Courage: It’s a Bitch, Yo

Half my life I’ve been convinced I lack courage.

But lately, I’ve been thinking I just worry that I lack courage.

It’s seems a fine line to be sure, but it’s an important one.

Lacking courage, of course, means not having the guts, will, or impulse to take on the hard things in life.  And, presumably, the harder the challenge, the lesser the chance you’re goin’ headlong into it…whatever it is.

But the second condition entails something entirely different, and that’s that courage as an inherent or learned characteristic is itself what is questioned, and the truly difficult part is all the time you spend worrying about whether you’ll rise to the challenge, if, presumably, you get off your fat duff and try to even do something. Continue reading


Dreamblog: Sadness Envelops

I am standing near the curb of a well-manicured front lawn and a green grass evocative of any standard vision of the classic American suburban yard.  Standing on the periphery, clearly distraught but detached from the immediate situation, is my Mother.  A very cute, very aloof family dog hops about randomly, not at all noticing the body lying prone near the street.

It is one of my sisters who lay motionless on the soft, slightly damp, slightly cool grass.  I have no clue what has happened, only that for practical purposes she’s “gone.”  Her body is alive, yes, but she cannot move, cannot speak, cannot hear.

I kneel beside her, placing my cheek to hers, my warm ear making slight contact with her cooler one.  To my surprise, she begins to speak to me telepathically.

“The dog won’t even pay any attention to me.  He just keeps pooping and peeing all over.”

“But he’s just a pup, Sis, he doesn’t know that there’s something wrong.”

“But I’m laying right here.  It seems quite obvious I’m not moving, something’s obviously wrong” she sent, her lips still, her eyes open and staring straight but taking in nothing.

“He doesn’t know, honey.” Continue reading

The Long Walk

What a long walk.My legs are tired, but still moving, lungs are aching, but breathing still.

I’ve passed many things…fruit trees and truck stops and pig farms and housing blocks and drug corners. Can hardly tell a difference anymore.  Not because they look the same, but because perception slows to a crawl, like a happy aimless baby.

All we’re left with are snippets, the briefest of recollections, immediate to the smell or touch or ear though they may be. For example, I heard this song, and although it reminded me of you I don’t think we’ve ever met.

Maybe I passed you on some lush tropical footpath, or under the dullest of concrete overpass monstrosities.  A dream? An imaginative thought? Do you remember?

I get tired of walking, and my simpler instincts say ‘stop.’ So what is it forcing the machine forward, sparking reactions and setting the rusty begrudging mechanics to motion? It’s hard to believe it’s just the snippets, the fleeting recollections that are there then gone, like dreams forgotten before the dreamer ever sensed their presence.

I wish you luck, all you wayward travelers. I’d like to say your destination is assured or that it’s the journey that matters. But that’d make me just another borrower, just one more thumb thrown up in the dark, shocked by the awesome blasts of air and the dark arts physics of oblivious passing semi trailers hauling god knows what. Lord knows it doesn’t matter. Continue reading