RSS

Category Archives: Uncategorized

The Parable of the Horse or Just Don’t Know

An old Chinese farmer had lost his mare, having escaped through a broken fence. His neighbor, seeing this, shook his head and said what bad fortune this was. The old farmer only replied, “Could be. Could be.”

The horse returned and brought with her a stallion. His neighbor, seeing the fine horse, remarked what good fortune he had. The farmer replied. “Could be. Could be.”

His son tried to tame the horse, to ride him, but the horse threw him off. His son broke his leg. The neighbor said how sorry he was for the old man, that things were bad for him. “Could be. Could be,” he said.

The general came through the province, looking for men to fight the barbarians to the west, promising the soldiers would return with the spoils of war. But he did not take the old man’s son, as he now walked with a limp. Such bad fortune, his neighbor said. “Could be. Could Be.”

The army was routed, and most of the soldiers killed. The neighbor heard, and, upon seeing the old man said, “What good fortune!” “Could be. Could be,” was all he said.
~Adam Byrn Tritt

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on March 27, 2020 in Uncategorized

 

You Almost Died

Today several times
You almost died
Without even knowing it
Disaster nearly struck

On your way to or from
There was the car
You didn’t see
Swerving around you
Recklessly

On the street were
Myriad near misses
And close calls as
You went about

Running errands
Among the people
You turned your head
Just before the cough
That would have

Laid you low
Along with the multiple
Diseases looking to latch
Onto to you and
The carrier who stayed home

Because she felt too ill
To go out or
The man who chose to
Leave the gun

In the case or
Took it out
Only on himself
Instead of the world
And you were

Unaware of all but
One you did notice that
Left you shaking
And whispering thanks.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on January 31, 2019 in Poetry, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , ,

After You, I Insist

It is six years since writing this. The truck has come. Joyce is at home, tumors in her liver, her lungs, colon, and lymph nodes. Today she will speak with a doctor about helping her leave before even that is out of her control.

And I am supposed to help in this. That is my honour. That is my sadness. As the collective memory takes another blow, there are things that will no longer be remembered. Those things will no longer have happened. When Joyce leaves, If I forget, so will they.

Some are already have.

Adam Byrn Tritt

I am forty-eight. not old by a long shot. But still, this year, as I begin to think of myself as fifty, as half-way, I and my friends, my close friends, those long friends, those who have been with me for decades, for lifetimes, and those with whom I cannot recount decades but feel as though lifetimes have been spent in their splendid company, with those friends I have begun discussing who goes first.

Perhaps it is the death of my wife nearly two years ago. The shaking out of any sense of permanence and security. The blowing of the ram’s horn, the clanging of the cymbals, that shocks off the clinging illusion that anything lasts but love.

Perhaps it is the suicides, both successful and non,  that have surrounded me. The conscious choice to leave on one’s own terms.

Perhaps it is just age.

I have been…

View original post 607 more words

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 26, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

What Shall We Do?

I know a man
Whose wife has moved
Into the stars.
She lives in the constellations
And wraps herself in
Shawls of nebulae.

I know a man
Whose wife lives in
Music. Old songs,
Rock and Roll.
She is found in color,
Audacious, bold and
Bright.

Mine has taken new residence
in trees
As their Goddess.
And who would kick a woman
From her home?  She is in
The waters too, in rocks,
And Sunflowers.

Men,
Our wives are
Everywhere, Everything.
‎Love has made it so,
‎‎The heart has built
‎A new pantheon of
The Goddesses of our Everyday Lives.

Gentleman,
What shall we now do
With our worshiping hearts?

Perhaps there is still
One goddess on Earth
Who does not know
She is divine,
And we are here to love.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on March 21, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Shells

Adam Byrn Tritt

She walks along the weaving foam,
waves bright under the full moon,
picking up shells,
perfect shells,
white shells,
bright shells,
leaving footprints to
fill with glistening sea.

She wants them all.
Each shell, every shell.

Then, when her hand, her arm, are full,
returns them,
one by one,
in splendid moonlit arcs,
again to the sea,
walking away with one,
only one,
the first one.

View original post

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on March 3, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

The Psychic Samurai

Today, I want to be a superhero. Truthfully, I want to be a superhero every day. I hold myself to superhero standards, changing whatever power I should have depending on the circumstances. I always fall short.

I hold myself to those standards anyway. Superhuman standards, a friend called them. Standards I’d never old anyone else to. That would be unreasonable. Standards I’d tell anyone else they’d need to relax. Cut themselves some slack. Give themselves a break. But not me. And if anyone tells me that, they just don’t understand – I have standards.

My friend Hayda once told me this:

Adam’s superpower is to eloquently, precisely and ruthlessly dissect his
adversaries’ logical fallacies and intellectual shortcomings in such a manner
that not only does he annihilate his opponent’s arguments, he leaves his enemy
in such a state that he is utterly unaware he has been defeated. He is a
Psychic Samurai.

I have held on to that. Isn’t it funny what affects us?

My wife once told me I was like a pit bull when I had a problem to solve and, in all things, “No one tries harder.”  How long ago was that? Was that nearly four decades ago now? No one tries harder. That somehow became my goal. To try the hardest. To never try less hard than I could. To never give less effort than I could. To be that superhero.

Just try your best. That’s all anyone can ask. I have been told this. But I know people don’t mean it. They wouldn’t want their surgeon to feel that way. Or a fireman. If the house burns down, if someone dies, standing among the ruins, the newly homeless don’t pat the fireman on the back and say, “You tied your best.”   Sometimes one’s best isn’t good enough. There has to be more.

Taoists tell us to never use more than 70% of our resources. There must be at least 30% left to attract and build new energy, so you can do ti again. So you can continue getting the job done, fighting that good fight, helping those in need, walking the walk. But why give 70% to just fail? Why just throw 70% out the window?

I know 110%, “I’ll give it 110%.” is a stupid thing to say. It isn’t possible.  But I know I can dig deep and find more.

But how long can one mine that energy? Without anything else present, if it is all spent, what is there around which new energy can accrete? But if one doesn’t, there is the higher possibility of failure. Better to burn out and get the job done, right?

Right?

Try the hardest. Even when a problem doesn’t have a solution. Even when the problem is a paradox. Even when there is no problem, but just life. Even when the solution is to stop trying and let go. Especially when it is to let go.

Thus, I am the world’s most unsuccessful superhero. The world’s largest superhero failure.   Even worse than The Blue Raja. A bigger flop than The Invisible Boy.

And the more I fail, the harder I try. How’s that working out for me? Not so well.

I’d better try harder.

 

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on January 29, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Leaving

Adam Byrn Tritt

It is possible there is a perfect time to die. A time when the stories told of you would be of kind compassion and rambunctious joy. Those are the times. When you are filled with love.

Not when you are alone. Not when you are filled with despair. A time when people think of you and smile, not shake their heads and ask why. Not too late when you have been lingering. But when you are active and happy. Die dancing. Die walking the beach. Not in front of a TV.

But most people don’t get to pick their time, it seems to me. And those who do often pick the time of despair and loneliness, leaving more despair behind them.

The perfect time would not have been the time that I picked. And, realizing it in time, pulled back. No, that was two weeks too early. The prefect time…

View original post 848 more words

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 5, 2017 in Uncategorized

 
 
%d bloggers like this: