Heavy Praise

My recent thoughts, I felt, put me onto an emotional entanglement with the weather. Today’s stifling sky, thick with soft pillows of granite, put me in a heavy, reflective mood, dragging myself through a riptide of old memories; loss and heartache are most prevalent. I think its our universal connection to the grit and pieces of the world that binds us together. As our emotions are a pond of chemicals on our minds, so too are they affected by the ripples around them—tides and winds, falling stones. I sat near the window to observe the autumnal migration of thermometer, barometer and slick falling leaves.

This state, predictably, brought me to Johnny Cash. The man in black slays my every woe with his guitar. The music crashes like waves, and his voice rolls on unstoppable like a diesel engine. It isn’t like a shoulder to cry on—I don’t cry at all. It’s not moping along to the sound of someone else’s depression. You can feel the hardships he’s faced and relive them. I find myself killing a man, surviving a war or losing everyone I love.

This is what it is to have a savior: the man who died, singing through the pain so I could live without it. He cleanses me with his words, holds open the door for me, gives a glimpse of those things we may never, and should never see. It all gives me pause, makes me wonder about what’s inside me, born and living as I have. Wonder if I could have that strength and thank him that he can loan some to me.

The beast in me is caged by frail and fragile bars/Restless by day and by night/rants and rages at the stars/God help the beast in me.