The night is quiet less the shuffled sound of sandal turned desert rocks and labored breathing.
My hands grow increasingly numb with every step, backpack straps from the heavy pack full of all our worldly possessions restrict the blood flow to my arms, but we must keep going.
From the darkness an innocent voice asks, “What is that father?”
Vapor from our warm breath momentarily glows like a cloud, illuminated by the distant bright lights of the Kabul airport.
Without looking down, nor losing a step I respond, that’s hope my son, that’s hope”.
My Doctor recently retired, I was under his care for 20+ years. I appreciated his demeanor and willingness to listen. After he would listen to me, out of mutual respect, it was my turn.
Right on cue, his facial expression turned to that of a muse. He would raise his finger and politely ask, “if I may share something” and then skillfully weave his medical guidance with relatable anecdotes and carefully selected metaphors.
He had seen me through years of anxiety management, from Zoloft, Paxil, therapy and today, happily, anxiety med free.
On the topic of alcohol he called it, “The Great Deceiver”. He mused, “alcohol may momentarily numb emotional pain, but it doesn’t address the source of the emotional distress..” I filed this away in my brain housing unit under the category: “Hmm, I might have to think about that”
Recently I read Malcolm Gladwell’s “Talking to Strangers “in which he presents the theory of Alcohol Myopia (short sidedness). My interpretation in layman’s terms was an alcohol induced “tunnel vision” where depending on YOUR individual state of mind(happy, depressed, angry, adventurous, etc..), as you enter “the tunnel”, will effect your alcohol induced experience.
I grew up around alcoholics and had a front row seat to a wide variety of drunks, kind, angry, racist,loving, deceitful, and the list goes on..I always wondered why alcohol effected people differently and to me, the “tunnel vision” theory makes perfect sense.
Not to limit my position as simply being a spectator, I can speak also from personal experience. I have drank my share of alcohol and can attest to many of the theoretical effects of alcohol myopia.
I look at it as if you are going on a ride at an amusement park. Step right up folks! What’s it going to be tonight?
Enter the Happy, Celebratory Ride: Enter the tunnel happy, excited. Who doesn’t love a good wedding or celebration. Next morning: man what a great time! Memories made for a lifetime.
The Cocky ride: Feeling cocky going into the ride and the beer muscles appear. You feel invincible. I still have a busted up nose as proof.
The Lonely Depressed Ride: Enter sad, lonely, perhaps self loathing.Next morning: Low self esteem is even worse than before. This can become an endless cycle, and the rider simply wants to numb the emotional pain..
The Anger Ride: Enter the ride mad at the world and watch out to whomever is in front of you. I saw this first hand as a kid. It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
The Racist Ride: I had no idea that the person I was with had racist tendencies until he was drunk, and started shouting racist epitaphs at the middle eastern taxi driver.
The Empty Promises Ride: I experienced this as a kid, yeah yeah we will go fishing, next day, had no clue they even said it.
I am not condoning or discouraging alcohol use and any clinical psychologist’s out there please chime in.. After reading about alcohol myopia and the fact thatalcohol doesn’t change, it makes sense that a key factor of your alcohol experience depends on your state of mind and environment while consuming.
The shock from the fox regeneration, (from Chapter 1)sent an intense spasm through Bella’s body. It started at the base of her neck, traveled down her spine and snapped her curly tail straight like the whip of a muleskinner.
Traffic whirred by.
A string of orange barrels dotted the rural state road,
Click clock,
click clock.
The clacking rhythm of a flashing arrow sign provided a moderate tempo as Bella trotted along the road shoulder. As the mechanized cadence faded , plumes of carbon diesel exhaust clouded the turquoise blue sky, rumblings reminiscent of the junkyard, reminded Bella of her mother.
Further down the road, Bella came upon a road construction truck parked on the pavement shoulder, “sniff-sniff”…something smelled heavenly. Bella cautiously cleared the truck’s undercarriage in pursuit of the deliciousness. A construction worker named Maria Lopez sat in the truck’s passenger side seat. Her boot laden foot propped the door open as she enjoyed the beautiful weather. Unwrapping the foil from her lunch, an egg, potato, and chorizo burrito, she took her first bite and a morsel tumbled out the door, onto the ground. Bellas wet ebony nostrils flared wide open drawing in the scent to full effect.
Unable to contain herself, she darted to the food scrap, flawlessly picking it up like a ballboy retrieves faulted balls at Wimbledon.
Taking refuge back under the truck. Bella waited for subsequent mana from heaven. Another morsel dropped, as she retrieved it, her tender paws shuffled the roadside gravel. As Bella retreated under the truck, Maria caught sight of her. Grinning to herself, Maria threw another piece of potato out the door. The playful dance continued for a few minutes then Maria placed some egg just out of Bella’s reach, atop the truck doorstep.
Letting out an involuntary whimper, Bella’s hunger got the best of her. She creeped cautiously under the step. Wet nose positioned against the cold tube steel of the step and like a gecko catching a cricket, Bella darted out her pink tongue, snatching up the egg. Maria burst out laughing!
Stepping down to the pavement, sitting on her haunches, Maria beamed with pleasure at the sight of the adorable scavenger. Longing for the kindness of her mother, Bella sensed tenderness in Maria’s face. Taking on a submissive posture with her curly tail wagging, she tinkled a bit on the pavement as she drew closer to Maria.
Sitting down fully on the ground, Maria’s hand extended, “come on Perrito” “I won’t hurt you”, almost at a belly crawl, the weary pup could no longer be contained as she leapt into Maria’s lap, almost knocking her over. Nuzzling and whining, Bella frantically licked Maria’s neck, her needle teeth gently nibbling and whiskers tickling.
