Midnight Radio (3)

The blackness of space is translucent.  It’s a window that allows light of all different wavelengths and frequencies to pass through it without impediment.  The light comes at you through the vast void so fast (or slow) that it can travel through time; piercing light that is decades, millennia old.

That blackness is neither window, or door; it’s just absence.

I’ve had the fortune of going out to the places where you can look through that great nothing (everything) and just staring, studying–losing myself–in the truly awesome:  the curve of the sky; the sharp brightness of the stars; the seemingly endless nature of the night time sky; the madness of contemplation of infinity.

I imagine that that blackness is silent; there is no air to let sound swim through waves and to my ear.  Pure, unrequited silence.

I’ve written myself into a corner.  I have nothing to say about silence.  Or space.  Or darkness or light.  I have no words.  I have only gravity–heavy weighted full force of gravity pulling my shoulders, and my gut, and my head and my chest, and my spirit.

I tire.

My dog stares at me from his bed, licks his lips, yawns, shifts his position in the little round sanctuary  and lays his head back on his paws.

The boys are in their room, strewn across their beds and floor, tangled in sheets and toys and they grow in their sleep.

My wife sleeps, wrapped around a pillow, fighting to stay asleep.

The radio is on.

‘Cause I’m just holding on for tonight
Oh, I’m just holding on for tonight

I get up and mix a drink.  I had too much coffee earlier; I didn’t have enough sleep the night before and need to combat it and push fatigue down into nothingness.

The Translucent Blackness.

I find myself wanting to be sitting on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, staring up at the infinite sky, contemplating…

Could I be a better father? Could I be a better husband?  A better friend?  A better patriot?  A better human?  A better man?  More patient, more Black, more successful? Could I be more accountable?  Fearless?  Cautious?  Callous?  Indifferent?  Fearful?  More alone?

Could I feel more alone?

I have words.  I am often filled up with words.  But I don’t have the right ones for anyone these days.  Child, wife, friends, myself.  I’m drowning in words–from others–and choking on my own.  Choking on words and phrases like:

The Translucent Blackness.

The clock says it’s a minute after midnight.  The dog needs to go out. I need sleep; I need to find a way to get rest when I just want to pop and overflow–preferably before the two and a half year old gets up.

I leave the radio on, albeit softly.  I want to see what it plays as I go outside, let the dog take a shit, and then try and contemplate things bigger than me.

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9 thoughts on “Midnight Radio (3)

  1. Good writing, my friend. Enjoyed breezing through that. It’s hard to identify with what some call “the changeless witness” within, or the True Self who is only awareness. ‘Cuz we just have so many bloody words going on and on and on in our silly, cacophonous heads. Talk, talk, talk. Well, hell, what would writers DO without that never-ending deluge of babble? We’d need another “hobby,” wouldn’t we?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. There’s been (as no doubt you’re aware) a lot going on. But then, there’ s always something, right? Something to get in the way of navel gazing, as it were.

      But yeah, we’re stuck with ourselves, and the internal monologue that follows us around. Also, if you get yourself caught up with others words…it gets noisy in there, yes?

      For certain though: what the hell would we do if all the words stopped coming in completely–internal or otherwise? Maybe we’d start painting or something? Fishing’s solid… Cheers.

      Liked by 1 person

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