Day 1:
I wrote a letter to myself. Unfiltered.
Brutal. Honest. I scanned the top of my mind with a net and gathered all the
fluttery bits that floated on the surface. I wrangled with the creatures that
teemed just beneath, the ugly sort that lash out when its victims would
least expect. I raked the bottom, the ocean’s ghetto, the sea’s morgue. I
trailed my shovel along the bottom where the carnivorous leeches lie sucking,
chewing, devouring the rotting depths. As I pulled, their teeth shuddered
across the rough surface, their tongues grasping for some means of resistance,
their writhing bodies kicking up dirt. I held them all in my hands, and
squeezed them until their life blood seeped out of their lustful, leering, unbounded
jaws. I threw everything into a pot. Stirring, searing, scouring, boiling it
into an unholy brew. All my life sat tossing around in a volcanic stew. Past
mingling with future, regret conspiring with hope, and hate cavorting with
love. I called the concoction Rock-Bottom and I chugged it. No chaser.
Day 2:
Blinding white light. White walls. White
curtains. White doors. White. White. White. Light. Streaming through the
windows, through the cracks, through smiling, radiant teeth. Chandeliers
catching the sun. Bodies warmed beneath the pure, rugged gaze of the Cross.
Hymns rolling around on the tongue. Sugary, sweet. Like the promise of ice
cream after a hard day’s work. Cleansing. Like ice water running down over
sweaty backs and aching joints. A voice. Clear. Radiant. True. Speaking
forgotten words. Reminders of what Once-Was. Tantalizing hints of What-Will-Be.
Sharp slashes at twisted ideals. Dexterous fingers undoing tangled knots. The
light that surrounds suddenly invades. Cracks against my skull. Numbs me.
Blinds me. Subdues me. Revelation. Slow and soft. Like fiery warmth spreading
over frostbitten joints. Like sunlight creeping over dew-ridden mountaintops. A
glimpse of freedom. Of newness. Of serenity. Forget what’s past. Look up. Look
beyond. Look forward.
Day 3:
I’m running. The pain sends me to walking.
The pain of neglect. Once you start, never stop. Muscles awakened start to
ache. Music fills my ears as my bones are reminded how to move. My feet are
leaded, and my legs unwilling. Once you start, never stop. A song comes on and
a note starts me weeping. I see trees. Nothing but trees. Rushing water and
trees. The sky is veiled, but the trees are green. I keep going. Two spirits
come to rest on my shoulders. I ignore them. Focus on the breath, on the
movement, on the pace. They start talking to each other. Louder and louder.
Sound increasing, above my breath, above the sound of rubber meeting pavement.
Turn music up. Eardrums blasting. Mouthing lyrics. Sinking into rhythm.
Ignoring the arguments in my head. One speaks of my Father. Another of my sins.
I blink. And blink again. Ignore it. Focus on the breath, on the movement, on
the pace. When one is matched against the other, there is One that always wins.
When Love is matched against Lust, the Greater will always win. There is
one who would Care, and there is One who would Die. Tears seep from my eyelids
and collect with the sweat from my stride. Nothing, I whisper. I’m nothing. I
feel it all too well as I suck air into my lungs. Butterflies saunter around my
feet, and dragonflies flit between stems of grass. We are bound to the dust,
but our souls yearn for the stars. I cling to this as I slow to a walk. Slow
down. Rest. Music off. Thoughts unfurled. Let it come. Let it flow. Hide no
longer. Embrace both dust and sky. Perhaps they both belong inside of me.
Perhaps they both define me. One must abide with the other. Find peace in the
balance. Isn’t that what running is? A leap between heaven and earth. An
attempt to hold hands with high and low. Slow it down. Hide no longer.
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