Fearless

 It is 6:18 in the morning, and I am going to work.  I've had only a few hours sleep, though I can feel the jittery electricity of a caffeine surge beginning to find its way into my blood.  It is raining heavily and it is still dark, though I can see the beginnings of sunrise somewhere off to the left.  I am on the freeway, travelling around eighty miles an hour, because this is Michigan and if you're not going eighty you're holding up traffic. There is construction on this section, though I have seen it a thousand times before because I travel exactly this route nearly every day.  And then-  Theres some water that had pooled up, some failure of the drainage, the construction left incomplete, and this is Michigan so the construction is never complete, so the water pooled up, and at eighty miles an hour the water catches the wheel, there's a pull to the left, to the concrete barrier still there from the construction, and the front left fender of the car catches a seam in the concrete, and physics takes over from there, and the tail of the car spins out into the lane next to me and there's a terrible noise, and then-  there's this moment, where gravity drops away and I am flying, and it is silent and beautiful, and I think Finally and I release my breath-

There is magic here somewhere, and peace, and a place without fear, if only I can find it, if only I can see it.

But what are the next steps, my wife keeps asking, and I can hear the fear and desperation in her voice, what are the treatment options, what is next?  and the doctor shakes his head and says there are no next steps, there is nothing left and I sit quietly and think about the incredible, mystic words that he kept using, inoperable, malignant, metastatic, and I feel okay really, aside from some back pain, pain that has been there a while.  I look over at my wife who is wracked with sobs, and there is a static noise in my head and I can't hear her, all I keep hearing is metastatic, inoperable and I hear the phrase second opinion, and I smile, I think oh sure go through all this again in the hopes that this guy is incompetent?  I put my hand on hers, and I tell her it's going to be okay even though we know for sure it isn't.  She looks up at me and I say did you think it could end any other way?

It is here that I belong, maybe, finally, here in the nowness of it, the presence of it, I can envelope myself in it, and I will not be afraid, because I have washed my body with it, anointed myself with it, and here there is peace and magic, and a place without fear. 

You can hear it, the snow falling, it makes a big quiet noise, an enveloping sound, you can hear it and it is always astounding. I don't shovel the sidewalk often, just walk over it and salt it when it becomes an ice rink, but we have visitors coming later today, some family thing, a birthday I think though I'm not sure and I usually don't need to know.  I just bring the chairs up from the basement and make sure we don't run out of coffee and, if we have a lot of snow, I shovel. There is something great about it, the hollow scraping sound, the weight of it, the push of it, it feels like good honest work and getting the heartrate up is always a good-  and then the clenching feeling and the left arm goes all tingly and I can't seem to get enough air and I fall, on my back, there by the sidewalk, like a child making a snow angel, and ha I think, maybe that's exactly what is happening, though heaven is not a sure thing, at least not for me, and the light is bright and white and I can feel the tiny cold kisses of snowflakes landing and melting on my face, landing and being obliterated, the view is incredible the branches of the tree above me a stark silhouette against the whiteness, the brightness and the sound, the sound of falling snow,  I think beautiful, beautiful, beautif-

If I can imagine it, fabricate the circumstances, make it fake, a child's dream, washed away in the morning. here in the black and white I am in control, here in the nowness, here it is something I can craft, shape, mold as if I get to choose my exit, as if any of us get to choose the manner, as if we will not be afraid and in pain and crying out for just another minute, just another second, just another taste, just another kiss-

I often dream of flying, of being fast and weightless, I dream of being brave and powerful.  I often dream of water, of tides and floods, and I dream of monsters.  

There is magic here in these dreams, these made up things, there is peace to be found, and maybe when the time comes, I will be able to see it, seize it, and I will be able to be fearless. 

I would like to be fearless.

When the time comes, I would like to be fearless.

Still Writing, 

RP

9.10.26

Moments before I sat down to write this, I posted on Bluesky "Guys you can rest easy, I think I'm going to write something self indulgent and interesting only to me again.  I plan on posting it and sharing it publicly to the complete indifference of my friends, family and the world at large. This is my move." and folks, I think I really did it here. Goal achieved.  Anyway, be kind to one another okay? NO.  Kinder than that.  Oh well you see what you did there? You overshot and now you're being too kind. Ease it back a little.  Okay. Perfect amount of kindness. Exactly just that kind.  Now go to bed.  Find me on Bluesky @rpullins.bsky.social or email me at dissent.within at gmail.com or find a pigeon, whisper to it your terrible secrets, and send it into the sky.  It probably won't find me, but you might feel a bit better after getting all that off your chest.  Peace.