I felt clever because somebody challenged me to define enthusiasm.
I fake-stroked my beard and answered, “Imagine you’ve asked a friend to come over Friday or Saturday for dinner. If they say, ‘Of course. Let’s talk about what day or time,’ you get a definite feeling. If they say, ‘We’ll see’ or ‘Maybe,’ you get another feeling. The gap between those two is enthusiasm.”
X
.
In the golden haze of morning light, she pedals along, a vision bright.
Her wheels spin like sunflowers in bloom, an almost invisible comet through street and gloom.
Her basket holds secrets and love, gifts of kindness, love, and respite.
She leaves silent grace, a trail of hope and joy in her tire track’s embrace.
Her gifts are often sublime.
She may leave you energy to bounce through the day.
And for others, she grants a moment of peace. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.
You don’t hear much about the woman or her yellow bicycle.
That’s the way she prefers it,
It’s likely that you won’t see her approach.
She prefers anonymity when possible.
She’s not a guardian angel or a phantasm.
She is love and action in motion. Love is always in motion.
.
I wanted to remind you of the lady on the yellow bicycle. It seems that only a few of us can see her. May she visit you soon and often.
Ask me if she’s real. She is to those who believe in magic that fires through our lives and hearts. Look closely, fellow travelers. Everything that matters is invisible; her basket is filled with these things.
And if you don’t see her? BE her disciple in any way you’re capable.
Love, X
.
The morning was colder than expected, and I hadn’t dressed as warmly as I should have. I’d put my feet in the creek until I couldn’t feel them anymore. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted infrequently, its hoot carrying through the early winter air deceptively. On a whim, I decided to climb one of the leafless trees as high up as I could manage. I was careful as I climbed and took my time. Falling in the dark would be an unwelcome surprise. I sat across a large protruding limb with my feet hanging in the darkness. Enough moonlight to see dimly diffused through the branches of the tree. It was beautiful and peaceful, and it still surprised me that more people didn’t attempt to experience it. They were too busy focused on two dimensions, disguising their disinterest as a concern for safety.
“Hey X, it’s too early to be up in the trees!” The voice sounded like that of a young boy. I craned my neck around to see him. I recognized Joshua’s voice despite it sounding completely different. I’d never heard his voice disguised in a younger person’s body.
“Tell that to the owl,” I wryly answered.
“Good point. But owls are designed to be up here.” Joshua laughed.
“I am too, or I wouldn’t be able to up here enjoying the view, Joshua.” I knew he was grinning at my reply.
“Let me come down so that you can see me, X.” I heard quiet movements in the tree next to me. Within moments, Joshua sat about twenty feet away from me.
“X, I know you were thinking earlier this morning about the world and how insurmountable everything seems to be.”
I nodded. “Yes. War. Hunger. People suffering needlessly. I keep waiting for the universe to intervene, even though I know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Remember what I said about truth? It’s deceptively simple. The universe, as you choose to call it, its already given you intelligence, which is all that’s needed to solve every problem in the world.”
I shook my head. “I don’t see it. People getting cancer, going without healthcare, fighting, all of it.”
“Disease, all of them, they can be prevented. But it takes focus. Resources. Intelligence. You have that in abundance. What you don’t have? Focus or the will to pool your resources to enhance education and research. The cure for cancers is amazingly close. But your collective ability to make it happen is absent.”
I laughed. “We can’t stop fighting over imaginary lines in the sand.”
“You could end hunger within two years. There’s enough food for everyone. And resources exceeding your needs. But you spend so much on defending against one another. A quarter of what you waste on defense would solve it. Forever. There will come a time when you’ll understand. But it will take another war to threaten your ability to see how childish your attitudes are.” I could hear the resignation in his voice.
“Everyone preaches compassion and care for one another, but when it’s someone outside their neighborhood, it doesn’t matter.”
“X, that’s it! It’ll stop once you realize that caring for your neighbor means everyone in the world. How you treat one person is how you treat everyone.”
“But…” I started to object.
Joshua rarely interrupted me. “You’re waiting for the universe to intervene. It is not interventionist. All of you are like the man waiting for someone to rescue him from the flooding rooftop, ignoring the boats that pass. You have everything you need in this world. It’s on you. That’s the gift.”
