Jump

"Jump! Don't look down!"

"You've really got nothing to lose," they encourage me.

"You've done it before, you know..."

Ron looked into the glass and pondered the deep bourbon's legs as they shrouded the sides.  "I almost went bankrupt, as well."

"You have endless contacts and resources!"

"Yes, I do," Ron glared into the garish computer screen, and clicked the Unfriend icon, "--every one of them attached to a human."

__________________________

I see myself at the foot of a sickly bed. The poor dog stretched before me--starved, face lined with desperate worry, pummeled by uneven tempos of breath. I put so much hope into it--I thought I was providing such favor, keeping it locked away, being safe. The bloodshot eyes turn my way, and the whimpers turn into a low mumble. I'm going to lose my furry friend, I know.

With a rush of quivering strength, I kick the bed posts, "Look, I know what I'm doing: I'm convincing myself to not step out in faith. There's no real way to lose, so go ahead and die, for all I care!"

Why am I afraid?

___________________________

Ron adjusted himself under the table, moving his arm as such to give the illusion he's itching his leg.

"I just don't want to go through the...leg work, again," he explained to the interviewer with big diamonds and global implants, "the empty calls, the awkward meetings: the dry days of waiting for an answer--"

He knew he was talking to himself, at this point.  How would a corporate trophy wife ever understand the struggle? Inside her head, she rolls her eyes--gotta get the pool cleaned!

"So much excessive spinning; so many un-answers. So much time was wasted, trying to apprehend a hopeful nugget--" Ron abruptly stops, and glares at her. He sets down his pen, crumbles his resume, places it on her iPad (trademark).

Ron, looking around, whispers in her ear, "Look, I'm going to be responsible for a staff of people who need the work. Times could get thin, and it could be my fault. I'm going to be accountable for the quantity and quality of the work.  It stops at me--"

The interviewer reaches around his head, and squeezes his cheek.

She whispers back, smelling of lipstick and Starbucks (copyright): "It also starts at you! Isn't that what you want? No one to tell you how to edit yourself, someone to set your limitations; an overseer who doesn't really know your passion?" 

Ron adjusted himself again. This time, everyone noticed. He didn't care.

______________________________

I'm back at my dog's death bed, but I know it's really me, lying there... I'm mad at the situation. I can't believe I'm explaining myself to my dying dog.

"I didn't know what I was doing. I'm so sorry."

"The right colleagues were impressed," Man's-Best-Friend seems to say, "and you have some true jewels of work. You slept at night."

I start to weep a bit, "The superiors I work for might be upset."

"Your only superior is the one who loves you more than you'll ever know," the doggie rests its head, nuzzling its pillow, "and I always knew you loved me."

...that new damned bag of organic dog food....

____________________________________

"Looking in the mirror is scarier with each year," he thought to himself, walking the narrowing path.


He covered his mouth, collecting the data as to what could happen.
Am I reaching too much?

          "You haven't reached in a while."

He relaxed, paused, fixed his gaze to the path beneath him. The green moss dwindled as it drew closer to the edge of the end, close to where his feet felt the most discomfort, as his body lurched forward and back. The comfort of green disappeared amid this balding rash of regret. 


I don't want to lose--

          "You already won."

Breath was unbearable now, and this was it: he clenched inside, shaking his younger self.

But it might be to high--

          "Then," he gasped at the inhalation of new birth, "...jump..."

Koyaanisqatsi Redux

An old friend of mine brought up the fact this week marked the United States landing on the moon. He cloudily remembers his family noting this moment in his early childhood--many other friends chimed in, and a rash of memories mixed with dreams assaulted my heart.

I remember being in my sister's room--the television was just switched on, we had just arrived home from dinner. I remember "black and white" snowy puffy man walking in dirt.

We ran outside, looking at the sky. "There are people up there."

I was such a fan of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration--that old logo, with the red swoosh arching around the cosmos, like Kalel (Superman's Kryptonian name) vigilantly patrolling his blue home, stars glittering in the ecliptic.


Best patch of all time. It was a planet... it was a map... it was a badge... I knew we were going to live on the moon, with the great view of Earthrise on the horizon. Cancer was on the run, we were told, and flying cars were around the corner. I had posters of Neil Armstrong, the Apollo Capsules, moonscapes, and Edwin E. Aldrin, Jr.--the last name is only for you REAL fans....


