The Hunter

This is another one that was meant to be a song.  I almost certainly wrote this in highschool.  It is rewritten here, with apologies to Brian Hunter, who taught me how to love my brain.  This, rather peripherally, reflects a philosophy we’ve both long since outgrown, but it still has a few familiar echoes.

*

The Hunter

*

They’ve made up your mind for  you, they’ve set up all your rules.

You can make your own creation if you do it with their tools,

So you turn within yourself but know there is no peace.

You let them bind you with their standards and now there’s no release,

So you sit staring inward and you see what you have done.

You let them rearrange your soul and now you are no one.

*

Find yourself within yourself,

Face your fate undaunted.

Blow your brother’s mind away,

Death’s all he ever wanted.

*

And the hunter is the hunted

in the annals of your mind.

I can’t teach you how to see;

you’re already blind.

Don’t search for true reality;

it’s something you can’t find.

*

What was born within you, you long ago let die

You did it to be normal but you’re living out a lie.

You let yourself be limited because they said you were.

You’d fill yourself with cyanide if they told you it would cure

the empty hole inside you but you did on your own.

You changed to fit society; you’ve never been so all alone.

*

When you lose your own uniqueness

to walk where sane men tread.

You’ve joined our fine society;

you’re already dead.

*

And the hunter is the hunted

in the annals of your mind.

I can’t teach you how to see;

you’re already blind.

Don’t search for true reality;

it’s something you can’t find.

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Things that Burn

A few weeks ago, I was getting C in the bath and he began to protest. “Hah! Hah!” he complained. “Hah” is C-speak for “hot” but it can mean too hot or too cold. I felt the water and it was quite cold, so I turned on the the hot water.

Within seconds, scalding water was shooting from the shower head and C was screaming. Withing microseconds, I had somehow turned the shower was off and was holding C in my arms. I rocked him and apologized (and apologized and apologized) as he cried.

After awhile, I got him to look at me and confirmed that I could get him back in the bath without calling 911 (or having him do it). I sat in the bathroom, sopping wet, soothing him and playing with him, until all was again good in his world.

I put him to bed that night, my heart awash with relief and terror of what could have been. I looked out the window at the Maxfield Parrish sunset, which – from where I sat – was the only evidence of the devastation that was burning through a valley near Boulder.

So much in life seems to come down to chance. A child is accidentally scalded by a shower head. Or he isn’t. A house burns down in a valley. Or it doesn’t. One friend dies of cancer. Another is, blessedly now deemed to be “cancer free”.

All we can do is the best we can do. Let go of the things that burn. Or hold them in your heart. And which is best? Only the burning heart can know.