over an hour before Mike found himself back at his front door staring at the massive oak tree in their front yard, exhausted, quiet, and alone.
Check back soon for the next section of the story.
The Longer I Run (Lyrics)
Peter Bradley Adams
When my blood runs warm with the warm red wine
I miss the life that I left behind
But when I hear the sound of the blackbirds cry
I know I left in the nick of time
Well this road I’m on’s gonna turn to sand
And leave me lost in a far off land
So let me ride the wind til I don’t look back
Forget the life that I almost had
If I wander til I die
May I know who’s hand I’m in
If my home I’ll never find
And let me live again
The longer I run
Then the less that I find
Sellin my soul for a nickel and dime
Breakin my heart to keep singing these rhymes
And losin again
The longer I run
Then the less that I find
Sellin my soul for a nickel and dime
Breakin my heart to keep singing these rhymes
And losin again
Tell my brother please not to look for me
I ain’t the man that I used to be
But if my savior comes could you let him know
I’ve gone away for to save my soul
If I wander til I die
May I know who’s hand I’m in
If my home I’ll never find
And let me live again
The longer I run
Then the less that I find
Sellin my soul for a nickel and dime
Breakin my heart to keep singing these rhymes
And losin again
The longer I run
Then the less that I find
Sellin my soul for a nickel and dime
Breakin my heart to keep singing these rhymes
And losin again
I have a story in my book Pieces Like Pottery—”The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery”—in which I experimented with a number of different literary devices. More and more readers have begun to notice one of the devices more regularly.
In addition to breaking the story up into ten sections, each of which follows one of the themes from the fifth sorrowful mystery, each section in the story also has a song that is paired with it. Yes, you read that right. I paired a song with each section. Like a fine wine paired with a good meal, the song’s lyrics are intended not only to add another layer of meaning to the words, but can also be listened along with that section of the story.
While more and more readers have been picking up on this, it’s certainly not an easy task for the casual reader, especially not one reading the print version of the book. I’ve promised to do this for quite awhile, so here you go. In ten parts, here is “The Gravesite: The Fifth Sorrowful Mystery” paired with each song. Enjoy!
(For those of you that might be interested in how this section ties into the fifth sorrowful mystery, the fifth sorrowful mystery is The Crucifixion and the “spiritual fruit” is the Pardoning of Injuries. Part 9 reflects Jesus’ prayer, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”)
Lisa squeezed Mike’s hand as he bent over to light the candle sitting at the base of the grave. The wind momentarily died down as if to assist.
“We raised a good son,” Lisa whispered.
“You were a good mother,” he replied. “You cared for him like a saint. You gave him everything.”
Lisa smiled as if to acknowledge her appreciation of the kind words. Her thoughts wandered, and her eyes drifted across the graves that stretched out before her. A family gathered in the distance. The family was quite large, maybe eight adults and another ten children or so. One of the adults was an elderly man. They each carried flowers and trinkets, one by one placing them on the ground. A visit to their grandmother on the anniversary of her death, Lisa thought.
“I’m sorry I had to leave,” Lisa lamented.
“I know,” Mike replied. “Me too.”
They both stood peacefully holding the silence.
After what felt like years after Chris’ death, but in actuality was less than five months, Lisa moved out. She could not take the reminders. Every room in the house, the cars they drove, the food they ate, and Mike, poor Mike, they all reminded her of Chris. She couldn’t take it. The sorrow came in waves with each reminder. So with little fanfare, Lisa told Mike she would be moving out at the end of the week.
Mike half-heartedly protested. He didn’t want her to leave. In fact, he longed for her to stay. He hoped they would be able to rebuild a life together, some fraction of the marriage they once had. He knew that this was no longer in the cards, though. Lisa had moved out of the house mentally months ago. While her physical absence would certainly add to the agony, he had been staring down the barrel of this reality for quite some time.
When Lisa left later that week, she kissed Mike goodbye on the cheek. Both of them fought back tears as they found themselves at a loss for words. What was there to say?
