Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2014 08 03 Short Story August 3, 2014

What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel things the way that I do? Why do these emotions overtake me sometimes, to the point where I can’t breathe or swallow? Are these emotions a cumulative experience brought on by fifty three years of living a life that was meant for me, and only me?

I was writing a short story yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing spectacular, or unusual, or anything like that. This writing was a fiction story about a man who had taken his poor, pathetic struggle with life and turned it around. He had tasted the errors of his ways and did a complete 180, giving himself a few of the joys that every person should have in their life. This pounding of the keys was a pretty good little story, full of hope and faith and life’s lessons and it also included one of the most important ingredients of all. This tale included a dose of family that made the whole thing come to life, and as this effervescence of existence started to ooze out of my computer monitor, it also started to flow from me. Every detail of the story, the car being driven, the way the wind was coming in through the driver’s window and blowing his hair, the way his wife leaned back in her seat and glanced over at her husband with a gleam in her eye, it was all right there, as vivid and full of life as anything I have ever seen, lived, or tasted.

As I continued to write the story, I became part of it, and as I tried to keep pace with the event that was playing out in my mind, the events that unfolded slowly worked their way down deep in my heart and soul. I can’t explain what or how what happened, happened. I can’t for the life of me fully depict what went on inside me. I can only tell you that the experience was incredibly uplifting and extremely memorable.

The first time I can remember experiencing an unexpected swell of wonderful emotion was when my son was born. As I looked into his eyes, he looked into my soul. It was as if he was born to complete my life, and I thanked God for putting me on this earth to experience it all. I have written a few times of the bond that was instantly created with he and I, and although I’m pretty sure that a mother’s bond may be even stronger, there is no other union in the solar system that holds the same characteristics that the father, son union does.

I guess that with each passing year, I gain more perspective and move closer to being able to cut loose and let my emotions rise to the surface. I can tell you that more and more I seem to enjoy the fact that some days I can gather up a good cry at the drop of a Hallmark commercial. A few years back I would have thought that such emotions coming from a man like me would mean only one thing, weakness. Yes, I’m afraid so. Perhaps growing up and watching my father, and how strong his persona was, made it harder for me to lay claim to my emotions, my feelings, my sudden experiences of the deeply embedded interior. He was such a strong man, is such a strong man, and subconsciously I needed to emulate the traits I saw in him.

I have grown to see the changes that have taken place in him. I have witnessed how this pure rising tide of emotion can capture the strength in a strong man and wash down over him with a taste of goodness. I have seen him change, and while I watched, I, myself was also changing.

There’s so many words that I can’t find to explain what I am trying to say. The adjectives don’t do it any justice at all. I know that when these moments happen, it feels exactly right, and I feel as if I am part of something a hell of a lot bigger than me.

Anyway, as I was approaching the end of this short story I was writing, the scene played out in my head. The reunion of the family spirit was at hand, and for me, there is nothing more pure.

My older sister said that perhaps I was writing about myself. Perhaps I was digging up a life experience that held the same attributes as this story did. Perhaps the emotions I was feeling were part of something that was going to happen to me in the future. Perhaps something that is going to happen to me will hold these same emotions and feelings? I know that if I’m able to bare witness to a similar experience as this, well, I’m going to feel pretty good.

Whatever I think is wrong with me, whatever I think is going on inside this billy goat brain, whatever it is that is behind this driving force of feelings, I’m gonna try to just get out of the way and see what happens.

You always hear that the best things in life are free. Right? Well, this short story didn’t cost anything to write, and the experience? One word describes it to a T.

Priceless.

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3 Responses to “2014 08 03 Short Story”

  1. daddylion Says:

    good job hon,love it    dad 

  2. wwannwrites Says:

    I only have one thing to say in response to that post, the only way I can explain the outpouring of wrods, and the emotions you felt as you wrote that short story, is that the Holy Spirit filled with you His divine power, and all you had to do was just hang on for the ride. When I write a story, whether it’s one for my own collection, or one for a client, sometimes the story fills me with such deep emotion that I am moved to tears, and I even laugh with it. What I am trying to say is that the swell of emotion is not unfamiliar to me. Keep up the good work, and May God richly bless your writing. Blessings, Ann check out my blog at http://www.wwannwrites.wordpress.com

  3. Paula Lumb Says:

    Seems that all stories lead us back to ourselves. And as your other follower stated, therein lies that Divine Spark, speaking to, and through, you, once again. How miraculous!


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