On Not Falling Off the Cliff

10 Dec

For Derrick

There are times when it is difficult to keep one’s self together. Times of perceived betrayal, real or not. Times of heartbreak and real loss. Times of grief.

These times do break a person, and such breaking is always new, no matter how much one has been broken before.

One is not at one’s best.

There it is, the cliff, this new cliff, different from all the other cliffs before. Maybe you are facing it, maybe you are lying at the foot of it already.

Where to go? You know you don’t want to fall off cliffs, more or less. So you stagger on, looking for level land.

Meanwhile, you can’t see very well. That comes with the territory. There was this cliff, and either you fell off it or you almost did, and you can’t really remember and you’re not really all that sure of where you are, other than there having been a cliff involved.

So you trudge along, awkwardly, looking nervously from side to side, in the dark.

Eventually, if you can walk long enough, you find a road, and you are happy to find an easier place to walk on. Because all you know how to do anymore, since the cliff, that you may or may not have fallen off of, is walk. So this helps.

You’d like to just walk forever, but roads inevitably lead to destinations.

You pick up baggage, you pick up a rag-tag band of creatures who may want something from you, may want to give you something. They drag you down. You like the company, but there is something missing.

You keep walking. You walk through villages and people give you food and other gifts. Eventually you become known as the one who walks through villages.

You understand the kindness. But you can’t stop walking. Because you know about the cliff. You can’t quite give it up, and you know that if you walk long enough, you will find it.

So you walk, and you walk, and you walk. You go out way beyond the villages and the hangers on, and finally you walk to the mountains.

You see them from miles away, through the pallid air. You have been living on insects and lizards and cacti as you approach. And you climb.

You climb and you climb and you are almost dead, and you find yourself at the top of a part of a mountain, someplace where you can easily find a handy cliff, should you need one.

And finally you are at peace, and ready for death. Buzzards start to circle. One drops a piece of carrion, which you grasp, compulsively, and consume, stomach spasming.

Then you go for water. And then, you understand the cliff.

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5 Responses to “On Not Falling Off the Cliff”

  1. sepultura13 2015/12/11 at 10:09 am #

    Reblogged this on Random Ramblings; Myriad Musings and commented:
    This is excellent…and quite poignant.
    :)

    Like

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