“ Easy Easy Perrito! “ Maria giggled. “Oh and you stink!” she said laughing. She shared the rest of her Lunch with Bella. With a full melon shaped tummy, Bella fell asleep in the shade under the work truck.
5 o’clockcame, Maria, returning to the truck, the gravel shuffling underfoot woke Bella. Excited to see Maria, Bella whined and wagged up to her. “So Perrito , what am I to do with you?”she said. Bella whimpered and nuzzled in. “It looks like you have already decided for me.” she said, “Vamos Perrito , I am taking you home.”
Thank you for taking the time to visit my blog and read my first chaptered short story. Today is the real-life Bella’s birthday. She brings so much joy to our home, we love her.
I cannot speak for others but, I admit it, I want to be liked, and accepted.
I can feel anxious thinking of unresolved personal conflict with others when the relationship emotional bank account with that person is overdrawn, depleted.
What about reconciliation?
That takes commitment from both parties.
Admittedly, I have fooled myself into thinking otherwise, sometimes you CANNOT reconcile.
Unfortunately our polarized society would suggest a short sighted mindset that someone always has to lose.
What is left?
Breathe deeply and slow down for a moment…..
What is the alternative?
Harmony…. If there is power in kindness, harmony is the fuel that feeds it.
In my humble opinion, Living in harmony is quite simple:
Step 1. Recognize the others humanity
Step 2. Commit to living a harmonious life with or without them.
Step 3. Accept the possibility that you may never reconcile with that person.
Step 4. Accept the fact that others(even those you despise) have the same right to the pursuit of happiness as you.
“It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere“- Voltaire
Who among us doesn’t at least for a moment think the fool Voltaire speaks of, is someone other than ourselves?
We all have chains don’t we?
Chains come in many forms, pride, hatred, greed, spite, envy, These seem obvious as they exude evil.
But what are the “revered” chains Voltaire spoke of?
May I propose they are the shackles of codependency, and physical and/or emotional abuse? Why don’t victims break free of these bindings?
Unfortunately, victims can be so beaten down that sadly this abuse provides a warped sense of security. Knowing that they (the chains) are if nothing else, always there.
Be safe and take care of yourself first so, you can care for others.
Standing alone, I wonder why. No one is there to hear when I laugh, breathe, or sigh.
What have I done? Have I been cast aside? Is this my Ego’s fault, heavy laden with ugly pride?
I have a choice of self pity or self-reflect. A challenge to my psyche, knowing not what to expect.
Self Pity is an easy-out, casting blame with expectations never realized. On those that would dare disagree with me, whilst I judged and unfairly criticized.
Self-reflection leads to most precious of gifts, wisdom, balance, and peace of mind. Received through humility, love, and the courage of being kind.
Peace.
The image above was taken not far from my home on the day of our first frost. Seeing this tree reminded me of times in my life I have had to deal with being alone. I hope you enjoyed the poem. Peace.
My senses suddenly become sharper,, ears feel hot, “tick…tock”..I hear a clock ticking nearby
Tick tock, tick tock
Survival mode, pupils dilate
Tick Tock…
Why is the door locked?
Tick tock…
I feel I should run but my feet weigh heavy like cinderblocks
Tick tock..
Under my loose fitting shirt, I feel a bead of nervous sweat run down my rib cage
Tick…..tock….tick ……..tock….everything is in slow motion,
I am terrified, Why can’t I scream?
Tick…..tock You manipulate me like clay..
Tick tock…Tick tock… tick tock… tick tock
If I say anything, I am a bleeding heart victim and an attention whore.
When you are a victim of abuse, you don’t always understand what is happening which IS one of the reasons many victims fall prey.Innocence. Especially children. You become frozen and confused.
Once you realize the brevity of what happened, guilt and shame set it….you feel alone. This is a lie.. You are NOT alone
I watched your slow paced tough guy strut ready to take on the world.
I watched you come and go to the same job for 30 years and not complain.
I watched you be so loving toward your children yet at times not so, toward your life partner.
I watched you fight in alleys outside a bar with men twice your size, while trying to make a living hustling pool.
I watched you be laid off and swallow your pride by working in the fields to demonstrate never to give up and it is not the job, but the effort put forth.
I watched you joke, laugh, and tease, during dire situations so we felt at ease.
I watched you self destructingly isolate yourself from your life partner, express your heartbreak, and heal.
I watched you plead your case toward justice based on being abused by those that should have protected you.
I watched you put poison in your body to escape your personal emotional pain.
I watched your outer shell crack open allowing healing love to fill a pessimistic heart and know you are worthy of love.
Today I watch as my children and grandchildren watch me.
It swings open. Listening over my shoulder. Listening for someone. Anyone. To stop me from locking the gate behind me.
Is that you Jesus?
Maybe I should leave it unlocked, just in case. Not so fast..A wiseman once told me, ”Expectation destroys gratitude.” He also said, “Anger is poison you drink, and expect your enemy to die.”
“Come as you are”
What first does that even mean?
Like many other catch phrases, over used. Just something people say. Like, “love ya, love ya guys..
It’s just something people say..
Come as you are…
So you can be judged whether you belong?
Come as you are,
IF..
You speak the same language
You are of the same race
Have the same sexual preference
Never question our truth even if you know them to be lies.
When push comes to shove don’t make waves.
Accept that if you to leave you will now be the enemy.
A little darker poetry than usual, as my Old Man (Dad, Gerald) would say, “kinda heavy”. This is my first non lyrical poem. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading.
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