I am not crazy, unhinged or in any way detached from reality. I am intense. I am brooding. I am aware. I am self conscious. I am critical. I am single minded of purpose and determined. I am driven. I am simultaneous relaxed, calm and comfortable. I am a tortured soul who is filled with wanderlust and fire. I feel this urge to board a ship and sail to parts unknown. I want hop a train and see where it goes. Somewhere out there my old car, a a powder blue ’77 Camaro lies waiting for me. From whatever place it is that cars that have been sold goes it calls out to me and begs me to find it.
Or more likely what I hear crying and calling is my own heart. Unfulfilled and unsatisfied it is ready to be set loose. There are adventures and journeys to be taken, stories to be written about people and places I haven’t yet seen. But there are also those whose paths have already crossed with mine. Our stories were started but remain unfinished and untold. I do what I do and go through the motions but the memories of what once was haunt me in ways that I cannot ignore. Visions and dreams pop up unwanted and unasked for.
Unwanted is a misleading word because the truth is that they are not unwanted. There are thoughts and ideas attached to these moments of memory and some of them are unpleasant. There are accusations of things that were said but not done. The heart asks for a reckoning. It is hurt and it is bitter. But the pain and the anger is tempered by the soft sounds of the soul. It remains attached to its partner and sings a song of soothing. Softly it strokes the heart and in the silence speaks of things that only we two might understand.
It speaks of a time when the two will be reunited and the chance to look for America will begin anew. Cecilia will return and jubilation will be known. It speaks of a time when I will not sing my song alone anymore. I fear to trust it. I hesitate to listen to the siren song it sings. I want to be the hero. I want to mount my horse again and ride through the verdant hills that we once ruled together. I want to ride with you but I fear to hope. It conspires against me. The scars of the past warn against it. And so I wrestle with what was, what is and what might be.
Look in my eyes and see what lies behind them. Understand that the key which was given so freely has been hidden deeper and further beneath the surface than ever before. Recognize that yearning for a different outcome is a battle that the dreamer cannot give up while the realist nods his head in acceptance. Reality is what it is but accepted it is not. Maybe one day, maybe never. It is hard to say what will happen when a force of nature meets an immovable object.