Killing the Blues

“Somebody said they saw me, swinging the world by the tail. Bouncing over a white cloud, killing the blues.” -Robert Plant & Alison Krauss

I’ve been learning to fly lately. Got up pretty high, too. Been high on life, bouncing all over the clouds. Not so much killing the blues as avoiding them, maybe? Thinking it’s time to come down… but having some trouble with my landing gear. Need to learn how to make a safe landing when gravity pulls so heavily. Don’t want to crash and burn. So I’ve been avoiding landing altogether, but I’m running out of steam. Will need to refuel at some point, and then it’s best if I remembered how to keep both feet on the ground, still standing, not lying flat. Been avoiding difficult questions. Been distracted. Been seeking out every distraction to avoid having to think about anything important. But the questions remain. Reality is still reality. And maybe that’s not so bad.

Silence is golden. I’ve always loved silence. But lately, I’ve shied away from it. Silence has been a bit scary, so I’ve simply been numbing it with sound. And activities, lots of activities. It's been fun... but how do you find answers when you don’t have time to listen? And how do you listen when you don’t want to hear? Can you keep flying and still stay grounded?

A burnt child dreads the fire. A burnt child puts up walls for protection. So how can this child run back into a burning building when somebody needs help? How do you decrease the distance without getting scorched? You don’t think about it, you just do it… sure, that’s a nice thought. Been doing a lot of things without thinking lately, been doing a lot of things to avoid thinking. That’s just it. I really need to think about what I’m doing here. Don’t want to pick the default answer just because it’s the default mode. But maybe there’s a reason for the default mode. Maybe it’s what works.

I think I know where to find what I’ve already had. Just need to overcome that… firewall.

Being Two

The two thin, gold bands on her ring finger seem as though they are about to fall off. Her fingers are more meager, the bands used to fit snugly and now there’s so much air between metal and skin.

Her eyes have sunken a little more since the last time. And her frame has shrunk yet again. I notice her tasteful, brightly colored blouse looks brand new, presumably purchased to fit her smaller shoulders. The proud, straight-backed woman who used to walk tall in her 170 cm now measures a mere 162 and appears a shadow of her old self. Hugging her, she feels so slight, as if she has all but disappeared.

But her table is just as neatly and delicately set for the two of us as it ever were. She eats surprisingly heartily, it is clear the company has stimulated her waning appetite. And her mind is sharp as ever. She bounces effortlessly from subject to subject, just as in the old days.

She buried a son not many years ago. Then, another came awfully close. Last year, she buried her husband of six-plus decades.

“Do you miss Daddy, Ma?” my Uncle had asked her recently.

She explained how she didn’t miss him tangibly in day-to-day life – he had been on the road most of their lives and she was accustomed to being alone.

“What I miss,” she said, “is being two.”