Three Coins Left

In my never-ending quest to flay myself publicly, I offer the following post. It isn't pretty and it isn't a permanent “last word.” It IS what I need to express, because I have no other way to do so. Lucky you!

In days now gone and fading away, I had people who I could sit and talk with. I could share my problems and issues and they could share theirs with me. But I am no longer in a situation right where I can have long meaningful discussions with other warm bodies on a regular basis. It is with this in mind that I open a rarely-used pressure valve.

Last night I was reminded of why I have trust issues with people. Without going into too much detail, I took the emotional risk of indulging in a rare expectation; making the mistake of relying on another person to live up to it. And though they were not able to complete this, I knew in my heart that it was my own fault that I was so disappointed by their apparent callousness and disregard. It was not a big leap for me to become an afterthought. I simply re-learned why I prefer to be alone.

It isn't like I needed this lesson jammed down my throat, since the last two decades have given me ample opportunities not to fall into the same trap over and over again. Still, I suffer from that old fashioned notion that hope springs eternal for those who remain on this side of the grave. Yet the crushing of hope can happen too many times.

So, instead, I want to redefine hope. It is a finite bag of valuable golden coins that one is given in the early years of life. And though guilt and remorse are heavy bags indeed to carry around, hope can be the heaviest one of all. We ARE given enough to last about a hundred years; about as long as our bodies will last.

We go about spending it freely. We often squander it on the little things, but usually remain mindful that the remainder will be needed for more serious situations down the road. Most of us – myself included – are willing to exhaust great amounts of it when real, or imagined “life-threatening” lightening strikes. After many years, we learn to our horror that the bag never does seem to be replenished. Yes, new hope can be loaned but that kind of funding is made at a high rate of interest. And like obtaining a new mortgage in old age, when the bag begins to lighten we try to trick the banker by outliving what we are lent.

Now, those who have faith in a higher Power can utilize prayer in an attempt to be granted (rather than loaned) a reprieve from the suffering they face. But as with any grant the requirements are stringent and exacting. And a good history of using one's gains to help others is a must.

I believe in God. And I KNOW She/He (I'll use “He” in this post) desires nothing more than acceptance of his Plan for all of us and each of us. Over time I have discovered that I can hold an on-going conversational prayer, minute to minute as I focus the inner dialogue I have with myself into a carbon copy that God can then examine too. He will occasionally edit this document and sent it back through to me in the form of circumstances that I must then face and overcome. It is my experiential account that is thus recorded for any future grant application.

But I am only human, and not one of the best ones. So, I find myself in a rather constant state of failure and disappointment. A great book once said, “You must become immune to disappointment.” And it is this phrase more than any other that echoes in my mind as of late. It is quite simply the most difficult goal in my life. Many a martyr has gone to the gallows with a strong face held high and proudly wears a clean heart, knowing that what should be the ultimate disappointment is instead the beginning of a new and better life in heaven. They also know that their lives in the flesh were not wasted with a downcast countenance. I simply cannot measure up to that kind of nobility. I am weak and doubtful.

Tonight sought refuge in work as I always do when I'm disappointed. But it was not to be. My laptop died again and I was left abandoned and unable to sweeten the situation. For many hours I sat at the picnic table near the pump-station adjacent to Mill Creek Park, feeling the breeze and watching the most beautiful evening of the year pass me by without any hint of enjoyment in it. And like any movie about a romantic tragedy, there were couples walking by—stopping to kiss each other in front of me, families riding bikes together. Cars flying by with their radios blaring, filled with friends on their way to parties and bars. But even with all that and what should have been a picnic-table, self-pity party, a woe-is-me moment, instead I felt NOTHING. And the temptress called to me.......

I just want to be somebody's something; more than a writer that you click over to when your bored. People say, “You just need to try harder.” Yet, even when I TRY to get involved in the world that is receding from my life, I fail. What sickness afflicts the one who can't enjoy the moments of a beautiful evening? What malignant cancer metastasizes in the spirit of one who cannot love himself enough to believe that the mighty gift of communication that God has given him can't save him from his own despair?

God, I miss my cats.

When I was child I never could have guessed that my life would come to this? I guess most of us can ask that same question. But where most of us are consoled by playing the game, acting the roles, feeling the prescribed emotions, I am left dazzled by the blindness it requires.

