Tag Archives: regret

Glancing back

I thought for a moment, and then told myself no; it couldn’t possibly be. Then the Barista called out your name and you stepped up to get your coffee and when the light over the bar illuminated your profile; granted is now covered with an intricate and deliberate layer of just the right length stubble, I knew that face and remembered it well.

Sitting round the campfire, barely ten you must’ve been; the others off gallivanting and running wild through the woods, and you at my side, paying the others no mind; drawing pictures of George Washington in the notebook I had in my bag, talking about the Civil War; opening and sharing yourself and your interests, wanting to see my reaction more than anything; see if I thought it was silly and dismissed it, or took and interest and actually listened.

And listen to you I did.

When you gathered your courage and asked if I ever have thoughts in my head that I can hear, that drive me crazy and that I can’t make go away; and at that moment, it mattered not where your father was, who he was off playing the attention whore for or with; everyone else at that campground disappeared and for that brief moment in time, you and I connected; not as adult to child, not as a troop leader to one of her cubs, but as human beings. One very much aware and in-tuned with spiritual self, and the other just beginning to figure there was a difference.

You said it drove you crazy that you couldn’t make them stop and you didn’t much like the things they said; I told you I understood perfectly, have them too, and the best thing you could do is write those thoughts down – get them out of your mind and onto paper. And I promised you it would make it better, because that’s what I’ve done my whole life; and you looked at me with that sweet little smile and your eyes lit up as if I’d just given you the secret to the universe.

And then you turned the page inside my notebook and wrote something that I have never forgotten, nor will I ever. You wrote; No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Then you handed me the notebook and watched as I read it; and if I somehow failed to express with words to you at the time, I hope that in some way you realized how moved I was by the profundity of what you bled onto that paper and shared with me.

So young, so innocent, so filled with confusion and questions and self doubt; yet so naturally curious, inquisitive and knowing; knowing there was something more than the trappings of our daily lives and so ready to grasp and understand it.

I told your father what an extraordinary and gifted boy you were and that you needed special spiritual attention; that you were at the point that feeding your soul with the proper knowledge was crucial. He told me your grandmother was a religious woman and you spent a lot of time with her and that he and your mother planned to start going to church on a regular basis, not to worry about it.

I tried to explain to him that religion, organized or not, was not what I mean by feeding your soul, but he either missed my point, which I doubted at the time, or simply didn’t want to hear, which I believed to be the case.

No matter, it wasn’t my place to interfere; I offered what I could and left it at that. But when I went out and bought you a journal and a special pen to write in it, he was very standoffish and almost offended; telling me that he would be the one to buy you a journal and I didn’t have to do that. I told him I knew I didn’t have to; I did it because I wanted to. And so it came to be that I was, in fact, able to give you that gift, from me to you; along with a few Civil War trinkets I’d found while rummaging an antique show at the mall.

I still have the little thank you card that you gave me, with the watermelon, pink and white polka dots and tiny bow on the front; in a little leather box where I keep special mementos. I wasn’t around long enough to know if you ever filled that journal, though I’m sure that you did. And I’d like to think you’ve been keeping one ever since.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw you, after the truth was revealed; we were in Bealls, you were with your mom and I was by myself; you saw me and smiled, made a motion in my direction, as if you wanted to come talk to me; and then your smile faded and a look of sadness and disappointment washed over your face, when you caught yourself and remembered that I was the enemy.

And so the other day when you left with your coffee, got in your car parked right next to mine; no longer that precious little boy who I once shared a special and fleeting bond with, but a grown young man, with a future wide open; you sat there and waited, wondering if I recognized you, wondering if I would acknowledge in some way; but I didn’t, because I couldn’t.

And the reason I couldn’t is because I’ve no idea what thoughts or stories have been put in your head; about me, about the situation, what truths or lies; and the last thing I wanted, was for you to think that my looking in your direction and acknowledging you with even a smile, was somehow inappropriate on my part.

But as I drove away, my own thoughts tormenting my mind as they have for so long now, I thought about what you wrote by the campfire, all those years ago –

No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Thank you for that.

©2012 jill terry
Jillterry.com


Multi-purpose

He uses them for everything
They often don’t mean anything
He leaves them with nothing

Varying degrees of his
Needs or wants
Determine the depth
He is forced to
Or willing
To go

Gluttony being his
Favored sin
He feasts upon
Their emotional
Need

Savoring the flavor
Of collective fear
Seasoned lightly
With his own

Desire but a word
Ecstasy a button
Easily pushed
With a pressured curve

The same spot every time
No matter the shape
The age
The size

Something he mastered
Way back when
Delighting in the power
Necessary for his
Survival

Giving them everything
Filling them up
Leaving them empty
To drown in their
Sorrow

© jillterry


Memory Holes

Tunnel

My mission was clear, determined in the hours preceding my slumber. A journey must be made in order to obtain the necessary information to formulate my plot. And so under the cloak of darkness, when my body and mind were at rest and the door to world’s unknown lay open and waiting, my spirit took flight and magically passed through.

Preparation of meditation and cleansing are no longer necessary for me, as once they were. I simply bring to the forefront of my thinking that a journey is required, and once I reach a plateau of unconsciousness where my spirit is able to detach itself, it does so eagerly and without pause. As if triggering a mechanism, all that I see, hear, feel, taste and touch are recorded in the memory banks of my mind; for future extraction upon reentry of my spirit.

Astral flight, astral projection, out-of-body experience; call it what you will, the process is the same, though the outcome widely varies. Normally, there is a clear and decisive reason for these journeys; as the answer to a question or solution to a problem is sought. This time, however, I left myself wide open with no particular question or problem, just the need and want to visit a dimension I had never before traveled, in order to capture and create from whence I had come.

I was not disappointed, but I was however distressed and somewhat traumatized by the experience. It was as if I was being led, instead of traveling of my own free will, and the one doing the leading had a specific reason for taking me there. The reason was to reacquaint me with my sin. The destination was HELL!

The corridor was long and dark, with hard-packed dirt floors and walls of rock that were high and arched; like the tunnels they dig through mountains, only there was no end in sight.

As I was led through the center of the tunnel, glass-fronted rooms lined either side. In each room, or life-size box as I came to think of them, was a specific scene from my life; scenes of sin that I had forced myself to forget; filing them away in the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was certain they would stay locked. Suddenly, and without warning, forced to relive each and every one.

To stand outside the box and watch, grateful when the show was over and the box went dark; only to turn and see the miles and miles of sin that lay ahead; sin that I must now suffer; as no thought, regard or consideration was given at the time.

The dread I felt, at the prospect of having to suffer so many, pales in comparison to the shame, regret and repulsion I felt; as I watched myself commit one deadly sin after another.

I begged for mercy, but mercy was not given; for this is death at its inception and what each and every one of us must go through. While the decision has already been made, the process by which it was determined is played out for us; right before our eyes, in the form of our lives.

“Be certain that your sins will find you out.”
Numbers 32:23

Ⓒjillterry


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