Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Back Again

Sins of fathers past;
darkness and wrongs that last.
It frightens me
and is shameful to see
eternities before the mast.
As a child 
all was mild
but more I find
I cannot be blind.
All seems defiled.

I am going to write this even though it burns my pride for cheap tinder.  Forgive me.

I blame no one, though it would be easy to point fingers.  Even the whole "sins of the father" gig is shit: people tend to be lazy and avoid conscientious change, which is necessary if one means to be anything different from his or her family.

Besides, this is not some morbid banner passed down to me, though some of my family has carried it.

In some ways, I've weakened over the years.  Once upon a time, there were many things that were not going to be.  It was as simple as light and dark.  I was going to close my eyes to the existence of things, ignore them, not take part if I chose it as such.  With all the authority and conviction within me, I said I will never partake.  It was calm, it was still, and it was convinced.  It held the harrowing power of anger, the desperation of mourning, the sparkling pride of joy.

I believed it.

Ah, the simplicity of ignorance.

As I've grown, it is not so simple.  I don't know when it started, but it is there.  It happened a moment ago; it might happen again tomorrow, or the next day.  The twitch.

This is why cigarettes frighten me.

I do not smoke.  I do not like smoke.  It burns my nose, gums into my hair, sits on my tongue, digs into my eyes and my clothes and tries to stay there.  I hate smoke.

But there are times, when I am sitting still and thoughtful and somewhat stressed, that the twitch comes.  Sometimes it is a gossamer thread of thought that kisses my eyelids and trails through my hair to vanish regretfully.  Sometimes it is stronger, and I nearly reach out for it as naturally as a breath.

There are times I want a cigarette.

This is absolutely horrifying.  I can't explain the urge.  But it is there, and it can be strong as the desperate need to breathe after a long musical phrase.

And I hate it.

There is no happy ending for this.  I have no jokes to crack, no cheerful whimsies to offer.  All I can say is I thank God for what self-control he's granted me, and that there's enough to keep me out of my car when these sensations come calling.

No comments:

Post a Comment