Saturday, December 14, 2013

Merry Fucking Christmas.

What is the breaking point…
 of a good man?

We have been here before.

This is something that has been plaguing Murdoc for quite some time.

He is now especially troubled by this concept.  Worried.  Fretful.  Sleepless.

It might be the time of the year that lowers this weight upon him?

He has withdrawn.
Remote.
Untrusting.
When he returns home to his lighthouse, he removes his heavy boots and pushes them tight against the front door.  If they move without him, it is a signal to rise from his place and prepare.  He is restless, the unhappy dog that skulks, paces, cannot just be, give in to…anything.

He double checks the locks on his back door, windows.  He is concerned by venues of ingress and egress.  He needs to know he is in control of these flood valves in, and escape valves out. 

He is tension, tightly wound wire, brittle and taught. 
He is the fallen angel,
sitting in his father’s antique, uncomfortable, but glorious chair.

He is shopping at the Food Lion (roar!) and it takes a bit before he settles down and can focus on the task at hand, buying groceries.  His panic and shake and tunnel vision take time to melt away.  The first two isles are always a blur and he uses his coffee, in the third aisle, to bring him back to focus, and get him back to the shopping.

Today he is definitely out of sorts.  His balance is off.  He knows this going in, but he needs supplies, at least coffee and heavy cream anyway.

And after stressing and ambling just enough,
When his focus finally returns,
He hears the Christmas music.

And it is Glorious.
And it is Hell.
And his vision goes tunnel and blurry and he starts to hyperventilate right there in front of the Tastycake end of aisle, where all the pies are on sale, including holiday flavors, which are gloriously 5 for five dollars.

And Murdoc muscles up and holds back the tears.
It takes every ounce of him
to keep from bursting into a sad rendition of a cheap lawn sprinkler,
that leaks when connected,
never reaches as far as it should across the lawn,
and rusts and clogs when left alone during winter.

The song that plays above him is Herb Alpert, “The Bell That Couldn’t Jingle.”


Murdoc gets thru.
Gets out.
Gets home.
And sits in his truck,
And sees where he is,
And he weeps.

And then he sobs.
Almost uncontrollably.
It is the heavy, deep, lamentation and howl
of a good soul wondering and loving.
He weeps for anger, joy, and understanding.
And then the first song that set him off sends him to this…


This was the song (classical version) that would make his father cry at midnight mass when he used to go and used to care.

And here is Murdoc.
Again missing his favorite time of the year.
Again patiently waiting in the cold and dark.
Believing, knowing,
That better days await.

So Murdoc listens to this,
Another song learned from his father,
And listens, to everything…


He is under the Great Oak out back, listening to the black water freeze and crackle upon a tide that is governed by the moon and has no forgiveness.  It is beautiful. 

And for a second, it all goes quiet…still…and he can hear her.  No words, just a simple inhale and hum, life going in, and then exhale softly, life going on.  Purrfect.
This is love.  And it lifts you up and gets you thru, when it is just and right. 

Murdoc is sobbing as he writes this.  He aches.  But he loves, and is loved; and that makes all those silly tears count for something. 


There is no breaking point for a good man.

    Volim te.

1 comment:

  1. Merry Christmas and Best Wishes for a Happy New Year!
    Bring you Good wishes of happiness.

    Sorry for greeting you earlier,, just don't want miss saying this.
    By the way, I'm prima. It's my first time visiting your blog. I am blogger

    too, and now try my best luck to open an e-store. Nice to know you.

    Regards,
    Prima

    ReplyDelete