Not today

In one of those moments,
when my  heart is open to wound,
a sadness winds in and visits briefly,
reminds me that I am human,
and that my troubles weigh on me
as they do on all the others,
the silent, and the loud.

I sift through them, finding the one that seems to matter,
hold it up, blow the dust off,
and wonder if tomorrow I will care as much as I do today.
Will the dust accumulate again and dull the pain,
lighten the burden,
until I decide to let it dry out, and turn into dust itself,
forgotten, leaving perhaps a scar in its place.

In that same moment I sit, I see, I listen, I feel,
the games and turmoils of others swirl around me
pulling at me, threatening to pull me in,
some hurled my way,
creating new worries, troubles, fears.
Most wash by, not in my circus today,
but all leave a trace nonetheless,
a sense of danger, an empathy, a sadness.

I watch as others struggle through their own storms,
Some making it rain and crying for the dampness,
all hiding their pain in myriad ways,
parrying, fighting for control, struggling not to drown in fear,
others not aware they stopped fighting long ago and died,
many keeping their arms up, their hearts closed, hiding,
to keep the violence and pain at bay.
Too many creating drama and rot in others
in a life and death struggle with themselves,
to control the narrative that others see,
to cloak the damage that is their center
by hurling pain and strife into the stream,
that it stain others, that it focus on others;
you cannot hurt me if I cause you pain.

In these uncalloused moments I am profoundly sad.
Why, when we know in ourselves the pain and the turmoil,
do we cause it in others?
Why do we find succor in false gods, false beliefs, anger,
when real peace is within another a word away?
We are renewed when kindness is shown even to strangers;
knowing this powerful love, why do we deny it to others,
ourselves?

This is our end,
that we forget that we are alone in this but for each other,
that kindness and compassion are the human way,
that we are capable of so much more,
if we would just stop being afraid.
It is in that moment, when we let go of fear, when we open up,
pain rushes in, hurled by another who knows nothing else,
who seizes the moment for themselves,
and we are lost to our sadness, hard or subtle though it be.

It is then that we learn what kind of human we are.
One unburnable, one who lives, one who matters and makes a difference,
or one who will be ruled by fear, died, and meaningless.

I put the trouble away, caring not that it is all akimbo.
Today I have no time for this.
Today I choose peace.

This, of all things.

He waited for the rain to stop before deciding if he would go. It wasn't that the rain was the issue, it was just another excuse to keep from deciding what was rather obvious. He leaned against the lamppost, it's gas hissing in concert with the steaming drops landing on the hot top, it's light muted by the afternoon’s amorphous sun. For a moment he allowed the water dripping from the rim of his hat to distract him, anything to keep from making a decision.

Without really coming to it he decided, at once picking himself off the lamppost, pulling his coat closer, and starting off down the street in a manner of someone who knew where they were going and what they were going to do when they got there. This was all the more curious because he knew neither, but he was going with determination. It was as if free will was a myth, he was acting without consciousness.

Markesh had told him it would be like this, acting on instinct, not letting his mind intervene in what had to be done, lest the awkwardness of it all give him reason to hesitate. It would make him a better man, saner at least, if he did not dwell on it. It was telling that this was what he was thinking of instead of planning what would happen shortly. He wasn't focused at all, but he was locked in, unvaryingly.

As he came up on the brownstone he could see cops milling about smartly outside, one tapping another on his badge with his nightstick, no laughter, but smiling at some quip. This was no place for laughter, even black humor was unwelcome here. It was already too dark, too soon, and even that smile had come grudgingly. They saw him coming, a nightstick to the brim in salute and a nod, parting to let him pass with respect. He could see Markesh through the doorway, and knew for certain this was something heinous if the Chief Inspector came out in the rain.

Markesh nodded as he crossed the door, shaking the rain off his back, removed his hat and proffered his hand as he was introduced.

"Lord Eland, this is my colleague, Inspector Captain Estrand," then turning to him, "John, Lord Eland, First Lord of the Admiralty." John shook the man’s hand, noting a sense of resignation in the older man’s grip. Lord Eland pressed his lips together, released his grip and stepped wordlessly away, furthering John’s sense the man was emotionally wilted.

"The dead man is his wife."

Markesh had John’s full attention.

Posted with Blogsy