“Joshua, I feel like I’m not supposed to ask, but WHO are you really?” I didn’t expect an answer.
“I am who you say I am. If you’re looking for a title or a neat little box to identify me, I can’t help you. Who do you think I am, X?” I knew Joshua was being cryptic and smiling.
“I think you’re not as good a climber as me, Joshua!” I stood up and began climbing. I heard Joshua’s sneakers scrape against the tree he sat in. I knew he was following me up.
After a couple of minutes, we’d both reached as high as we dared. I looked across at Joshua. His face was illuminated further as the moonlight reached his face. For a brief moment, I saw myself standing in the tree across from me.
Joshua laughed. “I’ll be around, X. I’d tell you to be safe, but I know that there’s no such thing.”
I turned to look at the moon directly for a moment. When I looked toward Joshua again, his tree was empty. I stood in the tree for a few more minutes, listening to the owl and feeling the cold permeate me. Cold is always temporary, and insight is forever.
Love, X
I found myself at the grocery store at 6 a.m. I wanted to go earlier, but COVID ruined such earlier adventures. I had no shopping list and was letting my whims propel my feet around the store. As usual, I spent excessive time in the sauce aisle; I can eat cardboard, provided I have sufficient things to dip it in.
Eventually, I searched for kale, lettuce, or mustard greens in the produce aisle. While sorting the lettuce, I heard a man behind me clearing his throat. Assuming I was in someone’s way, I turned and stepped aside.
An older man stood about five feet away. In his hand, he held a single green apple.
“Good morning, X,” he said and twirled the apple in his fingers.
Three weeks had passed since I last saw the man who once answered to the name Joshua. He looked different, something I realized would probably be the case each time I encountered him.
I knew not to engage in small talk. Whatever his reason for finding me, passing the time idly wasn’t on his agenda.
“You can’t be sure how the apple tastes, can you, X? It could be bitter or brown on the inside. No one enjoys that.”
I nodded. “Yes, we do focus on the appearance and just trust that it’s delicious.”
“Nature and evolution have designed things so that beauty attracts. It’s the way of things. Everything here is probably safe unless you’re allergic.” He smiled slightly and waited for me to formulate a reply.
“The same is true for people, Joshua. I wish it weren’t so.”
“X, beauty attracts. Even in the wild, that’s how it works, for either mating or consumption. A bird sees a brilliant red berry and swoops to eat it, not knowing it might be poisonous. Or if it does eat it, the same bird passes the seeds far away, ensuring the plant survives. It’s fascinating. Beauty has its purpose but beguiles when it conceals something else.”
I moved slightly closer to the produce bins and out of the aisle. “Sometimes I wish I were blind around people. It would make life easier.”
Joshua shook his head. “If you’re hinting at love and attraction, you’re right. Beauty attracts – but it doesn’t keep us close. A famous song once said that a pretty face doesn’t make a pretty heart.”
“No truer words have been spoken, Joshua.”
“It’s why you are designed with primal instincts. But it’s also why you have reason to overcome emotion. If you practice, you learn to see what’s on the inside of someone before taking a proverbial bite.” Joshua softly laughed. “We know how that usually works out.”
I laughed in response. “Our senses are designed to bring pleasure and seek out flavor, aroma, and beauty. We can eat our favorite meal, but if we smell barbeque, our desire for it almost cancels out what we’re having.”
“Ideally, you find someone who attracts you and has the capacity for love, humor, and understanding. But if they are like a bad apple, you won’t know until you bite. The error falls on you when you recognize the taste is off, but continue to let beauty dissuade you from getting another apple. You keep eating the same apple or keep picking up the same kind.” Joshua grinned slightly.
“If that’s the case, how do you know you’ve got a good apple, Joshua?”
Joshua smiled. “By observing their behavior, as I’ve told you before. It’s always in the behavior. Good people behave lovingly, have compassion, and don’t engage in complexity when dealing with others. They are who they say they are, and they do what they say they will. Beauty will fade. Character and who they are will not diminish with time.”
“What kind of apple do you recommend today?” I wasn’t sure if I was speaking metaphorically. I’d let Joshua decide.
“There are so many varieties of apples, X. Some of the best ones look less appealing but conceal a lot of flavor. You’ll know when you bite and find one suited to you.” Joshua smiled.
