Futility on the wind

 Stand where you are, stand where you will be, change the planet, change reality.  Developing film, that once was means nothing, and what once was tells more than it ever did.

I remember Avenue J, listening to Indian Girl.  It had only been released five years earlier, and as usual, yeah, I was late to the party, but hey, I arrived, didn't I?

I find treasure in the notes and melodies today and I am defeated too how reality itself was brought to nothing and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Futility is rolling in like a fog we did not know was coming.  It has always been there, but we just bounced along, taking it all in stride, earbuds in, lost in our own little scream.

I hear it clawing at the door, knowing that even though I have mourned the high times of days gone by, the loss I feel from all of it is constantly changing and never-ending.  

There is a message coming through, and I strain to listen.  Like someone tapping on a pipe that extends far into the past and into the future, I know that it is critical that I listen.

The conversations at the round table with my Grandfather are now constantly in focus.  This is a type of understanding that I think I would rather not know, but I do not get a choice. Inside I slam my arrogant self against the cold cement wall headfirst, twisting my arm.  With disgust, I whisper, "It is a privilege!"

The sun rises, and I look at the autumn fog wondering if the place I stand today is enough to have a clear view from here and there. I know it is there, like a cold front it can be anticipated.  It comes no matter what.  It just does.

When the rain comes

 

A great cup of coffee, raging fire, sound of light rain drops on the forest. And a four-day-old earache, relentlessly slapping me, trying to pull me out of this moment. I hate pain. It works hard in so many different ways to take center stage in my life. This morning I am engaged in an all-out battle with it. 

The rain holds off for about 3 hours but then inevitably yields a forecast too bad to be wrong. It is a great sound, rain on the canopy, and the crackle of the fire. We had to retreat from the warmth of the fire because of the rain. Now it only provides sound and visual effects.

I knew this was coming. Don’t act surprised. The song The Rain opens up days passed in my life. Rainy days usually. My childhood, my sisters.

It would be a crime to deny myself this sensory experience. The sounds of the rain are quadraphonic (surround sound for you millennials). It is a testament to our creator's power. The world can grow on one drop of rain at a time, and the same drop can wipe everything out of existence.

My pain has now been squelched by anti-inflammatory drugs and antihistamines. It was getting to the point where it was all I was.

The age differential between us and people who stopped having children by the time they were 30 has been fascinating. At 50, those people talk of downsizing and retirement and taking more seasoned sort of vacations. When you start having kids around 40, it is a different world. At 55, I was thinking about an Appalachian trail thru-hike in the next 5 to 10 years. 

A year ago, I got Covid. When you live in so much pain, denial is a wonderful ally. A year later, I am acutely aware that I have long Covid. My energy is tapped right out. But, you know me, my rage and fight inside is relentless. Even this, I do not accept.

So the pattern emerges in my existence: a pattern of denial and rationalization. As a young man, this was a far more damaging quality, today, a mechanism for survival.

It’s funny the things we hear in the rain. I suspect there are no hiding places. Rightly so. It is like a journey to a land where pain and age exist. During our stay, those circumstances would be the only ones we would have to deal with. 

The rain ebbs and flows as it wishes, setting the rules as it sees fit. Really, why fight it? In 2018, I recall Ben Crawford saying as he was hiking the AT with his wife and six kids: “When it first starts raining, it feels like such a betrayal. But, eventually, you begin to barely notice it as you somehow become part of it.”