It was an awful day. Among these last it really is saying something. I searched the garage for things I’d need, choosing what to leave, what to try to hold onto – like much of my life here, now. At the end of the day I remembered the shed and all the bins in the top of it. One took the liberty of falling into my face, a swollen lip the price for exhaustion and determination. I decided to sit with those things and go through them, taking the old Christmas things to the street where someone who cares more may have them.
In one bin that I must not have looked at in a dozen years was an old sheet of paper, my handwriting rather better when I could hold a pen for long hours. What was so surprising, though, was the content. Of how perfectly it fit these days, too. I wish I could recall its date but it is flowery enough to have been…`89, perhaps…after a kiss in an elevator bank that tore my heart from my chest as the cab rushed down to the lobby. I will share it here with the caveat that it was just so – the crushed spirit of someone who did not then know the shades to come.
~ ~ ~
I know how it feels – in the utter stillness of the soul’s evening – to feel the ghosts battering on those doors of the mind. How such restraint provokes the anger and makes one itch to swing wide those doors and permit the ghosts to rampage.
But we do not, knowing the cost. Sanity – or what little of it remains. And then that killing desire settles into your bones, glowing. Only that much, you think. Only that one instant more and you can move past it. Regain control. But it’s like walking past the abandoned, cobwebbed house of your youth. You hasten to pass it but then, in its shadow, your feet slow, and you look. You stretch out to it and wish you could walk to it and make that house your home. To have its power about you, So that even in the daylight the sensation would envelope you and make you a thing as feared as the house.
Ah, but we are human. No more. What do you picture your final thought to be? Old loves? Scythes and gamboling devils? Or a place you once knew? Maybe nothing. Blankness. Consider: what would you wish to see forever – to live in for your souls’ life? Eyes, a face, hands and a place. A place full of night and dawn. And a house…
~ ~ ~
Did warn you, no? It was a gnashing of teeth against a fate that was inevitable. Much like this one I know today. But this is not the house. And I begin to wonder about those eyes, too. And how circular life can be.
Well, no more time for such things. It is all coming apart at the seams and I’m rushing around with needle and thread, mending as I can. But I don’t think it will work. Hush. Don’t tell. But…I begin to doubt that it was ever supposed to. That makes much more sense to me, in a way. There is a story from the bible I think about the shepherd breaking the leg of the lamb to keep it from struggling against its fate. Well, I am broken, most assuredly. Or, in an equestrian version, I no longer refuse the bit. Which way, Rider? What now, Lord? But that seems to be tempting fate to even more…whimsy. No…let’s just try to tread water where we are, catch our breath. I cannot see the shore yet but think I can hear the waves crashing. Hold my heart to your ear and you can hear the sea.