I smiled as I moved toward the display of apple varieties. As Joshua watched, I chose two random apples from six bins and put them in my basket.
Joshua laughed. “You’re learning, X.”
“I’m not so sure, Joshua.”
“That’s good. Certainty is the hallmark of closed minds. People with doubts keep learning and seeking.” With these words, Joshua turned and walked away and out of sight around the next aisle.
Love, X
A parable III
As I drove on the interstate heading toward Lowell, I saw a motorcycle coming up fast behind me. It was changing lanes as the man expertly swerved and maneuvered through traffic. As the bike passed me on the left, I looked over briefly to see a younger man without a helmet looking back toward me as he passed. His upper body was covered in tattoos. He nodded once at me as he roared past. Something about him seemed familiar. He sped on, and I forgot about him after a couple of minutes.
Pulling into the industrial warehouse parking lot, I drove around the side of the long building and parked. When I exited the building, I saw that the man who passed me on the motorcycle was in the parking lot. He leaned against his bike as if he were waiting. He was close to the entrance I needed.
As I drew closer, he nodded and said, “Hello, X.”
I stopped and looked at him, trying to place him in my memory. When my eyes met his, I realized it was the man who once answered to the name Joshua. Gone were the wrinkles and gray hair.
“I see that you’re starting to see things as they are, X.” Joshua smiled intently.
“It’s quite a shock to recognize you, even though you’ve changed your camouflage, Joshua.”
“X, I never camouflage. I am each of the people you see and am always myself. Simplicity is always complex, and vice versa, if you’re paying attention. And I think that you are.” Joshua laughed, this time a young man’s laugh, full of baritone and vitality.
“I wish I could do that, Joshua. Change things up at will.” I smiled at my cleverness.
“But you can. When you realize it, you’ll wonder why you put on the same clothes and followed the same unsurprising path each morning.”
“Joshua, I can’t change everything about myself on a whim like you.” I thought I had him cornered with my reply. I should have known better.
“I haven’t changed. It is your perception of me, X. When I passed you on the interstate, you only saw a speeding tattooed young man on his way to trouble. Am I wrong?”
I hesitated. “Well, yes. But that’s because that’s what I saw, Joshua.”
Joshua smiled. “What have I told you about how much of an illusion your eyes provide you? I ride the interstate like I am to remind people of the part of their nature that they think they miss. Adventure, being carefree, happy, without a care – and even danger. The illusion is that they already have all those things each day, if they choose them. It is a choice. And the universe is not a safe place to believe otherwise.”
I nodded because it always sounded true when he spoke, even if I didn’t understand the nuance. We usually do recognize truth, even if it is only in tiny morsels. And sometimes, not even when life gives it to us via a board across the back of our heads.
“I look like this because people only see the truth from a place or person they are familiar with. Some see it in older people, some in teachers, and others in the clergy. Others find it in nature. Everyone would be happier if they realized that they could learn from anyone. That includes laborers, ex-convicts, and even the angry man shouting three doors down. Life is the teacher, and each person plays a role, positive or negative. But they must be willing to experience life from that perspective. You wouldn’t invest your life’s earnings with me, would you? But you’d assume I could change the tire on a car.”
“Damn, you got me again, Joshua.”
“Just don’t let your eyes or experience make assumptions for you, X. Everything has something to teach you.” He smiled again.
“Okay.”
“You promise?” He asked. “Ex nihilo nihil fit,” he added. “I don’t mean it in the philosophical sense. You can’t squeeze juice from a rock or get meaning from life unless you learn and pay close attention. Always.”
With those inscrutable words, Joshua turned and sat on his motorcycle.
“I’ll see you another day, Joshua. Be safe.”
“There is no safety. Just precaution. You’ll learn about that, too. But another day, X.”
Just as my mouth opened to reply, Joshua’s bike roared to life, and he sped away, around the building and probably back toward the interstate.
When I finished my errand, I drove back to the interstate, watching the hundreds of vehicles merge, pass, and continue on. Each contained someone who could teach me something if I listened.
Love, X
.
