mmdcccxlvii

Del Is Short for Delicate

and so, for conversation
after conversation we
sat in a circle as the
ocean breeze chilled
the sweat from our
shirts and our blou-
ses and cooled our
hearts a bit, as they
[our hearts, that is]
each attempted never-
theless to outpace the
others. our precious
hearts. we needed
this. or that was be-
yond a shadow of
doubt at the time,
anyway. but did we?
some of the attend-
ees were upset about
one thing or another
and had to either
prove the validity
of their anger or
to simply vent
to those who,
moreso than from
any alternative
set, more than 

from any other
other group of
individuals that
could be found,

would listen, or

would be good 

at providing a

semblance of

empathy. the 

folks that could 

be assembled into

such a size as this,

and in a location as 

pleasant, as peaceful
as the one in which they
currently huddled, were here.

be they crouching, standing, 

pacing, squatting or stooping 

(as were exampled cases presently).
none would be more effective,
more significant, none would
relate with more clarity, none
could offer better perspective,
none would or could collectively
and/or literally care less. all other
circumstances being equal. these
were our people, the ones
who mattered, the ones who
needed to know, the only
ones who could know, and
it was crucial that this was
the set of individuals with
whom this transpired. sure,
they were a hardheaded lot;
some where hesitant to ad
here to agreed-upon rules.
feathers easily got ruffled,
but these were his people, 

the right ones, the ones with the
most accurate motivation. and
yet, they were steadily running out
of patience, running out of
better ideas, tensions were
rising, disagreements were
become more and more over
whelming, there were great
disagreements over simple
acts. there had always always
been makeshift buffers in place,
effective ones, they had become
as predictable as the breeze that
unfailingly drifted in from the top
of the ocean on days they assembled,
a breeze that came in with the spindrift, 

from lands far away. there had always
been buffers in place. individual
goals never trumped the goals,
the desires, the needs of their
particular collective. but slowly, 

naturally, chaos began creeping
in over the water and began to
drool down the cliffs that made
their way down to their beach
from the great continent.
there are as many ways to
explain how this happened as
there were members of the
collective. each step in this process
toward inevitable destruction had
primary participants that were
also members of the collective,
a falling apart seemed inevitable,
in retrospect, and examining, scrutinizing,
reexamining the details that reduced the 

once well-oiled success, the mechanisms,

the mechanics that kept this group and
its various purposes in place would seem
unnecessary, irrelevant. the purpose,
a clear understanding of the necessity
for these guidelines and specific steps;
the cause, the intent. the overall under
standing of all involved regarding why
this particular and collective existence,
of their all-too-relevant and necessary
existence. . . . and the host, the one
who had brought them all together
the un-leader, a rather awkward
exceedingly aloof human, knew 

and understood this. I
wonder, years later,
if it might bother him
to know that a few of
us were aware of what
was transpiring; some
simply allowed to enter their

consciousnesses nary a
clue, however, as it would, 

of course, obstruct their view
of reality. of those that did 

have some general idea, 

or think they knew, they

did not begin to grasp
the severity of what was 

to transpire, of what was

to be endured. several 

members of each of these 

subsets were above all else 

steeped deep within a 

swamp of confusion.
these meetings worked
well to enlighten such
thoughts because,
at any given moment,
even those sitting within
the circle weren’t paying
much attention to any-
thing being spoken or
done, even though the
longstanding motions
were continually in play,
which was okay and which
was understood, because
of all of the other and import-
ant ways these gatherings
were fruitful. first, they 

enabled the meeting of 

many an objective.

eventually, they
did not. so does it
matter, given the
magnitude of it all,
how it transpired?  often,
at these meetings of the 

collective, individual
attention would seem to be
most prominently directed 

toward the ocean, the
vastness of which, the
ocean-ness of itself, not

one particle of which could

know of this focus, this
admiration, the research,

the studies, none of it at
all, of course.  it was
perhaps mere meditation,
either screwing in their
brains so tight that
thoughts came and
went quickly and
were each paid almost
no attention; meditation
as precipitated by the
grand ocean that lay
before them, and by
the us sitting there in
a circle on the sand
in close proximity to
the ocean that were ex-

