Author Archives: Monty Vern

Personal blogger, author & illustrator, and overall fallible human being.

And There it Was

A simple request. An ask to take the decision out of my hands. To be open to receive. That’s all it took. It wasn’t long before the offer arrived. A simple offer. How about a walk? And there it was. A prayer answered.

Be well,

Monty

A Life Being Lived

I’ve been retracing my steps all morning. Not deep into the past, but shallow moves forward followed by equal measures backward. Stuck in a reciprocating pattern where nothing changes except the clocks progression. I’m trying to write myself out of it. It took a while to get anything to stick. To survive the backspace button. No surprise that it’s just an account of my experience. So often that is what my writing boils down to. Nothing to interpret. No plot to unwind. Just a life being lived.

I have a confession to make. Not a confession to absolve myself of guilt, but rather one to share in case it resonates for anyone reading. Loneliness has been coming up lately. Not the type of loneliness that comes from being physically alone. Rather the type that pervades even when surrounded by others. I often feel lonely in this way and it brings me great shame. I ask myself how can I feel lonely when I have a loving and caring family? Do I not appreciate them? I feel unworthy. That my depression is a betrayal of their love. It’s often when I’m in this type of headspace that I’m at my most dangerous. That I’m weak and fall into old self-fulfilling behaviors that undermine my worth. Last night I battled such feelings and compulsions and came out whole. For that I’m grateful. I’ve found that by strengthening my faith I’m more resilient against these feelings. I still have them. But I don’t have to indulge them.

Be well,

Monty

The Visitor

He chatters away downstairs, the sound carrying upward as he tells a story in a rush, interrupted only by the laughter of a captive audience – polite or genuine I cannot know, but a mixture of both I would guess. The story goes on until it merges into another without pause. I’ve never had anything interesting enough to say to carry on so much. I can’t decipher the words. Or more accurately, I don’t have the interest to try to translate them. I just recognize the rise and fall of a story’s tale as it ebbs and flows until a final climax and a moments rest…only to find that there is another peak beyond and he has no intention of stopping for the night. Till now I’ve kept my distance. After a polite greeting I slipped upstairs and took to writing this account. But I hear the dinner table being set and the call to head down will come any moment now. Then there will be no escaping. I’ll be captive too. So while this might not be the most interesting story of the night, At least you’ll now what happened to me if these are my last words…

Be well,

Monty

A Gray Day

Finally a gray day,
All those expansive blues
Were wearing me down,
As if compelling me to good humor,
Trying to get me to forget it’s still mid-winter.

Well now it’s all set right,
From sea to sky its all one dull shade,
Drizzling inconsistently to try my patience,
Just enough to get the dog wet,
And have him track his prints across the floor.

Yet, am I okay?
Despite all the scenery to set the mood,
I feel quite up, chipper I’d even say,
As if I’ve been infected by joy,
I’m not so sure how to live this way.

The forecast is three days of rain,
That should be long enough to cast off this bug,
To rid myself of the ups,
To sleep off this case of the chippers,
Three days to get my head on straight.

If three days doesn’t do it,
Then I’ll really be at a loss,
I’ll need to reconsider my disposition;
If this joy thing is a chronic condition,
(I’ll definitely need a new prescription).

Well, I know I’m in trouble now that I’ve started to rhyme,
It was just a matter of time,
Given that I’m feeling so fine,
I better stop now or there will be no recourse,
I’ll rhyme myself into true happiness or worse!

Be well,

Monty

An Evening’s Inventory

The dog lays flat out as if to emphasize the basis of the saying “dog-tired”.

The TV chatters in Chinese in the background, almost quiet enough to ignore, but loud enough to annoy.

A half-eaten bowl of fruit.

Dinner is in the air. Fragrant enough to notice, but subtle enough to remain a mystery.

The sky is starting to glow as the sun makes its descent.

Below, streams of sea water slither through the sand flats left behind by the receding tide.

And red remnants of last night fireworks still litter the street.

The sun now glows big and orange just above the skyline – that was quick.

And the clouds stretch out across the sky in gradients of orange and blue.

An evening’s inventory.

Be well,

Monty