A Parable II
I was bone-weary after work, waiting for my second or third wind to invigorate me. Because I’ve learned that it works the other way around and that movement precedes energy, I drove several miles to be close to the river. I walked barefoot along the rocks and underbrush, not knowing if I was trespassing or who owned the land. After twenty minutes, the sun came through the clouds and warmed me considerably. I rolled up my pants and waded into the river until the water reached above my knees. I wanted to swim across to the other bank.
From behind me, a familiar voice startled me. I couldn’t quite place the voice. When I turned to see who was on the bank, I saw an older man holding a walking stick. His dark eyes watched me intently.
“Are you lost in thought out there?”
“Yes, I am. I was certain I was alone out here,” I replied. “You look and sound familiar.”
The old man smiled. “You met me a couple of weeks ago by the creek, sitting on the bench.” His smile became slightly quizzical.
I nodded. “You look…different, though. And your voice is deeper.”
“Sometimes I change what is concealing me.” I knew he wasn’t talking about just his clothing. It surprised me that I wasn’t concerned or alarmed. Some people seem to be exactly who they are no matter how you see them.
“I’m X, by the way. What’s your name?”
He nodded. “I know who you are, of course. Most people used to call me Joshua, X. It’s as good a name as any.” He looked up. “I can call it the sky or the above; it’s still the same thing.”
I laughed. Having changed my name, which I felt he somehow knew, I understood better than most.
“Nice to meet you, Joshua.”
Joshua nodded.
“X, what was on your mind when you got out there in the water?”
I shook my head. “I guess it’s the mess we make of our lives when our words and actions don’t align. People are a constant source of letdown, Joshua.”
Joshua grinned, this time with a wide smile, exposing brilliantly white teeth. “A better way to demonstrate what motivates you is how you act. Words are easy. People should be able to watch you and see. Even if they don’t know what motivates you, they can see the behaviors that faithful and loving people are supposed to emulate. And I don’t mean that phony way that so many assume when they’ve seen a part of the light. Love only exists when it’s expressed through behavior.”
“I’m not sure I agree. If someone is holding me and telling me that they love me, isn’t that part of it?”
“You’ve missed the subtle point. They are showing you through behavior. They are with you, giving their time, presence, and focus. People make time for the things they value, just as they shun what they don’t. If you learn to watch them, you’ll know. That closeness is the gift.”
“Damn, you’re right!”
“Yes, I know.” He waited a second before laughing. “When you first went into the river, I saw you looking across it. If you want to get across the river without having to swim, just walk directly toward the dead tree over there.” He pointed at a broken tree near the water’s edge on the opposite shore.
“How will I get back across?” I sounded stupid when I said it.
“No, it’s not stupid. I will leave my walking stick here in the mud like I always have. You just need to look for it when you’re ready to come back.”
“Deal,” I said and turned to walk across the river’s unseen depths. I don’t know why I didn’t doubt him. “I’ll see you later, Joshua.”
“Surely you will, X,” the old man said as I started wading across the river. When I reached the opposite bank, I turned and saw the walking stick jutting from the mud of the riverside, just as he promised.
I spent an hour walking the woods on the otherwise unreachable side of the river before returning to find my way toward the walking stick. As I passed it, I left it in the mud for the next person to find. Although I doubted many people found their way to this spot given the difficulty of doing so, I have learned that someone always follows in the steps you’ve walked.
Love, X
.
A Parable
I sat down on the wooden bench so that I could watch the birds and listen to the stream. It wasn’t my intention to engage the older man sitting on the other end, his walking stick in his hand.
After a minute, he asked me what was on my mind. No introduction and no small talk to precede it. I’m accustomed to being the one to engage in such a manner.
Without preamble, I told him the truth in the simplest way I thought possible.
“I can tell you the answer, but you won’t believe it,” he said, nodding and shaking his head.
“I’m game. Let’s hear it.”
“You need a mirror.”
I knew he wasn’t referring to my appearance.
“Yes. You’re metaphorically saying I am the source of my problems. Because I damn well know what they are and choose to tread water.”
“You are not a tree. You were created mobile. But you were also given reason and memory. It seems to me that you believe that your past controls you. Action is what is required. That coupled with remembering that thoughts have no power unless you give them such.”
I smiled. “Easier said than done!”
