To Aid An_ Cage
2004-03-02 - 7:21 p.m.
the confrontation
I awoke from being awake. I got up and ate. I got up and played the sax for a short time. I got up and dressed. My eyes were wet. I was suffering. I kept forgetting, and then remembering, and then going back and trying again. I left my house and walked up the street, turned and walked back to get a warmer layer, and left again. This is the moment; the final trip to the end of my life as a boy, and my rebirth into this life as a man. I wear my black hat, my mother's scarf, my best friends shirt, my bracelets, my ring from the summer, my layers of sweaters, my blue jacket that was lost and refound, my jeans and my father's jacket. In my pockets I have my change purse, my wallet, my keys, and my red and white-spotted handkerchief. I wear my traveling shoes. I walk through the cool evening; up my street and through time to the bus that will take me to another bus, which will take me to them. I concentrate on my breath, and assure myself that it will tell me when the time comes. The bus is on time to my arrival. I board and deposit exact change and thank the bus driver for the transfer and walk to the back seat where I sit down in the seat next over from the rear right hand side. Breath. The bus travels towards my intersecting path and a funny Asian man boards at a majour intersection and travels to the back and to me. Breath. He looks at the seat to my right which has a candy wrapper on it. I pick it up. He asks if it is mine and I tell him no. He takes it from me and sits down on my left. Breath. I ask if he wants that seat and he says no and that he prefers the one he is in. I say ok. I turn to look out at the land as it passes away. I can feel her watching me and I won't look at her. This is not our moment together. Breath. I reach as my stop arrives but see someone else reach for the ringer and so let them get it. Rising, I walk towards the door and exit to the same cool evening. Breath. I walk around the curve of the street and into the bus enclosure where a woman is standing looking cold. I can not help her. I turn to look at the street and watch for the bus. I see it crest the hill in the distance and disappear into the shadows of the night and its lonely lights are all I can see. Breath. Pulling up to us, I let the woman board first then board the bus behind her and show the driver my transfer paper. A beautiful girl is sitting looking out into the night. Breath. Not yet. I walk past her and to the back where I sit this time in the window seat on the right hand side. Breath. The air smells funny. The bus is passing gas through its engine and out into the same cool evening. I travel in a seated position over the concrete rivers to the haunted land I have come to confront. The sights are familiar and I accept that. As I prepare to exit, two men from the church board and sit. I confront one as he looks in my direction and smile before waiting for the bus to stop and exit. Breath. My stop. Walking and breathing, I approach a large brown box that stands blocking from the view of the road a small patch of land and section of fence. I move behind the box and relieve myself. It is good. I know this path now. I have walked it before many times but have stopped walking it long ago and now am walking it again. Breath. Step. Breath. My breathing changes. Everything else is the same. The houses are the same. The lawns are the same. The cars in the driveways are the same and the cars on the road are the same. Breath. Step. Breath. I look up at a white car as it zooms across my path then another car zooms the other way as I cross the street. Breath. Step. Breath. This moment is taking me somewhere that I've been before, but something different is here now. I am different now. My body moves easily towards my pain instead of hurriedly away from it. My mind can bear my conscience. My feet do not question where I direct them. My hands accept the pain I cause them as I pass from this world. Breath. Step. Breath. I look up at a sign that shows me the root of my suffering. Breath. Breath. Step. I see a house in the distance. It looks the same as I remember, but different. The lawn is new. The garage door is new. The van in the drive is new. I walk up to the door as I have done before, but this time I am not pulled to it; I am pushed. The door is new. It is white with a new handle and very clean. I look up at it and wonder what is next and then I realize.
Exhale
I remove my gloves and hat and put them in my father�s pocket. My finger rises to the buzzer. A slight touch causes the light inside to go off and a noise is issued. I breathe. The door opens a crack. I see myself inside with my wife, only I am much older. The door opens. Dogs bark. I wait for the outer door to open for me, which it does. I enter without saying anything. My eyes are wet. I look up to see I have succeeded in catching myself off guard with my own actions. I am in the moment with myself and my wife, only they are both much older than I. The moments collide. I cry. My wife says something to me about putting the dogs away and I hear myself say that I'd like to speak with her through a veil of tears and I go down to put the dogs away. I breathe. This is the moment of my creation�the moment of my creating. My wife puts a rug out for my shoes and I take them off and put them on it. My traveling shoes are off. I remove my coats all together; my father's coat, my blue coat that was lost and refound, my sweaters�all off. I place them over top of my shoes on the rug. I stand up straight and breathe in the air. It smells like my house, only different, like I haven�t been here in a while. I rise up the stairs and into the seating area that looks much the same only different. My reflection enters from the dogs. My wife is uneasy and I sit down near my reflection to ease her and begin this confrontation. I've stopped breathing, so I remember and breathe. I look at myself. Here I am--opening up to myself through the ages. We are all seated and the ritual begins. This is the womb of creation where the variables come to pass as constants. There is ease and unease. There is communication and there is silence. There is love and there are wounds that have been scratched at for too long to be young again, and so age in their healing. I go over to myself and kiss myself on the cheek. I have caught myself off guard and so accept the affection. My wife watches me and looks at me not. I am here and I am nowhere. I tell myself about my life and the life of my wife. I tell myself about my thoughts on my future and my security. I ask myself questions and am happy to hear responses. I cry. I am strong in my weaknesses. Outside, the evening passes into night. I ask my wife what she thinks and she tells me. I accept it as the truth. I thank them both and rise to meet my future. I ask myself how I got here and I hear myself tell of the bus. A ride is offered home. I accept. I go down to get my coat and hat and keys and I stand on the step getting my shoes on and my layers of cloth. I look up at my wife and ask her about her new dog. I look up to her and meet her in the eyes unashamed of my tear streaked love. She tells me about Racer's passing and I ask if it pained her. She looks pained and I am aware of it. She tells me about her new dog and asks if I'd like to see her. I say yes and she goes down to fetch her. I breathe. She brings her up in her arms and she barks. I kneel and touch faces. She is beautiful. I rise from the depths with my keys and coat and open the door for myself. I say goodbye to my wife and she says goodbye to me and I leave with myself and walk down the steps to the drive and the van. The night is cool. I breathe it in. I get into the van and start it up and look over at myself and at myself. I feel no confusion, only peace inside. I am tired, but I breathe. We pull out and up the road, just the two of us in this moving body once again. We are together again where we have been separate for a long time. The first step has been taken and we rejoice in our ease of dialogue and acceptance of one another�s love. Mine with the fierceness of youth and mine with the tenderness of age. I talk about my mother. I listen. I love. I pull into the driveway of my mother's house, but am reluctant to let myself get out as I am enjoying my time with myself for the first time in a long time. I accept this and laugh with myself. I open the door and get out. I turn to look myself in the eye and tell him that I love him. He reaches over to fix the seat belt, then looks at me and tells me that he loves me. I say goodbye and that I'd see him soon and walk inside to begin again. Breath. Exhale. Begin again.
PEACE - Tristan
before || after
