Falling Through Life
To the person I used to be,
Life is like falling. From birth to love to death we reach out into the infinity for others hoping for a brief second that if we travel far enough that we might touch another soul.
I woke up on January 9th 1977 from the fall. An era of mondo-cool short dresses and far-out bell bottoms. In the corner of the shag carpeted room was an American made Zenith television with a monotone mustached news anchor reporting on Jimmy Carter's succession. I drove a groovy red 1977 Ford Granada with a straight-six and gas stations were selling go-go juice for .62 gallon. I'm not sure how many times I would end up dying of dysentery on the Oregon Trail.
The world was changing, as the United States began testing the Space Shuttle and the launch of the Voyager II. In June of 77, just after Elvis’s last concert and just before his death in August, I came to the realization that this is the world I had woke up to. I had to accept that this reality was my own. I would spend years trying to get back and many moments doubting my sanity feeling like I never fit in.
Living through the eighties I grew doubtful I'd ever find my way home again. I dug holes in the fabric of reality which only led to capitulation and tears on the edge of insurmountable change. Then one day I saw you on the coast of an island in the rain, years before we would ever meet. You stood on that cargo ship with Cousteau eating an American pie. I glanced at you and our eyes never bent until you sailed beyond the horizon.
I'd say goodbye to you a dozen times. Sometimes you'd be brunette, sometimes a blonde, often a foxy red head. You were always better at making me want you than admitting that you loved me. I could always feel the tap of you on my shoulder when I was alone but never touch the ghost of an embrace. I could always hear your voice but never kiss your lips but in memories. For this was not our time.
Seconds grew into minutes, then into days. I would spend this life traveling the world, from country to country, just to see you for one moment more. I crossed the ocean a hundred times only to nearly drown like Icarus in the sun. I climbed mountains to feel that way again when I was with you. At times I would forget who I used to be and that place and time I had come from. No matter how many times I would fail, you would tell me to get back up. I had search for home not knowing I was. You tried to make me see that the journey was the destination. You told me that the harbor would only offer liberation of my own existence, not safety.
Then, one day on a cold November day, I buried you on the shore of that coast. I lit you on fire and set you out to sea. Yet, you'd always return. You'd always come back to me until there is no more going back. You were embedded in me.
I know that time is approaching again, the beginning of the end. When I'll watch you take the climb one last time. I'll watch my younger self climb to that ledge, questioning whether to jump. Teetering on the edge of opportunity and I hope you'll whisper in my ear and tell me to go for it.