It's early morning, and as I stand at the edge of this dock,
I feel as though I am standing on the edge of the world .
Waiting for courage, and perhaps
little more sun to loosen my toes of fear and..... just let go.
Let go …and let in …and so sooth the beast within.
I tell myself that I'm not ready. I got this and that...
and besides, what if ?
Uncertainty grips me, who will I be if I let go?
…..yet I know who I will be if I don’t.
It's a hasty plan all right built of necessity and not without great risk,
for soon I will join all the finned creatures of this
Plankton rich universe before me in icy cold stillness
and be saved….or die trying.
Courage, I say aloud to steady myself.
My come uppence is near and I will honor it
I feel no satisfaction. My remorse and its pain
matters little to anyone but me.
My misdeeds, and there are many, won't go away unpunished,
and yet I'm the only one listening.
Half blind, in silence, I feel the business of the day is at hand.
The question is
am I man ...or mouse ?...squeak squeak
My circumstances have propelled me into a fate
where there is no coming back.
That much I know.
I'm frightened now but I know now what I must do.
I wish it were summer.
Yet the sun's rays are beginning to get more generous to my body.
The autumn sky is going from purple to baby blue,
as the sun reflects psychedelically from the lake's surface.
The affect is mesmerizing. In tiny prisms,
the light dances its way up under the foliage of trees in direct line
and illuminates a secret fairy world floating in soft jewels of aquatic light.
If ever an hour for Pan to walk the earth
then this is it.
Song birds chorus the air as ground fog spirits the rocks and soil.
The dew dazzles in diamonds,
creating an ethereal glow under boughs of golden oaks
and sentinels of paper white birch.
In merry celebration,
pixies and sprites dance for the sun's return
making magical merry-go-rounds of spirit rocks while their chants and song
buzz in child like harmony
Their music captures me,
enchanting my heart and lifting my spirits
The air too heals me.
It filters down cold off the distant peaks
from a necklace of Tibetan Blue mountains
and crosses the water in sun infused crystals.
It sparkles in purity,
and perfumes its fragrance.
My nostrils flair with their greeting,
there is an alchemical infusion I can’t describe
and I can't get enough of.
It's a curious mix of air made of mountain white fir and resinous pine
celebrated in a dank dark woody essences of lake musk and ions of sun.
The effect is dizzying and delicious.
It calms me and yet stimulates me,
and I am unable to breathe enough in.
Its peaceful air born essence is like a springtime elixir
grounding me and feeding me,
chasing the cobwebs of dark depressions, and doubts
from the corners of my mind back into the lake bound mud holes
from whence they came.
Courage calls aloud ...and I can hear its echo.
Seemingly, I've found my confidence.
My sovereign self has returned.
My letting go now is not an end ….but a beginning
The mirror is in me …
The time is now
Just then, I hear the sound of the pull cord.
The pull cord for the mortar mixer,
the maniacal gas operated mortar mixer from hell.
The one signaling the hour for work.
Five minutes of that crazed motor
and It will unhinge me.
I must be quick.
There is no time
for when they find me all that will be left
can be taken home in a shovel.
I hear the pull a second time.
I ready myself with arms up over my head.
and stand ready.
The seconds pass,
and I can’t go back to what I was.
It’s a brave new world I'm entering into,
and I'm keeping all promises.
Fearless, I will meet the challenge-- blue bathing suit and all.
It’s all in the art of letting go ...with no looking back.
With a Third pull, lucky she fires.
Already I am air born.
Flying, body in mid arc springing upward
The bones of the past can't keep me.
My trust is my self.
Myself is my word ……
So far so good …..
I'm good to my word
Michael on his one year of sobriety Nov 27 2011
Other blog posts by Michael: The Breath of Healing, Magus of Stone, Buried Alive
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Drummond Davidson is a historic masonry conservator whose work takes him all over the world. He lives in the deep woods of Mississippi on a 65 acre horse farm with his wife and preservation architect, Belinda . Michael considers his real work raising his 11 old daughter Mary aka “Peanut."