Immobilized
Two decades ago, I was halted by a raw episode
that rendered me incapable of any forward movement.
Now, I am no youngster and having been around the
proverbial block several times, I know that living brings
its own inordinate shocks which we are often
ill-prepared for. Let us say only that it was the
typical love vs. unexpected treachery, an age-old
perfidy that repeats itself all too often. Some things
are so unforeseen that, even if one is a proficient
organizer, an arranger of all those pending tomorrows
that are lined up and waiting for us to imbue life with
creativity, consequence, and elegance, still, when it happens,
it feels as though our feet are cloaked in concrete.
Immovable.
What is there to be done when the heart, that gentle,
eternally unsophisticated portion of ourselves, which
has depended upon a certain set of circumstances
to navigate through difficult times, finds itself as
immobile as the feet? Did the two suddenly hot-wire
themselves together? We are told that when something
evil, painful, or scandalizing occurs, the brain’s
initial response arises from its most primitive
underpinning: the ancient amygdala incites us to
choose between holding our ground or fleeing.
Swiftly.
Though it may take a while, the moment arrives
when we see something that strikes an epiphany
within, an abrupt alteration in perspective. Mine was
an image capture of a river moving between paired
rock formations; the progression of lathered water
in stark contrast to the solidity of stony crag. What
will I allow the future to embrace — fast forward
channel or static inactivity?
My preference.
The transient slaughter of a soul can be a stopover
in hell; but it becomes what we choose for its evolution.
Sometimes Charon’s boat does not return empty from
Hades and one must believe that therein lie the second
strokes of luck granted auspiciously by God or Fate or
Destiny, Karma, Kismet, or Chance. Ultimately, the
decision to persist is the beginning of true independence.
Piloting to the future.
that rendered me incapable of any forward movement.
Now, I am no youngster and having been around the
proverbial block several times, I know that living brings
its own inordinate shocks which we are often
ill-prepared for. Let us say only that it was the
typical love vs. unexpected treachery, an age-old
perfidy that repeats itself all too often. Some things
are so unforeseen that, even if one is a proficient
organizer, an arranger of all those pending tomorrows
that are lined up and waiting for us to imbue life with
creativity, consequence, and elegance, still, when it happens,
it feels as though our feet are cloaked in concrete.
Immovable.
What is there to be done when the heart, that gentle,
eternally unsophisticated portion of ourselves, which
has depended upon a certain set of circumstances
to navigate through difficult times, finds itself as
immobile as the feet? Did the two suddenly hot-wire
themselves together? We are told that when something
evil, painful, or scandalizing occurs, the brain’s
initial response arises from its most primitive
underpinning: the ancient amygdala incites us to
choose between holding our ground or fleeing.
Swiftly.
Though it may take a while, the moment arrives
when we see something that strikes an epiphany
within, an abrupt alteration in perspective. Mine was
an image capture of a river moving between paired
rock formations; the progression of lathered water
in stark contrast to the solidity of stony crag. What
will I allow the future to embrace — fast forward
channel or static inactivity?
My preference.
The transient slaughter of a soul can be a stopover
in hell; but it becomes what we choose for its evolution.
Sometimes Charon’s boat does not return empty from
Hades and one must believe that therein lie the second
strokes of luck granted auspiciously by God or Fate or
Destiny, Karma, Kismet, or Chance. Ultimately, the
decision to persist is the beginning of true independence.
Piloting to the future.
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B.A. Brittingham
The author, formerly of New York City and South Florida, is currently a resident of Southwestern Michigan, and has published essays in the Hartford Courant; short stories in Florida Literary Foundation’s hardcover anthology, Paradise; with the University of Georgia Center for Continuing Education; in the 1996 Florida First Coast Writers’ Festival, and in Britain’s World Wide Writers. “The Note in the Wood,” was a semi-finalist in the 2003 Nelson Algren Awards and was published in the June 2008 issue of Shore Magazine. Recently published in Anthology of Short Stories-Autumn 2021 was “Loose Ends.”
Poetry has appeared in Kitchen Sink Magazine, the ocean waves, Words for the Earth, the Crone’s Words, Green Shoe Sanctuary, and Halcyon Days. |