Resig Nation

It's a strange feeling. You wonder if you are at the beginning of a long journey or perhaps just a brief adventure. So many things...that we will never remove...I know you're sorry...I'm sorry too...Match stick men with hollow eyes and spines of gold, fiery bombs of the noon day glow, it's not all for show. It's real. The Big Doubt. The Great Discontent. Like a fish doesn't know what water is because it's ALL he knows. That's what it's like. Am I co-dependent because I want to be with her? Because I'm falling for her? Fuck if I know. Funny how I throw this heart of mine out there. You'd think I'd be more jaded, more cautious, more cynical. Somehow it's not in my nature. This sunny disposition. Ha! Painted birds on the mantle.Owls hooting at dawn. Bunnies feisty at the side of the road. Two dirt tracks with a strip of green between. Halloween.

How often do you think of death? I think of it all the time. Seriously all of the time. It's never far from my thoughts. It's not a gloomy thing. It's a reality thing. No one here gets out alive. How many days do I have left? How many hours? How many moments? The future is a fool's errand. The past a cosmic joke. The ever-ripening present is all there is and all there will ever be. I seized the day but it didn't seize me back. It laughed and shrugged me off. I felt dejected, alone. I've always felt dejected and alone. In a crowd sure. By myself, not so much. This land, these hills, these rivers and streams...these valleys and fields. At night when I close my eyes and sleep comes upon me, at night when the heaving of my chest moves in unison to the slow-disintegration of wood in the fire, my spirit climbs from me, my spirit soars...out of the cabin and into the night, above the pines and oaks, over tree tops and meadows, star-speckled, moon-struck, holy and crisp in the night sky, the milky firmament of our little backward corner of the galaxy. My spirit floats. My spirit twirls. My spirit moves through ever-settling fog and mist, through illuminated clouds pierced only by noiseless wind and gathering moonlight. Houses are still and small on the painted night-scape. Small columns of smoke trail off from chimneys, solitary headlamps from a single car wind along mountain roads and disappear among the trees.

When I return home, when I awake, the sun has risen and something in me tells me to rise too. I am not rested. I am not refreshed. Another dog day of sun-bleached existence. I faintly remember soaring the night before. There is a glimmer of the dream, an echo, but no reply, no purchase in my conscious-life. The subconscious sleeps. The conscious goes about the day as if in a dream. People, conversations, work, all the detritus of living. Splashes of light and shadows hint at it. Small animals whisper it. reflections of the sky in cool pools of water eddied along the river, swollen boulders resting in the shallows....

I know I will be old and alone. I can't help the thought. It's truth. As much as I desire...and I DO desire...The Great Desire ever as powerful in me as The Great Discontent and The Great Doubt. The Great Desire...oh how you plague me! How you drive me! How you keep me going with your dangling carrot of happiness, contentment, peace and tranquility. I am destined for loneliness. I am feted for solitude. I am resigned to it.