He smiled back at me. “No, it is easier done than said. Thinking is the problem. You know who you are and what you need to do. Now get up and do it. It’s going to be hard either way. Wouldn’t you rather reach my age and feel like your life reflected your choices rather than trying to find a way to make the unworkable work for you?”
I set silently for a moment. The old man continued to look up at the trees and watch for birds.
As I stood up, I nodded toward the man.
“I’m walking now. Thank you.”
“Don’t stop,” he said and smiled.
The birds above us took flight from the cover of the leaves and darted away.
Love, X
I stood next to the extravagant nickel-cornered casket. A woman I vaguely recognized was attempting to say words that might reach me. “Everything is temporary. One morning you’ll wake up, and it will be different. You just need some time.” I nodded.
I turned to my left as someone cleared their throat. It was an older distinguished man wearing a dark suit. He was probably in his late sixties. A pair of forgotten reading glasses perched on top of his head. His face seemed familiar to me, but his voice was one I’d never heard before. It was a deep baritone.
“She’s right. Everything is temporary. This pain. The breakfast you ate. The tingle you feel when the right person touches you. Even your life. Temporary is a mindset.”
The woman I was talking to turned to him and asked who he was.
He just shook his head, dismissing her.
He nodded again and held his hand out. I didn’t even hesitate as my fingers reached his. He shook my hand briefly, and then his fingers circled my wrist. It didn’t surprise me. Déjà Vu doesn’t cover it. I was certain he’d done it before. When my eyes met his, I was struck by how much like blue skies they looked.
The surge of electricity that passed through him to me didn’t cause me to jerk. Instead, it caused paralysis. My eyes closed. For how long, I’m not certain. When I opened my eyes, the man no longer held my wrist. He now stood by the foot of the casket.
His voice resonated. “X, please help me with the viewing by lifting the other end?”
I moved to help without pausing to wonder about who the man was or why he asked me to help. Oddly, I couldn’t remember who lay inside the casket. The woman who had been talking to me no longer stood nearby.
We each lifted both ends of the coffin lid as the man nodded. Unlike most coffins, this one had no separation in the top. The coffin was empty.
The man watched my eyes. “He was cremated. The urn will come in a few minutes. For now, we’ll place his book here in the coffin. He said it was his only achievement. The man reached behind the coffin and retrieved a hardcover book from a small table behind the casket and held it up. “Time Is Short” was emblazoned on the cover as the title.
“Ironic title, don’t you think?” the man asked me, smiling.
“Yes. It sounds like something I’d say.” I laughed.
The man walked to the middle of the casket and placed the book face up inside the casket. I walked a few steps toward him and stood next to him, facing the room. It was a large, open room, filled with rows of pews and comfortable chairs. We were the only occupants.
“Let’s sit down for a moment so you can collect your thoughts.” The man wasn’t asking so I followed him to the front row pew, all the way to the right.
We sat on the cushioned pew. Oddly, my brain was absent of almost all thought.
“Do you have any questions, X? Ask me anything.”
“Whose funeral is this?”
He laughed. “Aren’t they all so similar? I don’t want to spoil it. Go up and turn the book over. The author’s picture is on the back.”
I stood up and walked over to the casket. While I know several writers, I was having difficulty remembering names and faces.
I looked at the picture behind the “Time Is Short” title running across the face of the book. It was a collage of colors, each coalescing across an auburn field and a solitary tree illuminated by a sunset. “Amen Tailor” was the author’s name. The name evoked an odd familiarity for me. Then I remembered that it was an anagram for “I am not real.” I smiled.
I turned the book over. My fingers went numb as I looked at the face on the back. It was me, but not quite a me that I recognized immediately. I realized it was the man seated behind me. I turned with the book held tightly in my hands. The man stood two feet away from me, staring intently at me with his piercing cloudy eyes.
“Interesting, isn’t it, that you, or we rather, had to use a pseudonym to get people to listen to us? It wasn’t enough to already have a new name.” He laughed, and I smiled.
“How much time is left? 10 years? 20?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. This is one possible outcome. Obviously, though, you have enough time to do that.” He pointed to the book in my hands. “When I jolted you, I gave you just enough push to do one thing you’d love to accomplish in life. Now, you get to choose what that might be.”