Lisa reached into her purse and handed him a folded sheet of paper. Mike instantly knew it was a new post from their son. Lisa liked to print out each entry.
“I love you,” she said as Mike accepted the blog from her.
“I love you too,” Mike replied.
Lisa collected her suitcase and turned to go out the front door. Mike sat in disbelief on the couch at the front of the house. He was numb from the agony of it all. He unfolded the paper in his hands. A blog from Chris hadn’t appeared in quite a while.
“Please don’t you leave me, I feel so useless down here with no one to love though I’ve looked everywhere.”
October 24th
Everyone wants to love and be loved. We often look for the love of others to save us. This is not a new concept. I don’t purport to be providing deep insight into the world. It has been written about since the time of the ancient thinkers. Sophocles knew that love is the only freedom from the weight and pain of life.
While it may not be a new concept, it is quite an astounding one, both in its simplicity and in its difficulty to grasp in our every day lives. Each of us yearns to love and be loved, yet we constantly push that love away when it approaches. We’re afraid to be vulnerable. We are our own persecutors. We are crushed only by the mountains we create. Our need for love is our collective search as humans, it is common to us all. Our constant failure to accept love is because of our own arrogance, addictions, pride, and fear; this failure is the fastening of our hands and feet to the fate of our misery. Maybe Sophocles was right thousands of years ago, we are the sole cause of our adversities.
Mike felt the cynicism building up inside of him. His immediate thought was that his son, his dead son, was naïve. He couldn’t fight the immediate reproach he felt. It washed over him like dirty dishwater. His wife whom he loved dearly had just walked out of his life because the son he missed and loved deeply was no longer with them; because he knew deep down that she thought he didn’t love his son enough because of the way Mike mourned his death. Now he felt as if his son were judging him from beyond the grave. Mike understood the absurdity of the feelings that were rushing over him, but that’s the irony of feelings. They tend to control much of what a man does, but they are rooted in emotional reaction, not logic.
Yet Mike’s feelings, which were once sadness and loneliness before his wife walked out their front door, were now anger. After that day, Mike began covering his feelings of loneliness with anger. It didn’t take long at that point for Mike to cover his feelings of anger with alcohol. He would go to the cupboard for the whiskey and drink until he couldn’t feel a thing. Love, sadness, loneliness, anger, they were gone, awash in a sea of whiskey.
Work me Lord, work me Lord.
Please don’t you leave me,
I feel so useless down here
With no one to love
Though I’ve looked everywhere
And I can’t find me anybody to love,
To feel my care.
So ah work me Lord, whoa use me Lord,
Don’t you know how hard it is
Trying to live all alone.
Every day I keep trying to move forward,
But something is driving me, oh, back,
Honey, something’s trying to hold on to me,
To my way of life.
So don’t you forget me down here, Lord,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
Ah, ah, don’t you forget me, Lord.
Well I don’t think I’m any very special
Kind of person down here, I know better,
But I don’t think you’re gonna find anybody,
Not anybody who could say that they tried like I tried,
The worst you can say all about me
Is that I’m never satisfied. Whoa.
Whoa, oh, oh, work me Lord, hmm, use me Lord,
Please, honey, don’t you leave me,
I feel so useless down here.
I can’t find me anybody to love me
And I’ve looked around,
I’ve looked everywhere, everywhere
And I can’t find me anyone to love,
To feel my care.
So honey don’t you go and leave me, Lord,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
Honey, don’t you go off and leave me, Lord.
Can’t I show you how hard it is
Trying to live when you’re all alone.
Everyday I keep pushing,
Keep trying to move forward
But something is driving me, oh, back,
And something’s trying to hold on to me,
To my way of life, why.
Oh please, please, oh don’t you go and
Forget me down here, don’t forget me, Lord.
I think that maybe you can ease me,
Maybe I can help you, said uh whoa,
Oh please, please, don’t you go and leave me Lord,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, whoa, whoa please,
Hmm please, don’t you leave me, Lord.
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