Under the Covers

As children, we knew fear.
Every bump in the night,
Every creak of the floorboards --
A monster, coming to get us.

We'd dive under the covers,
Hiding in the darkness within
For fear of the darkness without.
We'd hide,
Emerging only to ask,
'Daddy, is the monster gone?'
Or 'Mommy, is it safe?'
And that worked;
Daddy scared off the monster,
And after switching off the lights,
Mommy said it was safe.

Grown, we still know fear.
Every complication of our lives,
Every detail of our dramas --
A monster, coming just as surely
As it did in our childhoods.

We still dive under the covers,
Still hide in the darkness within
For fear of the darkness without.
We still hide --
But somewhere,
Between childhood and adulthood,
We lost something.
We now emerge only to ask,
'Hey, do we have more booze?'
Or 'Pass me another joint.'
And that works;
Our addictions silence the monster,
Blur the line between safety and danger,
Until we can't remember why we were afraid.

But the monster stays;
The scary stuff persists --
The complications lurk,
And the dramas bide time,
Waiting until,
Inevitably,
We poke our heads out
From under the covers.

At that moment,
Our fears resurface,
And we dive under once more,
Deeper, deeper,
Drowning ourselves in blissful darkness;
Safety in ignorance --
'If I can't see it, it can't see me.'
Until, at last,
Our fears are forgotten once more,
And we poke our heads out.
'Is the monster gone?'
'Is it safe?'

And on and on the cycle goes,
Spiraling deeper,
Deeper, deeper,
Into the darkness under the covers.

To Clear One's Head

My boots crushed the snow underfoot, my legs pumping as I climbed the hill. I drove all thoughts from my head as I moved, focusing solely on the physical activity, my mind directed only on the act of lifting one foot, lowering it, lifting the other...

An hour later, my breath fogged in front of my face, the cold piercing my skin, keeping me awake. The world seemed tiny from my perch on the snow-capped rise, the lights of the apartments below mere pinpricks of color in the darkness. For once, the world was silent. I was alone, standing on the hill, and, finally, I allowed my thoughts to wander.

How had this happened? Why this, why now? There'd been nothing, and then there'd been... something. And it had arrived with the subtlety of a freight train to the face, shattering my resolve completely.

I wasn't against it, per se. No, rather, I was very much in favor of embracing the situation, of stopping talk and starting action. Too often, we say one thing and do another... Too often, we call ourselves one thing, and become another. We betray ourselves, daily, constantly, consistently. "Let's be ___," we tell ourselves, or, worse, "We are ___," but there's no weight behind the words. We say, but we don't do.

And yet, as much as I wanted to stop saying, and start doing, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was perched on a ledge, and simply could not make make myself leap to the next building. My fear of heights, of failure, of complications was betraying me... Excuses aside, however, I was betraying myself.

Standing on the hill, having left the warmth of my dorm room in the late hours of the night (or the early hours of the morning, depending on your perspective) to take some time to organize my thoughts, I came to a realization. My thoughts simply couldn't be organized, nor should they be. That was the cause of my dilemma in the first place... Too much thought.

And so, clearing my head once more, I began the long hike back to the dorms, intent on being unintent, determined to simply see where the natural ebbs and flows of life would deliver me... Just lifting one foot, lowering it, lifting the other...

Where you off to with that head of yours?

Is there somewhere you should be?

Was it something that I said the time I held you down

And told you it's not you, it's only me?

-Foo Fighters, But Honestly

Fall With Me

Six thousand eight hundred and six days ago, an apple broke free of its branch, and began to fall.

Now, eighteen years, seven months, and seventeen days later, that apple's still falling, and still has a long way to go; the ground is a rumor, miles upon miles below and far out of sight and mind.

So, relatively unworried about the distant impact, the apple just falls.

Still, this great plummet we call Life is not uninteresting.  The apple often finds itself falling in the company of other, similar apples -- and, perhaps, even a pear or two.  The fall is rife with both simplicities and complications, intertwined in imperfect harmony.

The fall is not an easy one.  The apple hits branch after branch as it descends, and even, on occasion, collides with its fellow apples.  Bumps and bruises accumulate, and the apple finds itself feeling.

The apple at once loves and hates the fall, cherishes it and despises it.

And that, in a line, is what this blog is about: the emotions, the thoughts and feelings produced as life continues, as experiences accrue.

I make no promises as to this blog's formality (or informality), nor can I guarantee regular postings, nor even a consistent format for each entry.  These things will evolve naturally over time.  Thus far, however, the intention is to fill this space with prose, poetry, and general musings about life.

That said, love it, hate it, cherish it, despise it... Fall with me.