yobech505

Occurrences occur.  Like, Duh.  I suppose what I mean is, things happen, and according to some esoteric sources, they do so for a purpose.  Karma is often expunged as a reason, the source of why good or bad which plagues or enhances our day to day explains us facing what we do.  Does it go further, or deeper, delving into our past and making our entire life a constant puzzling inquiry of;  why is this happening?  

I’m an expert in this field only as far as my own experiences allow me to be.

I was, often times, not a very good person in some of my actions.  In fact, today, some of the things I did, though not openly frowned on back then, would probably be grounds for dire consequences or even worse.  The late teens, early twenties saw a few of those occurrences occur.  I knew it then, but didn’t believe myself, and still,  in some of my shallow depth,I was aware.  They weren’t illegal.  They were just wrong.  

Is the karma just that my consciousness still haunts me and wishes I could undo the behavior in those events?  Is it any less than the wishful undoing of the impact I may have, for the long term, inflicted on another?

How far away is the balance that is supposed to be included in this chain of beliefs?  It was afterwards, yes, but my experiences in Vietnam were often horrible and definitely, at least twice, physically painful.  Again, that was after.  So was it meant to offset the me I hadn’t wanted to be but was? Sure didn’t appear to be the case.

I can blame PTSD for why my first marriage fell apart.  I tried covering it up, ever the jokester, the happy one, ready with a pat on the back and a friendly word to those who I felt needed it.  But my insides were smashed.  The eventual and occasional breakouts left jobs, relationships and three beautiful offsprings in a chaotic mess.  I never wanted any of it.  Then came Ft. Miley   And friends  Thanks.  I found a way out of that dilemma.  They led me past the karma of being a rifleman in a hostile place where the consequences to those who loved my opponent paid the painful price of memories, probably more than I did for the friends I lost.  No, the guilt never goes away, but the wounds are soothed.  I was trained on how to deal with it   

Yet, I still carry a sense of trauma for who I tried not to be up to that departure point.  And this is really about that karmic interlude.   It is all on me.  And for reasons well beyond what I am willing to admit, it lingers. 

 No longer able to blame it on the same pretense as the first time, the second attempt, which I expected would last through and well beyond the coming of Destiny’s Child and Beyonce’s incredible impact on R&B, turned out to be an abject attempt at karmic futility.  Yes, the begating of two remarkable better versions of me was and is an ongoing highlight, and I’ve taught them well, wisdom from what I have grown from and to.  But the disappointment and betrayal of my hopes for the long term kind of pushed into view my revenged upon karma, at least in my mind.  So, was this finally the balancing point?

If only memory chips didn’t linger and pop up again. I would hope she’s past it, and is stronger than I am in her recollections. I never seem to stop wishing I could undo the whole thing and the negativity of the memories that go with it. That, of course, is what is referred to as an impossibility.  I beg forgiveness, but I don’t expect it.  I’ve learned, and in those respects, have grown.  Fortunately, I was eventually drawn into a cauldron where I was able to see, then help others who faced some version, usually much more traumatic, of what she experienced. I could help them see a way out because, to a slightly comparative degree, I was a reformed nemesis.   I was able to help guide most of them to an exit, at least so far. Does that lead to a restful leveling point?

I’ll just have to wait and see what the continuing karma has in store next.  

I’ve always considered San Francisco ‘my’ city.  I was born across the Bay, but lived in ‘The City’ at almost the onset.  Went to high school (class of ‘68) and college there, worked at various locations, from Powell and O’Farrell to Golden Gate and Van Ness to 3rd and Hubbell for years.  Even survived the Loma Prieta of ‘89 at the latter.   My father was 2nd generation.  Herb Caen and Jack Rosenbaum were my heroes.

I almost resent changes.  They’re necessary, as times evolve.  Doesn’t mean I have to like them.  I’m aware they’re not icons to be battled with, but more evolutionary to be adjusted to.  Generalizing, it’s my city, don’t mess with it. Everybody does.

The father of a friend I grew up with owned Twin Peaks Tavern at Castro and Market before the area surrounding it was upgraded and modernly improved by an influx and participation of The City’s gay community.  His friend owned Club Unique across from the Nasser Brother’s Castro Theatre.  The area had a time period character,  There were ruffians, all manner of race, and the streets weren’t swept too often, but I never felt unsafe or otherwise, getting off the 37 Corbett at the intersection.

Going home again has its pitfalls.  A trip back did not bring the desired results.  

It was different.  Evolution had taken place.  The shops were updated, more modern content, and the little grocery stores were gone.  The names over the bars were changed.  The angled corner where Castro touched Market seemed institutional rather than neighborly.  Coffee and breakfast overtook a cold beer or a shot of Jack Daniels. The human clientele was different, not from memory.  It’s all because, once again, things evolve.

I got a sympathetic ear.  Sitting in a covered Muni stop, a young lady strolling past asked me if I was okay.  I was taken aback, as I didn’t think the look on my face was that forlorn. “Just missing what used to be.” I replied.  

She was about five foot three, dark shoulder length hair, brown eyes, a petite figure and was wearing a black dress with a matching blouse.  “What’s different?” She didn’t appear to be afraid or intimidated. I suppose I looked as harmless as I actually was.  She sensed it.

San Francisco has always been an adventurous variation of an unusual city.  The unique flair of difference has always permeated its existence.  Even today, nothing compares.  Its character changes, sometimes in the middle of a generation. Its reputation gets flawed responses from the rest of the country.  But San Francisco doesn’t follow paradigms and it never has, from the Sydney Ducks to Boss Reuf to Mayor Willie Brown.  That is its consistency.

Laurie from Houston talked to me for almost two hours.  We walked towards Duboce, stopping for coffee that wasn’t available in the times I reminisced.  I talked about a city I remembered and she asked questions.  We parted with smiles.

I never saw her again. Never was able to figure out why she stopped to talk to me.  She was adorable, yes, and at least while talking to me, unattached.  I didn’t get her phone number, her last name or where she was headed next.  It just didn’t seem appropriate or even necessary.  She did take my hand for a short block and I remember asking an 8 Market Muni driver for her if the route still went to the Ferry Building.  

Eventually, she went on her way, just like the San Francisco I used to know. Pleasant memories still pop up now and then. Even though The City is not what I remember, it is still in the process of evolving, creating new memories for the next reminiscer.