As I Went Out One Morning

Thomas Paine tried to usher in the Age of Reason. Hippies tried to usher in the Age of Aquarius. Then came me. All I can do is age.

I am filled with false hope at the moment. This might be due to the fact that the day is still young and nothing bad has happened yet. I feel like I’m trying not to be fucked up. Really, truly, I do. And I’m trying not to fuck up by fucking others up.

On any given day I feel like I’ve smashed myself on the rocks of indifference, like I’ve lashed myself to the wrong mast with the wrong sail and then headed off in the wrong direction. I’ve crashed into a lonely desert island, and am about to slide from the brine-slicked crags to vanish over the waterfall at world’s end. But today? Today, so far, I feel pretty alright.

It was in my teens that I made a terrible discovery. I discovered that a man could cry. That man was my father. His tears were for my mother’s brother. I’d entered the room to find him laid out on his bed, hands pressed over his eyes as if to hold them in. Really, he was only trying to hold in the pain. It seemed an unconscious act of self preservation, as if to prevent pain itself from seeping out and consuming him. But it was already too late. My father’s face was wet with tears and loss had clearly eaten him up from the inside. It was a powerful moment that unearthed deep, unspeakable things within me. I became afraid of dropping into that abyss at the edge of the earth.

Johnny Cash once sang about a man who couldn’t cry. The man had been like that for as long as he could remember, and when he finally did cry it rained for forty days and forty nights. Then he dehydrated and died. Then his family, friends and associates began to fall victim to horrific happenings and in some cases met a tragic demise. Is this really how it is if a man dares to cry? The world falls apart? Everything comes undone?

Okay, now it’s beginning to feel like the last days again, and hope is waning… but of course it would. It’s false. And time marches on, goose stepping like a hateful Nazi over the memories of once held dreams, over my carefully buried hopes and fears. I’ve learned not to cry in the presence of others but it isn’t always easy to be so scrupulously contained. Sometimes you cry in the worst place at the worst possible time. We’re not all machines. It just happens and there’s nothing that can be done about it.

Let’s face it, the older I get the more emotional triggers I find. Take right now for example. I’m walking past a church sign that says we’re ‘too blessed to be stressed’. It’s probably a good thing I don’t own a gun. Not that I’d use it. Not really. I’d just think about those self-righteous godomites and get myself all twisted up and spiteful inside. And then I’d slink away to take a Pepto-Bismol or two. Or three. Hell, guns make me nervous anyway.

No, it’s far better to dwell on other things. Happy things. Like puddles. Look, there’s one now. My very own sky hole in the ground. I could just step off and drop through to the clouds beyond if I wanted to. It’s the lure of transcendence. I fall for it every time. Who needs to get on a boat to disappear? Just do this. Only… well…

…I can’t.

Not really. Damn reality in all its bloody-minded literalness! God fucking damn!

Sigh.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

187 thoughts on “As I Went Out One Morning”

  3. As always, Tony, I relate to what you write because I feel included by a soul sensitive not out of weakness but a clarity around how you perceive life. Thanks for this. I am often here, but more often not these days. And so I am discovering it’s possible to maintain the ability to cry, and to have those emotional triggers you mention – and yet still be on top of life. I promise you. It is.

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  4. A strong man can cry. This is a beautiful post. It’s so very much a part of us… In fact the composition of tears is different dependent on why we cry. Tears of joy, fear, sadness, physical pain… all produce different chemicals from one another. Nature intended us to cry. Because it helps…

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  6. I am so moved by this post. You are a gifted writer! It takes strength to have hope as you get older, especially when it is ripped to shreds each day. Being an over thinker and overly observant doesn’t help (I can relate). Sometimes I wish for the peace that comes with ignorance and a mind that is clear, organized,and simple. Thank you for sharing this.

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    • Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, AL. I really appreciate it! I’ve often been accused of thinking too much, but I think I’d rather think too much than to not really think at all. I think. I could be wrong… 😛

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  7. If it’s any consolation, the Age of Aquarius has just begun. Astrological ages last over 2000 years. Jesus ushered in the Age of Pisces, sign of spirituality as well as illusion, delusion, and addiction–two ends of the same pole. Thus the early Christian symbol of the fish.

    The Age of Aquarius is linked to the “brotherhood of man,” universal equality, love in a detached sense. It is also the sign of electronics, mental telepathy, sudden changes. I contend 9/11 was the signal event of the Age of Aquarius, in which individuals using box cutters toppled the US phallic symbols of wealth and power. Aquarius seeks to level the playing field in unpredictable ways, and dis-empower stereotypes (like the one that assumes men must be rational and women emotional). It fosters individuality in a live-and-let-live sense.

    People have been afraid of freedom, even though they claim to want it. Freedom and responsibility go hand in hand. As a nation we have confused freedom with license. I suspect some of your discouragement comes from believing you are alone in your doubts.

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  9. Tony, this is open, raw, and so bravely honest. To open yourself up and express what we all tend to act like doesn’t happen us- just beautiful. You are a beautiful soul. Don’t ever change.

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