Man Child

Since the clanging of the New Year’s bell, 2K5, I’ve been adrift, sucked into a whirlpool, caught in a rip tide, trying desperately to find the shoreline so I can breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve seen glimpses of shore, but only when the fog lifts, however brief. So I’ve yet to be able to breathe this much sought after sigh of relief and I’m dizzy; I’m waylaid and quivering and I can’t figure out why. But feel it I do. Like a crushing weight that hangs by a thin, minuscule thread directly over my head, the paranoia of omnipresent doom and gloom is pervasive, waiting at the all too ready to pulverize you into tiny, bloody bits should you let your guard down for even a nanosecond. Thus far I’ve managed to keep cataclysm and apocalypse at bay, but not without a fusillade of pug ugly skirmishes which have all left their mark. I’m plumb beat up. I’m floating in raw sewage. And, for the life of me, I can’t get a handle on my predicament. Confusion bewilders me. The reasons for this blind, lurching stagger are unfathomable, unquenchable, insatiable, unanswerable even.
It’s not as if life has decided to deal me a rough hand, not by any stretch, especially when compared to my self imposed exile of which I’m emerging still, or the condition in which many in the world find themselves while brute thuggery and natural calamities take their toll. When I take an objective look at the situation I’ve managed to find outlets for my talents, I’ve laid foundation, I do the work which is asked, I’ve gained momentum, I’m undeterred and dogged. But, in my mind, in this beginning of this new year, the struggle is winning this round hands down and I’m stumbling in circles, unable to see where I’m headed, unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel that I desperately need and saw only weeks before.
Not without glory and victory, stolen moments of calm and solace, peace, I’ve been wowed and amazed by squealing fireballs, gunpowder smoke and waterfalls of shimmering sparks, spates of adrenal freedom and a savage, brain scraping sonic assault, drunk men walking four abreast, arm over shoulder, singing at the top of their whiskey voices for no one and everyone to hear, graveyard tango and big hunky, strappin' wacko, angels in treetops, prayers answered, sweet, buttery vindication, hilltops scaled, kind words given, kind words accepted, ebullient smiles levied, stars in my nighttime sky... yet subjected to the nagging feeling the security, the bliss and sanctity, will evaporate at any moment and there isn’t any lichen covered bottom in which to land; a terrifying freefall of which there isn’t an end; my future.
I can’t feel it, yet it touches me.
I can’t smell it, but I reek.
I can’t see it, yet it sees through me.
It’s there. A penetrating lonely that squeezes me, violates me, takes my breath away, knows me all too well.
My faith put to the test as never before.
I’m eat up as worry does its best to infiltrate my strata and poison my every fiber; a war of the ids, a violent collision of spirit and soul, a fight to the finish with forces that look to weaken me, take me down screaming and kicking.
Punch drunk, black and blue, I continue, like an ant driven by its natural intent I continue even though completely in the dark of what is my true purpose. Do I even have a purpose? This is my dilemma. Where does all this lead? When is a plateau reached? When does one round the corner? When do the gears mesh and glide? When do your feet pull from the muck and you run free, barefoot through the grass like a child?
I dare not doubt, but my teeth are rattling and my brain is mush and when I’m least ready the harpies keep divebombing... and they’re drawing blood. I run, I walk, I sit quietly and think, then I don’t, yet nothing changes.
This is the illusion
Making progress each and everyday, on any scale, is my sole objective. And it was while making progress today, on a day which could’ve been serviced by apathy and surrender, I stumbled upon a secret... and I was humbly reminded who’s in control here,
There were two sounds today which opened my eyes, my heart, my very existence laid bare, and they were both emotions of and from an innocent, a child.
While turning a corner in a market, I heard the bubbling laughter of a child held to his mother’s chest, the intoxicating happiness in the sound stripping all my woes away in an instant. Be gone! and they were. I stood naked.
Turning yet another corner, I heard the mournful wail of a child separated from his mother, and the anguish and sadness in the cry washed me away in a flood of melancholy. Again, I stood naked.
And in that moment, I stopped, silent, bookended by these two outbursts of divinity, and my world was wiped clean. I stood naked. Enlightened.
The startling beauty which was the sweeping impact of those opposing emotions gave me clarity, insight into what was important in the grand scope of what truly constitutes our living, our happiness, our joy. How bad can it be? How good? Simply, it is up to you.
I saw then. Clearly.
Standing there, adjusting to this newfound levity, all of the pettiness that was my confusion became meaningless decoration, only serving to obstruct the simplicity of this implacable grandeur we call life and the living of it. I walked away, naked, drowning in joy and appreciation, realizing I was well on my way, my lot only growing exponentially, more enriched by each passing day, a veritable field ripe with a waving throng of blooming, dew laden, pastel tulips, sunshine on my shoulders. ...I let go and took flight in the breezes which lifted me up far and away... I let go...
I am a man.
I am a child.
I was reminded. I was instructed. I was given knowledge. And by nothing more than a cheerful laugh, a wounded howl from the purity of a child.
A gift. God’s gift.
I turned it over. I let go. I reside by the still waters.
The simplicity. This dance. Again. Again. And again. Forever more.