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 any
from any alternative

set, more than any

other group of

individuals that

could be found,

folks that could
be assembled into

such and such a 

size and in a location
as pleasant, as peaceful 
as the one in which they 

currently huddled, be they 

crouching, standing, pacing,

squatting, 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,

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 one, they had become

as predictable as the breeze that 

unfailingly drifted in from the top

of the ocean on the days assembled,

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 and the needs of the 

goals of their particular collective.

but slowly, naturally, like nature,

in fact, 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,

is, and examining, scrutinizing,

reexamining the details that 

reduced the once well-oiled success

of mechanisms that kept this group and

its various purposes in place would seem,

is, 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 regarditg why

their 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,

rather 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 nary a 

clue to to come into view,

to obstruct their view 

of reality.  of those

that did know, there were

those that did not begin

to grasp the severity of 

what was transpiring; 

others just endured it.

several of the members

of each of these subsets

were above all else steeped

in 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
was understood, because

in all of the other and

important ways these

were fruitful. and effective

gatherings; they enabled

the meeting of many an

objective.   then, they

did not.  so does it 

matter, given the

magnitude of it all,

how that happened?

often, at these meetings

of the collective, individual

attention would seem to be 

most prominently, predom

inantly on the ocean, the

vastness of which, the 

ocean-ness of itself,

were not being focused

upon, admired, studied

at all, really.  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 was expected

to somehow magically 

elicit most all of the 

grandiose goals of the

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 for immediately

after; 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- or unconscious-
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

with me the usual guilt, the

sorrow that I felt so otherwise

constantly enshrouded within 

at most ny given moment. and

when I would, which I most 

assuredly would, mangle

or mismanage the pace of my
melting into the ocean and of
then returning again, and in-
stead allowed 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-
solved 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 in 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; 

I just 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
take the place of those long ago

moments nor give 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 lease be held, be kept, 

as indefinitely as is humanly 

possible.

So this is what I’ve been doing
these days. This, and lots of
furrowing of the eyebrows.
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 

these all of these particular thoughts

together for me, into full bloom, if not

full circle.  I do remember some things. 

like how, when a person might get con-
fused, and how those who witness
this horror sometimes decide 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.