Friday, October 9, 2009

Screws, sand, Delta Force, and a pain in my chest

When something really bothers me, I feel a burning pain somewhere between my throat and my stomach. In fact, the place is right under my sternum. Is that what people call heartburn or heartache? It's got nothing to do with my heart -- at least not in relations to "heart" as it relates to love, emotion, longing, and Valentine's Day.

No. This is just a plain 'ole physiological pain in the chest brought on by a release of some sticky or seeping chemical in some gland somewhere. Maybe in my right ear lobe.

It just serves as a reminder that things I think can create things I feel. Abstract to concrete.

Either way, I've been through a divorce for close to two years, and I know plenty of times the experience has generated an emotional mass that I just know someone could cut out like a tumor. They could mount it, like one of those prize fish in a doctor's office or display it in a clear jar of formaldehyde. "Here is an emotional tumor" -- the sign would say.

Instead, I carry it around. Sometimes it shrinks, and I think it's going away; sometimes I think that IT thinks it has a 36-year-old guy tumor attached to it. Maybe it wants to put me in a jar. But if it tries, I will assert squatter's rights. Or the unalienable rights of the creator. It came from me, not me from it. That should count for something.

I had a tire plugged today, and the repair professional took out a tiny screw from the tread. It looked like this . . .


This thing was threatening to bring all of my paternal duties to a halt in the emergency lane on the interstate. I wanted to nod victoriously against it. Or hurl something crude and instigating at its clean spiral tines (tines?).

Instead, I decided to chuck it, but not before thinking about how little items, real concrete stuff, can dismantle elaborate theories, complicated plans, and ornamental abstractions. You know what was one of the causes of the aborted Delta Force rescue mission in Iran in 1979? Sand. How small and concrete can you get?

I am telling you something, though: this tightness in my chest is not going to take me down.

1 comment:

  1. I know that you have an amazing way of writing down your feelings. I think this is the first time I've seen/ absorbed the way you digest the pain in your life. It is truly amazing and a blessing for me to see that you are looking at things in a possitive light regardless of the negative downpour that may be surrounding you. I've found that I can reciprocate to such and emotional tumor. I can also reciprocate with the ultimate truth. The tightness in your chest will not take you down. Soon, you will even learn to outgrow it. I've always been proud of the way you walk through life and still look to you as a mentor of sorts. Continued blessings, my brother.



    Manno

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