Throughout the 70's, I was always looking at the sky. "Trek" only enhanced the experiences, with a healthy dose of "Space: 1999". After all, "Space: 1999" put our society on a bold timeline to meet this prophetic depiction on our saturday evening screens. "Star Wars" invaded my brain, but I knew at it's heart it was a science-less fable. George Lucas didn't really have a beat on reality or physics as we knew them. No, society will show the REALITY of a perfect "tomorroworld" (yeah, that's what I used to call it). I heard NASA was also developing a ship that would be a literal cosmic AIRPLANE that would effortlessly sail back and forth from the Earth to farthest reaches of the solar system--the Space Shuttle. Travelling outside our atmosphere was going to be a reality. The turn of the century was gonna be awesome!

I started to invent comic book contraptions and their schematics--I culled side views of the Baxter Building (Fantastic Four), wrote faux-formulas for the man-gliders (Nick Fury) and actually planned the timeline as if these gadgets were to be the true predecessors of the mega-technology promised us by the dreamers of the times. And, wouldn't it be awesome, if we actually found an equivalent substance to the power cosmic (Silver Surfer)?

Since I was young, I collected everything. Comics, toys, posters, records--my youth was awesome, because I couldn't wait to grow up in a beautiful future. A future of dreams! On weekend nights, I fantasized how long it would take to travel from tip of the Big Dipper to the tail on Draco. At least 303 years--don't ask me how, I just remember impulse power was the best way to go, and a tight-knit family would be the only solution for that kind of crew. By the late 70's, the first Space Shuttle received its name--Enterprise. I was in Heaven. I was convinced I would live the remainder of my years on another world.

As if on cue, I learned from a spoiled-brat on the playground (or was it football practice?), the Enterprise wasn't expected to travel in interstellar flight. Enterprise wouldn't even be active. It was a placation for the fans. It was one of the first times my love was demeaned by popular culture.

Time kind of got small for me--girls got prettier; the Space Shuttle program hit a few stalls; Captain Kirk looked a little older in "Star Trek--The Motion Picture" (still an awesome film, for me); "Alien" scarred my sci-fi brain with all the gore; my brothers fought with my dad a lot more; I listened more intently to family arguments; I lost track of The Avengers; Han Solo was abducted, and incased in carbonite. Pink Floyd's The Wall told me not to trust anyone, and I started to actively listen to that thinking.

A few years before, I read "The Lord Of The Rings," and kept reading it through the years. This was a different dream, not based in accomplishments or technology, but based in magic, and the fantastical. Add to the fact my friends and I discovered Dungeons and Dragons (1st Edition), and you have a teenage boy who was fed up with Man. Fantasy rode Ron through the 80's--Rush and Yes helped him travel inward, and growing up was a trip.

Needless to say, I grew up, got married, got a couple dogs, a couple degrees, and began to build a career. All this time, I looked sidelong at the calendars as the year 1999 settled into the present. That December 31st, in the waning hours of that sci-fi promise (the news, movies, the presidents, even other scientists told us 1999 was the Year Of Progress--for goodness' sake, there was a TV show SPACE: 199-freaking-9!!!). We had bills and earthly concerns, and, with a rushed tap of a champagne flute in a dark basement, I had to let childhood die. My wife had to retreat upstairs and go to sleep--the pregnancy was exhausting her. There were a couple of other times in my life where I felt as low in spirit... worst New Year's Eve ever.

Ten years later, my son Kalel will attend his first concert later in the summer--Rush at Red Rocks. We bought the uber-expensive tickets online, with the help of me selling some long-held collectibles (a couple old issues of Fantastic Four)... it's a fair trade, especially since I've amassed more issues at a better price, anyway. My wife and son will travel to see her father: an ex-NASA engineer, and will attend some space exploration displays and a "Star Wars" exhibit. By the time he leaves, though, I promised myself I'll guide him through his first dungeon with the Ranger character he created for the new Dungeons and Dragons (4th Edition). What a Lucky duck.







Thanks, Don


and Jeff and Mark...


and Laurie and Kal