To Suckle.

            And so draws a close to another week. Yes, it has been a crazy week for all of us. Here in the heart of the South, it started out cold, wet and miserable, but it ended, warm, sunny and pleasant. Although, if you are me, it ended up with me standing ankle deep in raw sewage and three hundred people wanting to know why they are not allowed to use a bathroom. Ok, not exactly, since I am ending up on my porch with a tasty Gurkha after said disaster.

            Of course I should mention that the evening also ended up with several city officials on hand making sure the cleanup and maintenance of the pipes was done efficiently and with the utmost care of the public at large. Me? I played a minor role in the fact that I managed traffic flow, calmed nerves of the public and officials alike as well as ensure that a good time was had by all while one of many “fires” reared its ugly head. All in the name of promoting a band, a good time and fund raising for the greater good of the community I call home.

            Now, to say that the week was easy would be to lie. You see, an old shadowy friend came to visit at the beginning of the week, a friend we all meet eventually and there is no escaping our fate from holding hands with. He took someone I care about and escorted him into the netherworld. I didn’t like hearing this news nor was I in a mood to converse about it then and I am not in a mood to converse about it now. But this “friend”, one with whom our meeting is inevitable, cast his shadow over my family in a much more intimate way as well. For this I am conflicted. While I don’t want to see the end come to a family member, I know that the inevitable result will be a joyous one for the hereafter.

            Does this thought comfort me? Does it offer me a sense of peace? Does it give me consonance in my faith and the fact that one day we will be reunited? Nope. Not at all. The way I see it, our human condition that is, is that we are suffering this mortal coil for almost no reason whatsoever with the exception of the ability to make choices and experience life in a way others are unable to.

            We are able to love by choice, live by choice, feel heartbreak, pain, loss, suffering, joy, bliss, ecstasy, free will, hate, anger, virtue, and yes, even friendship in the form of people older or younger than ourselves and learn from them.

            We are the gifted and chosen. We shall not always be here but while we are the dash that separates the date of birth from the date of death on our tombstone is the only thing that will follow us into the not so distant future. We have to make that dash count.

            Whitman said

            “That you are here-that life exist and identity”

            Emmerson said

“Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form”

Cummings wrote-

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

Poets are funny creatures, to me at least. They speak of love lost, found and unrequited. Yet they all agree that one must live their lives to the fullest. Seeking out the new, the bold, the untamed in an attempt to fill their dash with as much as they can before the brief existence of their flame is extinguished by the mortal clock we all face but rarely acknowledge.

It is no secret to you, my dear and passionate reader, that I’ve not only held the hands of my fate, but danced the endless dance as well. Yet, for some reason, a reason that seems to escape my addled Polish brain, I still share this spaceship we call earth with you. And, for now at least, I will continue to share breathing room with you. Whether you like it or not. Also, I will be subject to the loves and losses of life’s never ending drama, comedy and adventure story until such time as I meet my inevitable fate.

That being said, do I like, love appreciate and accept the time clock that is placed upon us when we are conceived? No. I do not. I am not a fan of any type of metronomic meter of life and what ones fate is. Because, if we truly do have free will, then aren’t we able, by the sheer act of will, to say when and where it is we are ready to dance our last dance? Sing our last song? Suckle at the marrow of life and the joy, pain, love and loss? I say yay. We are.

            We are in charge of our will. A will that was gifted to us by our creator and a will that can change the course of not just our lives but the lives of mankind. This of course is not taking into account any kind of outside influence. Such as a bullet to the head during a convenience store robbery. But from firsthand knowledge and experience, I know, when the chips are down, when all is lost, when hope is but a fictional word, a person’s will can deliver them from the hand of the one trying to take them from this plane to the next.

We all have it in us. You, me, the person sitting in the car next to you, we have inside of us a well of unfathomable strength that is rarely tapped into. A strength that can bring one back from the brink of nothingness or, if unexplored, goes to waste simply because one has given up and does not want to see the dawning of a new day.

No, I’m not casting aspersions on anyone. I would never be so bold, but I do know what I’ve gone through and the times where saying “Fuck it, this is it for me” was the easy road. But my love for life, the dreams of a better future, the sound of birds in the morning and the spring blooms of flowers and trees have brought me back from that abyss. That love gave me the will to say “NO!, I will not go gentle into any good night. I will fight for this state of being and all it holds for me. I will prevail and I will drink from the marrow of life and experience all I can while I’m still here.”

It just pains me when others give up so easily, especially when I know they could have been so much better. Even when it means you end up ankle deep in human wast.

Have a great week.