Safety Not Guaranteed

 Safety Not Guaranteed

A jolting pulse rouses me from peaceful slumber. Dry, weary eyes crack open and guide me through the first waking moments. Fresh, hot morning light breaks through the window. I clear the cobwebs and fog of sleep with a few fluttering blinks. With limited success, I stumble to my feet and fumble legs into pants. A thick layer of fog still looms, stirring fears of the damaged, flickering filament behind my right eye. The day begins.

The tether resumes. A tug of war unfolds between a hungry mind and a body ready to break free, while my eyes jockey to remain closed. They flip with fickle unpredictability between fuzzy and briefly focused. It’s off to work with a turn of the car key. Cue music that’s loud yet hopeful. The thump and boom enter my body, a joyful roar meant to quiet the fears rising within. Hope and grief crash into me at the same time. Away we go, safety not guaranteed.

In one piece, physically, mentally, mostly, I arrive where I need to be. The day’s events unfold with only the occasional blunder. Sometimes I laugh; other times frustration boils up at simple tasks made messy by poor depth perception or sight that isn’t as sharp as it once was. The day concludes as eventfully as I am able to make myself present. Some days I feel lively and possessed, while others I wade through fog, waiting for the storm to pass.

I take off my Swedish axe head necklace, press it to my lips, and with a gentle kiss run through a list of gratitudes. I thank a higher power for safe return home, for a steady day, and for the hope of more to come. I lie down for slumber, and the waves I managed to quiet surge forward with greater force. I flip open my notebook to jot musings and philosophical perusings on what makes a good life, what might make me existentially full. I think of family, of friends, and of a list of fears that grows longer than I’d like to admit.

I put away the world and lose my gondola into formless black night. Through unobstructed dark, I row through a tired mind approaching sleep. Rowing past truths harsh and sharp, I name them as fears. Rowing past flashing semblances of dreams and hopes, I gather them to my chest as the last thing on my mind before arriving at uncertain tomorrow.



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