I turned on the music and tried to go deep because I could feel something from the darkest depths rising and knew it was searching for me.
Tried to go hunt for what was hunting me not knowing what I would do if it found me first any more than what I would do if I caught it unaware.
Searched for it because it seemed to be the source of an irrational fear that made me want to do anything but get close to it.
Wanted to be a lucky man who made the grade but that irrational fear kept me on edge with a constant yammering inside my head, whispering that maybe I wasn’t going to figure it out.
Wasn’t easy to do, wasn’t easy because it was the exact opposite of what the old lizard brain wanted me to do.
Run. Flee. Hide.
Tried to convince myself I was Max, king of the wild things.
Climbed to the top of the mast of my ship, “will you take my hand?”
Can You Hear Me?
We’re about two months away from the 16th anniversary of this blogging adventure and my biggest fan is still around, reading the words on these pages.
Sometimes when people ask if I think I have gotten better with age or if my work has deteriorated I say they ought to reach out but they haven’t any idea about what or whom I am referring to.
I look up at the sky and ask “can you hear me” sometimes knowing the answer is a resounding yes and sometimes wondering if it is ever a ‘no.’
When I write stories and place them upon these pages or upon Facebook I know there are a few who recognize when I have taken liberties and when I haven’t.
Sometimes I intentionally try to create material they cannot distinguish but I never do ask them to confirm if I have been successful but I might one day.
It might have been three or maybe four years ago when the Big O looked at me and said he wished his father was still around.
“My dad would have known better than I do about this. He would have had better advice to share.”
I looked at him and nodded, recognizing it was one of those moments when dad treated me as an equal and not just as his son.
An acknowledgement that there were some things he wasn’t sure how to respond to and though I had long known this to be true it felt noteworthy.
I have often wondered what my grandfather’s would have said in regard to this particular situation and if their years of life experience would provide some golden nugget or two that we could use.
Most of the time I figured it was unlikely they would be able to offer more than the usual comments and advice but every now and then I let hope seep in that maybe, just maybe their time on earth would provide that missing puzzle piece.
But the answer if they exist will not come from any of them, nor from my great grandfathers unless they find a way to reach from beyond the veil and deign to share such information with me.
I am on my own.
It is up to me to figure out how to deal, manage and overcome. Up to me to figure out to how to restrain, beat back or kill the beast.
So we hunt each other in the darkness and I wonder who in a white dress will circle round me or if I will continue to have to watch my own back.
I vote for the latter because keeping my guard up is safer but it never hurts to hope that maybe that fragment of dream is tied to more than a helium balloon filled with hope.
