House of Cards

It seems as though life is a house of cards. I struggle to get the pieces lined up. I’m afraid to let go of each card fearing that as soon as I do, it will cave in on itself. Balancing father vs husband, owner vs worker, mechanic, landscaper, handy man, councilor, coach, friend, lover, banker, cook, dishwasher, garbage man and occasionally, even just a passerby; it’s overwhelming. And it seems that I am always running from one to the other trying to shore up the walls of my card house. Constantly in fear that one card will shift just far enough out of place to collapse the whole thing. I shift. I change roles. Always nudging some card back into place and trying not to dislodge its neighbor.

An amazing thing a card house. From the outside, every card looks the same yet from within, each is completely unique. Pressures from without never know what card they effect nor which cards in turn may be effected. Nudge a 2 and a Queen may fall, a King topple or an Ace slide from the table. No one outside can see how it’s been arranged around us; the back of a card is, after all, simply the back of a card. Nor can they see our frantic activity within, the constant propping up of the cards, catching them just before they fall. Quickly, more friend, less accountant; more dad, less coach; more lover, less husband. All of this while living in fear of the random event that will bring it all down around us. The card we can’t nudge back into place, the gust of wind that sweeps it all away.

We go about walking that fine line. Wondering how long we can keep up with it. How long until I don’t have the energy, until I just can’t adjust fast enough to keep it all balanced? How long until it crashes down around me like a house of cards?

Bill Randall 2007

You

I know you. I know you better than you know you. And that’s what scares you. The thought that someone could get inside that head of yours. The thought that I might pan the depths of your emotional tides and come out with a nugget of truth. Truth that you didn’t know lied within. Truth that, on some level you’ve truly longed for, but out of fear skimmed only the surface of your mind, afraid of the tumult of your past, the currents of your present and the uncertain distant shores that the future holds for you. Like a lonely soul wandering the shores, getting only your feet wet, finding only the flotsam and jetsam that the sea has purged onto its shores, marveling at what he has found all the while strolling past the true treasures. Past the jewels and riches that are only yards away, but beneath the surface. You pass by those treasures, those nuggets, those delightful oddities that make us unique. You pass by, none the worse for wear, but certainly no better for it either. Yes, I know you.

I know you. Far, far better than you think; far better than you’ve feared. Better than you’ve ever hoped to know yourself. I know you. While you stand at the jagged edge of you that falls away into the swirling abyss of your emotions, your urges, dreams, desires and your unbridled subconscious mind, you tremble and faint. The very thought of introspection creates in you an emotional vertigo that paralyzes. Fear leaves you frozen, motionless, silent. But I, I jump in. Without second thought or looking back I fling myself from that precipice into the depths that remain hidden to you. I have seen far more than you could ever hope to. I have the scars to prove it. And when I crawl out of the primeval depths that you try to hide deep inside, when I climb back up to that jagged edge again and find you still there, paralyzed with fear, I laugh wildly and once again launch myself into the void. Oh Yeah, I know you. Better than you know you.

I know you. We met a couple of times, but that was long ago and the occasions were rare. I was at your grandfather’s funeral and I know what you felt. The stirring of the “big” questions: What of life and death? Will I leave any kind of legacy? Will people remember me? Yes, I was there. We spoke, if only briefly, but I know you. We ran into each other just before graduation day. Really more just brushing past each other than a true meeting, but I was there. And I knew you then too. Your wedding rehearsal, the day your child was born, when you lost your first job and when you accepted Christ, I was there. I understood even if you didn’t. Do I deserve her? Can I be a role model? What do I do now? Am I ready? What do I really believe? I know you. I heard you ask those questions. They are the same questions that I ask. Even now, you are asking questions. You ask but you are afraid to get dirty. You’re too terrified to seek out the dark corners and dusty storerooms of your mind, of your soul, where answers may lie. But I’m not. I will seek them for you. I know you. I know you better than you think. I know you, because I am you.


Bill Randall © 2007 (12/12/07)

Cricket Music

Crickets
Crickets singing, chirping, playing
the melody sounds
it plays, it trickles, it surrounds me.
I am lost in that sound.
In the distance a dog barks; and barks again.
A plane circles overhead.
A train in the darkness; then it’s rumble is heard, no felt.
That dog again.
The train grows nearer.
The rumble. the horn. the horn.
The plane drones on.
The rumble fades; a distant horn.
The plane circles and is gone.
And the crickets, oh the crickets they continue
Their sweet gentle harmony continues; the constant music of the crickets.

Perchance to Dream. . . .Bill Randall 2010

To sleep, perchance to dream. . . But what then when those dreams be nightmares and one sleeps not for fear of such a nightly visage as would chill the blood and cause brows to glisten. What, when that sacred place of dreams has been trampled and soiled such as one dares not return, dares not dream, dares not look beyond this waking moment? What then? What sleep if not to dream? And if not to dream, if not to pursue such ethereal and vaporous wraiths upon waking, why wake at all? For ‘tis not the dreams, nor the dreamer, that give life to human pursuits. But rather the pursuit of dreams which gives life to humans.

touching base

I am aware that I have not recently donned pen to paper. I extend my most sincere apologies as of late, those most fickle of beings which are muses have not seen fit to bestow the gift of inspiration upon my brow. I shall return to you once they have again graced me with their presence and have allighted in the galleries of my mind. . .