98: Chill Babe, Its only Teasing
‘My dearest boy, haven’t you found peace?’
‘At times, yes, I am ecstatic with it. There are days where I am able to do nothing go nowhere not eat nor sleep, those are the days I give into my breath. These are my boundaries; the armor I build for myself. But there is this unrest, my love; it burns under every inch of my skin. It pulls and screams and begs of my willingness to move for what seems like no reason. Move! I move. I am full of rage and I hate you! And I will find you. And I will save you. And I will bite my lip and clench my teeth while I stand before you. And you will say nothing, as my eyes will steal every stupid word from your quivering lips, as I’ve taught them so well to do. And then, with your unexpected silence piercing my guts, I will speak. You will be still in knowing there is nothing to be known. And peace will come again.’
When I close my eyes and dream I am 33. Normally age is meaningless to me. But these numbers are especially magical, as these are the present moments that pull me along as I fight in and out of all that has been and all that is to come. I have a river in my backyard. I have two dogs and two chickens. I have a black wool coat hugging my bare chest. I am a man. My breath is steam, perfectible audible through its visibility. I listen carefully. In my incessant need to know everything, I must be very careful. Everything that I touch with any part of my body runs like a current through me and I am the weight of it. I am the pain it carries. I am the fear it speaks of. I am the air it breathes. For this reason, I cannot eat but what my own hands have prepared for me. My sensitivity cannot handle digesting their indecision. My knees grow weak when I shake the wrong hands. I must not cower to the fear of the deceit of decision, she must decide for me. I’m on a porch. The glass door behind me slides and ten golden fingers slip under my coat and around my naked waist. ‘My love, will you stand here all day? Shall I eat breakfast alone? Shall I make coffee for one? Should I lay on my back and fuck myself all afternoon, or should I anticipate your longing to return?’ I whimper. Her hands are cold. Her breath is heating the back of my neck. Her question is absurd. I swing around and pick her up, carry her inside and throw her on a blue couch. I forgot to close the door behind me. My love is on display for our two pups, who sit just outside, mildly concerned, but mostly curious. The black lap knows something I don’t know. I feel an unsettling need to explain myself. ‘Mommy’s okay, guys. Just a little bit of teasing.’ I grab the belt off the edge of the couch and tell her I need her. She cries. I am unmoved. I am perfectly still.
I wake up sobbing. ‘Its okay.’ she whispers. ‘Mommy’s okay, lighten up soldier boy; its only a bit of teasing.’ I am slow in movement today, but I am still ready. I will do anything for this day. For that day lies somewhere in reach. In every moment I remain, that day will remain mine to reach for. I peel my achy body off the mattress and crawl to my yoga mat. I keep crying. I scream. I throw a fit on the floor of my otherwise empty apartment. I reach for love. Silence. I reach for reason. Nothing. I reach for the door. I can leave. I am free. I sing to the trees. I wait. I work. I sleep. In my wildest dreams of 33, I reach out for breath, its mine. Everything comes to me in time, as everything is rightfully mine, as every single breath I ever need is free.