I extended my left hand to shake his, a habit only left-handers would understand. As his fingers touched mine, I felt a slight shock again.
“You’ll have to leave the book here with me before you go. You can exit out the side door next to the chapel service area behind you.”
I handed him the book, took a long look at the casket, and walked outside. No more than any other day in my life, I didn’t know what the awaiting sunshine might hold.
If I had a way to tell every young person in the world one of the best ways to be ahead of most people, it would be to be able to stay calm when everything is going to hell around you. Not in a trauma-response way. When I was growing up, I didn’t realize that I was often reacting to the violence and craziness In such a way that it would imprint a foolish cycle onto my adult life. It’s difficult to remain calm and fearless because we are biologically wired to be adrenaline filled. Our endocrine system is our enemy in this modern world. Much of our anxiety stems from a lack of control, both for the things that swirl around us and our response to it. Letting it flow around us without internalizing it is a superpower. If you’re observant and prone to introspection and overthinking, you will have a bad time. Anyone living in this modern mess has ample fodder to wonder if we’ve all lost our minds. We are supposed to be spirits, yet it’s more likely we’re collectors, feathering our own nests at the expense of whatever passes for the greater whole.
My friend Marjay might tell us to “look for the helpers” when things go to hell. It’s good advice as far as it goes. It also belies the fact that we need to be helpers. When you’re on a plane and trained to use the oxygen masks that fall during an emergency, you’re also told to ensure that your own mask is on first. Otherwise, you’re useless. And so it goes with the mundane yet herculean task of navigating your own day. Be your own helper. It’s not a reassuring feeling to know that after decades of witnessing the casual avalanche of surprises in life, that I’ve failed to be my own helper. I’m not being glib; I’m being honest in the acknowledgment and nod toward my own deficiency. It was easier to look back to my childhood and shift the blame to the people masquerading as adults. It’s not their fault. They were broken. Using them as a template for either blame or guidance is stupidity. I might stretch the comparison to include how we collectively manage our society.
Every few years, I watch the 1993 movie “Fearless.” I watched it Sunday. It always triggers a wild parade of ideas and emotions in me. It used to do so because of my own plane encounter a couple of years prior to the movie. As my life progresses, it increasingly morphs into an analogy about how I’ve responded to crisis as it comes along. The main character survives a plane crash, during which he experiences a zen-like moment of clarity that detaches him from worry. The obverse side of his coin is that while it gives him an almost supernatural ability to detach and help other people, it damn near destroys him in the process. Enlightenment is personal; living is a task that requires immersion into the craziness.
“If you are what you do, when you don’t, you aren’t.” A convoluted way for Wayne Dyer to remind us that we are what we do and think. He also said, “How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.”
The “Try That In A Small Town” controversy is fascinating. It seems like people are using it to defend their identities with it, on both sides of the spectrum. That such a song can be true for both polar opposites should remind us of the danger of ideology and certainty. On a side note, I laughed my ass off looking at all the memes on both sides of the argument. People are clever, and many used it to satirically make their point. Satire and snark are two of my favorite nutrients to deal with the world. For me, the song also brought back my childhood and one of my harshest criticisms of it. A small town or parochial lifeview can be a comfort. That same circumstance can also hide a lot of violence and misbehavior. Families, like communities, often rubberstamp things that would be better served with a dose of sunlight and scrutiny. A lot of children walk around in a world where God doesn’t rescue them from senselessness – and family members turn a blind eye or don’t get involved.
How you react to what’s around you is your decision. You either float peacefully on the river, or it sweeps you downstream. It’s the same river regardless. As with the protagonist of “Fearless,” you might find yourself on the edge of the roof, looking a mile below you. The danger remains, whether you’re on the high roof’s edge or standing on the street below. You are your own biggest danger.
Love, X
It was 7:30 a.m. The sunrise was supposed to happen five minutes earlier. Clouds had rolled in to obscure it. Rain and storms arrived the night before. The early morning Sunday October sky was dark and beautiful. Without thinking about it, I found that I was headed to a part of the trail I rarely walked. About a quarter of a mile in, I noted the three abandoned antique vehicles in the brush. The broken, ancient barbed wire fence appeared, its length sporadically still intact.
