The Stories I Might Tell

There was a time when I might have begun this with an excerpt from Weekend in New England and told you something about Jericho standing on the ramparts of a castle watching the world below but that is not today.

N0r will there be the story of the things that I saw while looking out a car window in a restaurant parking lot, a huge smile on my face for no other reason than just because.

It is not because I cannot tell you because I can lay it out there in a way that will hold your attention and make you wonder how much more there must be.

There is a giant world there to explore and relate to but today I choose not to. Maybe it is because some chapters are closed or because others have yet to be written.

Or maybe it is because the things that stand in front of me require a significant amount of focus and substantial amounts of energy and I am already tired.

Superhuman strength is wanted and perhaps needed but I don’t think that is in the cards today.

Hanging With Pablo

I called Neruda and asked him to join me for a beer.

“Pablo, my old friend the storm gathers before me. Have you any words to inspire and move me?”

But of course he didn’t answer because he is dead. All I heard was the whisper 0f the wind and a far off howl that reminded me the answers I seek aren’t going to be found in books.

There are no libraries I can access, no microfiche or floppy disks to use.

Even if I had access to every person I would want to speak with it wouldn’t matter because this storm isn’t the sort that you comes with a manual.

At best you can find others who will walk through the twilight lands with you. If you are lucky you might draw strength from each other, but there is no guarantee of that.

This is a time of testing and a revealing of what we are made of.

It is funny to see my reflection in the mirror and to see the surprise in the eyes of the guy who wonders why the 25 year-old version of himself has been replaced by a man who is almost double his age.
And the carousel horses go up and down in their eternal circle while the music plays.

Five Flashlights

They ask me why I have five flashlights in the car a series of others stashed around the house and I smile.

“They aren’t all in one place and if one doesn’t work I am confident another will. And if others are with me, well chances are I can share them with one or two others. Together our collective light will make a difference.”

They look at me like I am crazy and I smile because they aren’t the first and they won’t be the last to suggest it.

It takes a little crazy to make changes and I am ok with that.

The music moves to one of my favorite lines and I close my eyes and smile.

So you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore
Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night

One day I am going to hear that refrain and respond differently because I will be old, maybe even too old for something, but that day isn’t here yet.

For now I am old enough to know better about many things but still young enough to want to chase certain dreams.

Some of those are going to be stuffed into the suitcase across the room and carried with me on the next part of this adventure.

A Big Oaf

I saw a picture of a big oaf on Facebook and thought it would be more enjoyable to see him fall down the get shot in the ass by the deers he hunts.

It is not the most charitable or loving thing I could say or wish for him but it is better than hoping he chokes and dies on a burnt piece of meat.

Not sure whether it ranks above or below seeing him take a golf ball in the nuts, but ranking such things takes more energy than he deserves.

Still, I don’t mind sharing this nonsense here with you because as I mentioned, I like imperfections and I am imperfect.

Don’t take for an excuse because I don’t offer it as such nor do I tell you that I hoping the oaf gets whats coming doesn’t matter because G-d forgives me.

I don’t operate that way.

The oaf opened this can of worms with me and that is how it goes.

Still stewing about him doesn’t help me do as Mr. Swift suggests so I write some silly thought on paper and it takes the edge off.

Or at least it helps a bit, which is useful given the 10,000 pound load I have been asked to shoulder.

I will get it done, but it is a bit harder than it once was.

“We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.”
― Emily Dickinson, Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson

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  1. winersusan February 26, 2018 at 9:32 am

    The answers you seek are to be found in your own writing, Josh. Keep in touch with the poets who inspire you (I relate). I think you definitely have a book in you and while you are figuring out what you are going through by putting it into words, it will also help others who face such trauma. If you cannot share now, write for yourself… It’s a gift you have.
    Bravery is good. So is losing it. Don’t stray from the Merry Go Round.

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