(Need men of woman to write the truth. Thank you for Hemingway, Kosinski, Twain and Nevil Shute. They wrote about the truth. The word-man must leave the truth behind. Maybe someone will pay attention and learn a better way. If we had no Alice walker or Helen Hunt Jackson. History would false truth create by opinion of the men in-charge. Hiding weaknesses and mistakes.)
I brought coffee to the old Poet at the boardwalk park bench in Monterey in the early morning. Every Saturday and Sunday I could find him staring at the sea and writing. I brought my chess board. I hope for a game of chess and conversation.
He greeted me with a smile. I shook his hand and offered him the coffee. He took the coffee and asked. “What the payment, a game of chess or words?”
I requested both. He smiled and looked at the sea. Told me. ” You will learn to accept your life for what it is. We are, just pebbles in a pond that rarely moved. No-one can do much to change life. We are, just fools waiting for death and peace.”
I looked at his sad eyes. Today they were filled with sadness. I asked him. “You are the Monterey word-man. You share your knowledge and help us young writers. Do you really believe all life is useless and life had no purpose.?”
He smile strongly. His hazel eyes watching the waves dance. He told me. “I came here to die and to write my last poetry. You brought me into the poetry readings and the pretty Poet’s. You gave an old Poet a reason to laugh and learn. Young minds and new dreams give hope to the old dreamers. I will be okay my friend. Just becoming afraid death is near. Cancer is almost done with me.”
I know he was sick. He left his family to keep them free of watching him dying. I knew death and I told him. “Let’s me be a friend till the end.”
I asked him. “Was the life worthwhile. Do you hold regret?”
He stood up and started to dance on the sand and then he ran into the Monterey bay cold water. I watched him while I walk along the shoreline. The old Poet taught me. Life is long and to laugh. Even at death.
He came back to me. Gave me a journal. He told me. “This is for you. Remember the old word-man. Keep the poetry and story alive. Death will come. All we leave is the love we shared and kindness given. We need a million word-men to keep the truth alive and tell the world about the sweet and good possibilities of a life.”
I came back the next week. He was gone. I open the journal and I read his first poem.
Bear the fruit of love said a blind man to his son. His father looked at his father. Spoke in pain. Pa, you live without seeing. You live in a world of darkness?
The old man looked at his son. Told him. “I lived without my eyes for 50 years. I have known great joy and happiness.”
With a smile he whispered. “I lived a thousand days without seeing the world I know is so beautiful to see. I never saw the sun fall into the ocean. The moon rise up to light the darkness of the night. But my son. I’m blind.
I still can see a world for you to be happy in. A world with no limits, no boundaries without knowing the beauty of sight. I learn life is good and days are long. In my mind I can see all the beauty surrounding me. With each word spoken, I have learned life can be good for even a blind man such as I.
So my son. Forget your sadness of my lost sight. Because I’m happy. Just to be a man. Knowing you my son.”
He left me a note, never give up. My Word-man friend goes forward with hope and no fear. Only real blind men cannot open the door to laughter and friendship.