pected somehow to 

magically elicit the
grandiose goals of
the group, and the
truth was that some
of the goals were met,
but a great many were
ignored by their lack.
of capability. some
fixes are simply too large
to ever see through to the
hopeful conclusion. some
of the gazes out into the
distances were just means
of some escape. others
would nod off for extended
periods of time, do that
quick jerky dance akin
to what a person being
electrocuted might be
observed doing in that
last moment or two,
seeming to come to
attention almost im-
mediately, and those
who did were clearly
back into the fray of
the indifferent very soon

thereafter; lost on or
against or from
the subject of the
moment. this, in
particular, was a
favorite practice of
mine during much of the
duration of these meetings
we’d had each month for
several years now. everyone
seemed to have the idea that
if I didn’t meander back
and forth between alert
and semi-to-un-conscious-
ness that I would be other-
wise overwhelming, ineffective,
that disallowing the others a
word edgewise for fifteen minutes,
a half an hour or, sometimes,
even much longer, was, for better
or worse, an integral aspect,
a necessity. these humans,
my friends, at least knew this
habit of mine, this aspect, they
knew this, about me. and they
cared enough for the collective,
to play along, to accept, which
in turn made me accepted, for
the most part, which eliminated
within me the usual guilt, the
sorrow that I felt so otherwise
constantly enshrouded within
at most any given moment. 

and when I would, and I 

most assuredly would, mangle
or mismanage the pace of my
melting into the ocean and of
then return again, and in-
stead allow my overly dram-
atic voice to overstay its welcome
before realizing that here I was,
once again, doing my damnedest
to maintain attention indefinitely,
I’d say (or at least feel) a bit of a
whoops and in no time would dis-
solve back into the Pacific. the
health that comes from the awareness,
the knowing that you are accepted
and that you are are taken in, as you,
and because of you, for simply being,
but also, for simply being yourself.
that it is always this and only this,
that I, who am always me and only
me, am taken. as that. with intention
and care. they listen attentively, by all
appearances. this not only is life,
but it surely must extend it if you
have the pleasure of living inside of 

these truths, or anything like them, 

on any regular basis. sure, a few
of the more clever folks would
use the moments most seemingly
crucial during these meetings for a
bathroom break. also, we always
tended to overdo it a bit on the
snacks, the potluck of it all.
but, as I remember it, it was
sheer peace and the always
unpredictable and always
enlightening currency of
apparently necessary
thoughts and emotions
being circulated among
the people who felt
like family (with emo-
tions that were so
wound up by meet-
ing’s closure that
they could be
boundlessly
hyperbolized:
absolute joy, im-
mensely appropriate,
keep it up, Del, you are
doing so well, aren’t
you?).

but now it’s all sand. And a few
eroded memories that get washed
back into the sea. I go there some-
times, trying to remember the people,
exactly where each of us were sitting;
But I can’t remember a thing, except
what I’ve just recounted, and much
of that might be some sort of re-
envisioned history (that neither
takes the place of those long ago
moments nor gives any appropriate
value to the healing that transpired
there) - so, rather than take one
second from then or now for
granted, rather than gloss any
of this life I live and have lived
over, I incorporate all of it, everything
I can remember, at an any rate,
and use it, to build wisdom,
knowledge, common sense,
however uncommon it surely
must be - I incorporate it into
what I imagine to be the
place it should, if at all, be
incorporated. I must always
believe that it should at the
very least be held, be kept,
as indefinitely as is humanly
possible.

so this is what I’ve been doing
these days. this, and a whole

lot of eyebrow furrowing.
also, I keep thinking about
sanity. and what, if anything,
that might mean. oddly, or not
so oddly, I keep seeing ads for
a revamped Twilight Zone that brings
all of these particular thoughts together
for me, into full bloom, so to speak, if not
full circle. I do remember some things.
like how, when a person might get con-
fused, and how those who witnessed
this horror sometimes decided it
best, and not out of spite at all,
out of concern, or out of a desire
to minimize the calamity, to just
play along. people get con-
fused; we play along. or
you do. I do? when
ever it’s you that’s
doing the playing
along, thank you.
it can be very…
placating. but,
before you find
yourself doing it
a next time, if there
happens to be one,
lock your eyes on
mine for a moment
and just tell me instead,
tell me that I am alright,
say that I am okay. and,
if it is not too uncomfortable,
perhaps you might take me
in your arms and give me a
bit of a squeeze. I love
you for doing this,
time and time again,
whoever you are.
wherever you are.