Once, in a childhood moment, I floated on the mirror surface of a lake at sundown. All of everything that would occur was still open to me. I was going to be famous, travel to distant lands, have grand adventures, dine with beautiful women...Now as I look across to the still waters of the pond, with the little brown shapes of sleeping ducks and consumed by their own small dreams, it all comes back to me, then drains out like warm blood from a wound that does not have time to heal. Bleeding-out is just the symptom. The shallowness of temporary worth is ever-evaporating and ever-becoming more shallow.

I am no longer able to sufficiently judge the glances of women. I am no longer able to determine what is a flirt and what I just good manners. I'm losing touch with the strategy that is necessary for finding love. It has been too long perhaps. Just another mistake I've made...by waiting too long. When I read emails and comments left by women I might be interested in, my mind ads too many of those gold coins between each line. For the first time in my life...I am lonely for that kind of companionship. It used to be too easy. I was picky and arrogant. I look back on opportunities and just close my eyes...

Once the invisibility starts, it seems to be unstoppable. I feel like when Iwallk up to automatic doors at supermarkets I have to walk around and do a little dance to make them open. I know it is a metaphor, but it is a damn good one.

The stars shine now above the rustling leaves. Horns beep. The cars line up behind red lights and then move like a steal and glass worm, head first, then section by section, it wriggles and squirms out of site. Hours pass like minutes and the traffic lightens. The bar across the street erupts into a collective song.

I can't do it. I can't go there. And it isn't because I can't afford it. It isn't because I don't want a drink (drunk people are always willing to buy strangers a drink). And I am a good mingler. Charm isn't the problem. I'm just bored with it. I find it all stagnant and stultifying. What advancement could it bring me? A hangover? A night with a stranger? What for??

I'm not going to continue this empty Odyssey forever. I would be even more patient if there was some way to gauge what hour the bell would toll. But isn't that wish of every lonely and lost soul? There are plenty around. For a short time I thought I might be able to wake them...Now I'm not so sure.

I went diving deep inside and found my own self – my own soul – just like I was Asked to do. As I've said so many times before, I pulled it out of the darkness from where I had chained it so long ago in order to “fit in,” and have now wrapped it around my body for all to see.

But no body is looking. They are too “busy.” They are running around in the circles that satisfy them enough to not question the deepening ruts developing beneath their feet. I still believe they would care if a message of sufficient power could reach them. But I am apparently not the one to bring it. They have to wait for someone more brilliant and spiritually fragrant...someone who is not a foolish man.

At the distant reaches of the our local star cloud rushes forth the Answer. His entourage comes with great haste, for the New Advent is about to descend upon this dark and misled world. I wanted to lessen the shock that will attend this Arrival. I was called to do just that. But it seems I am far too weak; my voice is obscured by self-hatred.

I was asked to go out into the desert and now here I am, lost at last. I was asked to adorn myself in the skins of animals. I was asked to baptize believers in the light-pipe of electrons. But too much faith has been placed in a weakling. Why wasn't someone who hasn't fucked up everything in his life chosen? I wish this was merely a delusion of grandeur. But there is nothing grand about it; only the delusion is apparent.

These are the now-not-so private thoughts that crowd my incompetent mind on this, the most beautiful night of the year. I am only wondering out-loud. I am only wandering in the shadows. Father, if there is a way to salvage this assignment it might be good to let me know sooner rather than too-later.

I CAN take one more breath though, for You, my sweet Lord, and for you all. I have recovered that bag of gold coins. I open it in the dark. I reach inside and find three of them remaining; hardy enough to last forty more years. But enough to get a fix. Three last cigarettes. Three last ounces of rum. Three last hours of sex. To one who is addicted to hope, three is enough. It is enough to bridge the time needed for a few last tries.

Tonight I will remove one coin; gleaming, shining, pure and soft—a distant reminder of the glory that was once a full bag. I examine it in the violet moonlight and slip it into my pocket................... Then...............

Ahhhh...Warm water...I am young and floating on that lake again. And the sun is going down, flashes or orange and swirling birds sing above me...or are they angels? The future is bright again. I can still be famous, travel to distant lands, have grand adventures, dine with beautiful women...I WILL make it all happen. There is no more doubt. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Rejoice!!