Over the last year, the wild brush and trees on the other side called to me as I walked by them. I had no idea who owned it. The apparent neglect signaled to me that such a careless owner did not own it at all. The serpentine topography hid all clues about precisely where I was, as did the dense canopy of trees. When I approached the creek bed that flowed under the presumptive fence, I saw that the fence there was gone. Though my shoes were inappropriate for anything except pavement, I stepped through the gap.
With the second step, the air brightened, and the scent of fall decay receded. I took a dozen more steps and pushed against the gnarled branches.
Though the valley should have been shadowy and dark, I could feel the sun’s rays touching my neck. I looked behind me to see that the neglected bushes and trees were gone. In its place was an ankle-high expanse of grass and flowers. I felt like I was experiencing a hybrid dream, one combining Narnia and early-morning half-slumber.
I turned back to look. Instead of foliage, I saw a large red barn with its doors wide open. A hammer clanged rhythmically inside it. A mule stood nearby, untethered.
The hammer continued its work.
“Come on in, I’ve been waiting.” The voice was baritone and melodic.
I didn’t hesitate to walk forward. As I passed it, I rubbed the mule’s neck. It turned slightly to welcome it.
Though the voice did not match my memory, I already knew who would be standing there. I could feel the surety of it.
He appeared to be about forty-five. I never knew him as anything other than old, with a brutal life already behind him.
He wore an old pair of work pants and an oddly green shirt.
“Grandpa? It is you, isn’t it? Your voice is different.” I hesitated.
“I have the voice that belongs to the ideal me. Can I call you Little Bobby, the name I used when we sat on the porch swing together?”
I nodded. Without answering, I walked up to him and hugged him like I learned to do as an adult. He smelled of Old Spice, sawdust, and Cannonball chewing tobacco.
“Little Bobby, I’m most proud that you leaned away from hardness. It could have gone either way for you. I’ve waited forty-four years and three hundred and sixty-two days to tell you that.”
“Yes, but I feel like a failure, Grandpa.”
He smiled.
“I know. None of that is real, son. None of it.” Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder.
He laughed. “I can’t tell you any secrets that you can share. My words are for you only. That’s how it is done. One hour with you is all we get. Help me with this horseshoe, and we’ll talk. Agreed?”
“Yes. Let me help you mess this shoe up. I’m no good at this sort of thing.”
“You were almost a carpenter Little Bobby. And a farmer. Now you’re a writer. Because your job is to find a way to communicate the truth I’m going to share with you without violating the rules here.”
I stood next to Grandpa as he hammered the upper edges of the old horseshoe. The clang of metal was constant and comforting.
Grandpa began to talk, his voice even and confident. I felt like the little boy who sat next to him on the porch swing in Monroe County. Grandpa wasn’t a talkative man nor expressive. Wherever I was, I wanted to stand there forever as he talked. As his voice trailed to a whisper, I realized that the hour was over.
I hugged Grandpa. Instead of sadness, I felt joyous.
“Remember what I’ve told you, Little Bobby. Go live the rest of your life and find a way to share it. We’ll meet again one day and not in the way you expect. You’ll see.”
He turned back to finish another horseshoe, the heavy metal hammer rising and falling.
I walked through the barn doors and ran my hand along the mule’s neck again. Expecting reluctance, I found myself consumed by haste. Not to leave this place but to return to my life, one that would never be the same. In moments I was standing on the trail again, the gap between the creek and fence behind me. Light rain spattered my head and shoulders.
I know you want to know what Grandpa said to me.
I haven’t had enough time to process it, disguise it, and repeat it back. It’s likely that most people wouldn’t accept it. That’s how truth works. It’s obvious after-the-fact but a difficult pill at first.
I’ll give you a hint:
Go outside and look up at the dark sky. Feel the rain lingering in the air. Get a cup of coffee. Find a loved one and put your hand on their arm or run your fingers through their hair. Silence troubled words, worry, or distress that you have no control over your life or the world. Look inside and toward rather than away from.
Hidden inside those words is a world of truth. It’s a zen puzzle that’s not a puzzle at all.
Somewhere, the hammer still rises and falls.
Shadows turn to sunlight.
Voices echo with resonance and truth.
If you’re not sharing your voice and your love, you’re missing the point of everything.
Love, X
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P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 