From August 13th 2022, sitting outside in the rain at my Uncle’s oyster bar, in Battle Creek Michigan.
Water is running down this tin roof outside. It’s a gray morning. Later, we bury our brother, father, uncle, and friend. By eleven the reality will set in and this will be another moment in time where we all say our goodbyes. Death brings out inner demons through grief. You can watch a person melt away in front of you. In their moment this new persona prevails, the one with less to give, more to say, and something to prove. My thoughts want not to judge, however, we are raised and praised to judge those exposing the rails of self they hide. This to some could be a simple ceremony, a simple week of going through the paces. Beneath all the streamlines and emotional numbness…there is a wild, streaking, in your face, poetry. This could look like a peaceful morning, or physical conflict. This could be as soft as a threatening message through social media, or large vats of blue tequila that turn a greenish color when stirred. In all the madness we have to choose how we will function through this space. Are we to become a vessel for others….Hidden in the words of “support” or guilted from another to control their experience? It seems easier to disengage, to not allow anyone the actions of telling you where you go, how you cope, or when to leave.
I’ve spent decades of my life sitting in chairs because someone else needed me to. Anymore, it feels wrong to move without choice. Odd how the very characters of this story never ask much about me, or how my life is going. You can hide a wealth of sadness and pain in front of most people and they can’t even sense a subtle tinge of imbalance because they are hyper focused on themselves. I wonder how that sustains through so much territory of vitriol, and poisonous truth a tongue has been dying to convey. But we surrender to our demons the fickleness of our souls. We want to spit venoms and let people know because we ourselves are afraid, bitter, and ready for change. Fear exposes such things when tensions stir up the great sagas of a life. We are not so young anymore after loss, after years of depression, and struggle to believe. These truths shatter fantasy, they force us to want more while being disabled to produce a pathway. Why do we fear ourselves in the eyes of the public? Any public, even the community you believe has your back. Truth is, we have to sail away, alone, while looking for the new versions of our intentions. You can call it a restart, a fresh start, we can call it a crisis, we can label it something that’s terrifying, sublime, you name it we can say anything, do anything, be anything. But there’s a price and we always have to say goodbye somewhere. Always.