There are a 198 questions running through my mind and probably 982,000 more lying just beneath the surface that I want to ask but won’t…at least not today.
I am too busy reminding myself that I have failed to follow one promise and a voice inside my head shouting that it just doesn’t matter.
“Follow your gut. Don’t be stupid, heart leads head because fortune favors the bold and head leads heart means fear of failure wins.
Forward, always forward. Retreat is destruction, hope and optimism lay ahead.”
There is the usual mix of music in my head and the usual contradictions between them all which only makes me smile and then gnash my teeth.
The man in the mirror and I debate the question of which promises are binding and which are not. We dance around the topic feinting in and out, each looking for a way to parry and then thrust.
But no killing blow comes and the contest is set aside for a time to be determined later.
The cemetery is beautiful and if it wasn’t for a wind that wished to prove itself equal to those of a hurricane I might still sit besides my father’s grave.
I stare at the place I believe his casket to be and remember dumping shovel after shovel of dirt upon it.
“You know dad, I made sure we buried you because it was the last gift I could give you before you were truly placed out of reach.”
I tell him about all that it is going on with mom, the grandkids and the rest of us and then ask if he could do something about the wind.
“Not very hospitable of you dad, I came a long way to see you.”
He doesn’t answer and I tell him about a secret or two and some wishes asking for his assistance in making them come true.
“I don’t really expect your help and unless you can prove you’re around I can’t say I am certain there is anything after this joint. I like the idea of it, but there are lots of reasons not to believe. If you prove otherwise it would be a big help.”
The silence continues.
Moments later I sit in the back seat of the car and think about all that I just said. It is funny to me how closed lipped I can be with so many and yet find myself blabbing away with others as if there is no reason to be more circumspect in what I say.
It is so easy to be misunderstood and yet sometimes you push on ahead because you know you get it about someone and they get it about you.
Impossible to predict or explain you just roll with it and accept because there is no reason to fight the river.
“Walk the line…fool.”
Hello Mr. Toad
That rascal, the crazy amphibian took control 0f the wheel a long while back and has done his usual half-ass job of driving with his passenger’s safety and comfort in mind.
There are so many questions remaining and not a single one of the most important ones can be answered because the only way to determine the who, what, where, why and how is to go through the experience.
You can whisper into the dark,”will you catch me or at least help me stand again if I fall” but you won’t know if it is a yes or no unless you try.
Later in the day I am told that I am far too close to the stereotypical man who doesn’t share his thoughts or feelings.
“You don’t expose what is going on inside. It is impossible to get beyond the wall and that is not a good thing.”
I tell them I have a handle on what is good and what isn’t.
“I am an expert at building walls and pretty good at tearing them down.”
It is not the kind of answer that provides comfort and I hear about it.
I tilt the seat back and look out at a dark sky and think about what it means to fall.
Jumped off of a cliff not long ago and figured I would learn how to fly or accept a painful fall. That has been one of the big themes of 2018, learning how to fly.
Midnight comes and goes and I sing along with the cover, not sure of what, if anything, makes sense anymore.
The places and spaces that offer comfort are changing and so are the people.
“I could be even more direct and more honest, but not yet, not yet.”
The reflection says nothing in response and neither do I.