Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Out the door & into the night...

...I walk, dark and damp. But the world is dry. Frozen again after an early spring day's sun, light spritzed onto the world like water from the spray bottle my dad always kept by the kitchen table to reprimand barn cats from tearing pleads of "we want in too, please" into the screen door. It was a shock, that water...as is the spring sun. I feel like a mole, eyes squinting, skin pale, covered with a layer of dirt...

...streaking into mud with duct drops of precipitation.

Headlamp remains off. The batteries are almost dead anyways. I like the darkness, and am comforted by it enveloping me into something I can feel but cannot see. The night holds all unknowns -- all answers. I question it, sobbing interrogations into the still air. Why do I love food, when my gut doesn't. Why am I burned with punishment for only trying to feed myself? What crime have I committed? Is it not a crime against mine to not...feed myself? Oh yes, I have done time for that one. Perhaps I still am. Perhaps my sentence is for life. Why is the physical pain in my gut always, always there?


No one is there. No one is listening.

No one answers.

Yet, I have a few more questions for the darkness -- for the silence -- why do I still yell out to the God I hate to believe in. Why do I see a Name in the darkness?


But...Banjo. He hears. He answers -- stop sniffling and keep on walking.

And that is what the darkness tells me to do too -- keep on walking.

Walking, through mysteries...through contradictions...through this life's duplicity, as she double deals her hand and looks over her shoulder with a coquette's wink. She wants me to follow her. But I don't. At least, not blindly. I doubt and question; give and then take back my soul; cry and swear and damn everything in sight to hell. Which thankfully, isn't much given the surrounding blackness. And really, as if I had the power to truly damn anything or anyone's eternal state anyway.

This isn't about food. But, it is. This isn't about God. But, it is. This is human, these contradictions (or at least that is what I tell myself, and what my conscience takes consolation in.) -- these tensions that tease humanity, and have for millennia. They bully, on this ground they see as play. And I feel like a monkey swinging from bars. Will my next grip hold?

I take a step. I follow. I follow this dark gravel road...the tall ditch-grass shadows, shades darker, harness my attention forward.


More precipitation -- but, the mud slowly clears into a confused calm.

Keep on walking...


  1. "mole eyes, squinting, skin pale, covered with a layer of dirt." I can just see this little mole in a children's picture book erupting out of the ground on some unsuspecting forest creatures.

    I am glad you still TALK to God...in creation the good, the bad, and the ugly still show His imprint.

    Banjo encouraging you with the British KBO, he is a good friend.

    And we are indeed only human...with eyes that slowly clear into various states of confused calm and all we can do is to keep on walking and asking the questions.

    IPOY KBO and a virtual hug Mama Yak

  2. You exibit one of the most incredible things about humanity......the ability to just keep slogging or fighting and to still find joy. Maybe that is where we most resemble God.

  3. sgb - You should draw me a little mole. :) Miss Sue's first picture book, "Mole Sees Spring." I can see it now. I do still talk, sometimes, if really more yelling...but, after all, the one after his own "heart" yelled at and cursed The Name.

    Hart - Perhaps this is the true interpretation of "In His image"...?

  4. Well, I have to admit that I can be a little dense,especially since I haven't followed long enough to "know" you. But I do sense a a zest for life and an unwavering belief.