MAY 30, 2008: “Away From The Sun” …

AWAY FROM THE SUN

“It’s down to this: I’ve got to make this life make sense. Can anyone tell what I’ve done? I miss the life, I miss the colors of the world. Can anyone tell where I am? ‘Cause now again I’ve found myself so far down away from the sun that shines into the darkest place. I’m so far down, away from the sun again. I’m over this – I’m tired of living in the dark. Can anyone see me down here? The feeling’s gone – There’s nothing left to lift me up back into the world I know.” – 3 Doors Down

(A Diary Entry to The Man Himself) …

Dear God, I need to talk to You for a minute. Or, I just have a few questions to ask, and PLEASE let’s be perfectly honest with each other here. You’re not done with me yet, are You? My very bright destiny lies just ahead, and in a sense is happening even as we speak? The future will be good, won’t it? It’s going to get better, right? Can You please just make me these promises? Those two precious babies you sent to me, the fluttering butterflies that You sent … they need me to be okay so that I can help them reach their own destinies. Am I still Your child, or did You just forget about me? Are You mad at me? What did I do to make You so angry? Oh, wait, I think I know! Can’t You just forgive me now? I’ve done my time, God, four life sentences in a row. Okay, so I’m all ready to be forgiven.

Hey, so, do You ever hear me crying at night? Does it every really bother You? And what ever happened to that “sea of forgetfulness” I’ve heard so much about – the one where YOU forgive then WE FORGET and then just move about our merry ways? It’s not the best situation You know, all these ghosts and snapshots in my head that I lug around everywhere I go. How about just erasing a few of them? Is there a way? I know YOU can do it. YOU can do anything, right? You know that one, with me on the front bench of an old pick-up truck? Five minutes, remember? The smell of the beer on his breath? His sweat dripping into my mouth? You mean you can’t just erase that FIVE rotten minutes?  Hey, listen, how about the one where that boy hits the wall and split his head in two pieces? Yah, could definitely do without that one. Oh, and remember that tiny little girl You dropped right into the palms of my hands just so that I could watch her writhing in pain and choking on her own breath? You know, that was the same little girl who Just needed to hold her Mommy’s hand but couldn’t even manage to hold her finger? Not loving that one either, or in fact, it’s just not working out for me at all. I get it, she’s gone. I was there, remember? What rhyme or reason will ever help me understand why I had to bury her? Why should any parent have to bury their child? It’s just not the natural You know? It’s not the way it was supposed to be. Please God, won’t You help me? Surely You must remember how it felt to watch your Son suffer on the day you gave Him up.

Well then how about an angel? Can You send me another angel, and preferably one a little taller than two feet and older and wiser than 15? Someone I can talk to? Someone just to listen and hear what I have to say? Someone to hold me and remind me that I’m alive? How about someone who doesn’t think I’m just whining? Or dramatic? Or ungrateful? Or pathetic? Someone who understands my heart and my pain and my grief? How about just one person that will look beyond my surface to find the broken little girl hiding inside here? Someone who will hear me and not say everything is okay! How about someone who doesn’t think I’m just a crazy fucking bitch or that all the “things” I have should preclude me from feeling any pain? And can You send me a hug, or a kiss, or a touch? Will anyone ever want to touch me? My perfection is a grand illusion and I am the master illusionist, You and I both know this is true! I’m wandering aimlessly here God behind the walls of my beautiful castle, nose pressed hard against the windows. I’m still looking for that sign and I still believe there’s a chance. Hey, I’m leaving for France tomorrow. Can I just leave some of my baggage there?

Sig