I’ve learned to compensate for the absence of a wife and family, where so many of my personal needs are become internal. Instead of having people around, I’ve learned to compensate with creative endeavors, and a workable Spiritual interaction which is very personal to me. This doesn’t mean I never get lonely. Of course I get lonely. I’ve only gotten away from despair. I can take it.
My habits have all turned to the computer and to cyberspace, to my writing, and those things do not require a lot of strokes from others, to be significant to me. Having given myself a good, firm footing within classic music and classic literature of the ages, I finally find the man, himself, to be self-contained. I ended up alone, and it’s OK. It’s really rather virtuous of me, if I must say so myself.
I had a successful relationship when I was a young man. It ended because God said it ended. I get my instruction from Him. I only did the breaking up, to make God’s wishes a reality, not to say that breaking up with the girl didn’t break my own heart. It’s just that I suffer from my father’s illness, which means I’d never be employable. It was a heart rending moment between us.
That little romance of mine was one of a joy in life. The young lady responded to me like no one ever did, except for her, and I hardly know how to describe what we had together. I do so much crying, I figure I owe it to myself to be in a positive state of mind, every now and then. The Great One does marvelous things to uphold me. I can see them, day after day.
I would like to see pictures of Wyoming. It seems so far away and mysterious, but I’m having a lot of fun rounding out my fantasies about the place. There are so many things I’ve read into my story I’m writing, which exist only in my imagination. I’ve deliberately kept from naming the woman in the story. I’ve wanted to keep her as unilateral as possible, not willing to give her much depth.
It’s a matter of making my own reality more bearable, to keep the loving woman single-dimensional. She’s only a shadow of the happiness I’d find on horseback. In spite of the fact that I’ve got an internal hip prosthesis, which would serve to keep me off a horse irrevocably, there are some facets of the whole scenario that I cannot seem to ignore. The idea of having a relationship is too much for me.
Spending most of my days and nights on the indoors, at assisted living, but tomorrow I’ll be seeing my therapist, whom I find to be a conspiratory soul. I find I live for the times I see her. Many of my hopes and dreams are talked about, when I’m in that office. I’m still amount my proverbial steed and dash in and out of battle with the war bonnet of the eagle feathers. For a brief moment, I’m Crazy Horse.
The noble war chief rides in and out of battle, with nothing to protect him but his personal power. I’m whole again, and young, strong. The horse and rider are one and the same, having ridden together for a lifetime. The war chief knows that this is only a singular battle, and that a total victory is impossible, but he rides nonetheless. Surely, if there was ever a champion of freedom, it was Crazy Horse.
The allure of the wide open spaces of the mid-west beckon me as if it were a seductress. There are plenty of sights to behold, no doubt. The horse and rider are, by definition, one and the same. It’s similar to the fat-tire Schwinn we once rode, in that never, never time. There, and forever young, are a tandem of youthful riders, always in love, forever smiling the simple smiles of a lingering childhood.
In our mutual setting, there was never a time one of the riders became put off with the behavior of the other. We were always enamored with each other. We never needed, nor accepted, any surcease from our idyllic romance. There was never a time either of us regretted what we did, which would force us apart, because nothing ever happened. The years went by, but our offspring were not to be counted.
It was the one shadow of our relationship, that we never knew children. It became an inexorable part of who we were, like the horses we rode out of the stables. As a couple, we grew closer and closer. It took a doctor to tell us that it wasn’t her body, it was my own which wouldn’t introduce children into the world. Then, we looked to adoption, and brought a baby home to hold between us.
The boy hopped on the unicorn’s back, and took a trip through time. He was exceptionally careful to avoid interrupting the space-time continuum. Someone had obviously talked to the boy, to give him such valuable information. The boy watched wide-eyed at the various events which transpired before his very eyes. The boy understood he was there only as an observer, and was content to be just that.
The unicorn stopped flying and landed a time, but the boy sat steadfast in his perch. There was not much time to see, when the unicorn stopped flying. It seemed the magical unicorn had a need to rest itself a moment. It seemed that the passage of time was effected by the flight of the unicorn. Presently, the unicorn was up and at ’em again. The view of the passage of time went along without interruption.
The boy wanted his home to be there when he returned. It was. There were all sorts of scenarios the boy felt he might have been able to influence, as he watched the passage of time, astraddle the unicorn’s back, but the boy understood it was all a temptation, that he should resist it as thoroughly as he could. The unicorn was small, about the size of a gazelle. Only a child could have ridden her.
The boy felt thoroughly familiar with his roll in the passage of time, on this mount, that his home’s stability was at stake, as he wandered through the annals of time. The boy marveled at all the wars being fought, and all the financial fortunes which were won and lost. The boy realized all these images were for his instruction, and he should not be overly moved by them. He was an observer.
The boy was only a witness to many events, past and future, which occasions he kept having to remind himself of, as he traveled and traveled, with this very unique mount, to be none of his business. The unicorn was only a vessel, who had all of time to unveil to her rider. The situation was kept pure, because something had explained the parameters of the flight to the boy ahead of time.
When the unicorn finished displaying the better part of many more events throughout the annals of the ages, the boy turned the mount homeward, and the mount and boy were magically there. The unicorn took the boy for far more of a ride, offering him yet another panorama of the magic of time travel, but the wonders were seen by the boy’s eyes alone. One might wonder what the boy saw.
There was the relationship between the ride and rider, the wise little boy and his illustrious, prophetic unicorn. These were as sacred as any of the other relationships we’ve referred to today. We’ve been listing the merge between one individual and another. This kicks all that tradition to the curb, and depicts a pure union between boy and unicorn, with a special twist to add to the tale.
At last, we have a man and his God, who gets along in a bachelor setting, with a semblance of faith no one can fathom. His God has been known to visit this man in his heart, to help the man to understand the various concepts the man had too many misconceptions about. The man’s heart has not been visited recently by his Maker, nor does the man overly crave fresh instruction from the Almighty.
The Almighty is a very busy deity, as far as deities go. There is little one can know about the actual activities of Almighty God. God does as he pleases, and makes a whatever into something glorious. These are the dynamics of the relationship between a pious man and his Holy God. There are more things to believe and know about the man’s Maker, but I’ll leave those for another time.
The idea of ceremonies among the righteous is poignant. The man understood the basic idea that the Holy One was trying to show him. It might seem outrages to others, but to him it seems plausible. The man goes comfortably along, containing his truth within himself. There are things he has to do, in this world of a thinker. The man has become something more than anything he was before. It is a new era.