Lost Things (LJ Idol 10: Week 0 - Introduction)
My father is not the nicest man you could meet. He has a temper, racist predilections and a fondness for a chemical high that makes regular life seem dull and lifeless. He also had a magic power that would shine out like a halo of light, attracting the lost to him in droves. In those moments, his negative qualities would diminish, and he would listen to tales of woe and tales of wonder, tales of world building and lives destroyed, tales of the human condition and tales of the god-likeness that we all share.
In those moments, he would make virtual strangers feel heard.
It's like all the shit that life put on him, and all of his poor choices, faded into insignificance. His failing marriage, his sick child, his insurmountable mountains of debt and regret disappeared. He became a living and breathing connection to the divine.
Being a small child, I could only wonder idly when the stranger at the restaurant had met my father in lives past such that he was now crying into his coffee and talking about the condition of his soul and the loss of his loves. I could only wish that my father would turn that incredible power to me, bestow it on me, give it to me and care about my life as much as he suddenly cared about this no one who just happened to sit beside him at the counter at Waffle House.
There was a power in those moments, power that I could feel like an almost electric shock run through me, over me, past me.
Twenty years and more into the future, I have long since realized that my father did give me that gift, but not in its application. He gave me that indiscernible, undefinable, red-phone connection to the powers that be, and I have watched as the lost and broken have washed up at my feet.
I know now what I didn't know then. We are all broken in our own ways. The scars of our past shape us and define us. The choices we made, the ones we left un-made. They are the road-map of our lives and they guide us to often unknown destinations.
There is power in those moments. There is adventure in those heart-to-heart conversations. The lightening rod endures a perilous existence, after all.
My friend told me it was a mutant power. My father says it's a God-gift. My heart whispers warnings while shouting encouragements and the lost turn towards me in the most unexpected moments and lift eyes to mine, words falling from their mouths as they confess their sins and beg a forgiveness that I cannot give them.
Instead, I open myself to their lessons and I try to learn who I am, what my purpose is, where I should be.
I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are all lost things.
And it's not so bad.
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.0: Introduction. There will be no voting, but it's a good chance to read and learn about the participants.
In those moments, he would make virtual strangers feel heard.
It's like all the shit that life put on him, and all of his poor choices, faded into insignificance. His failing marriage, his sick child, his insurmountable mountains of debt and regret disappeared. He became a living and breathing connection to the divine.
Being a small child, I could only wonder idly when the stranger at the restaurant had met my father in lives past such that he was now crying into his coffee and talking about the condition of his soul and the loss of his loves. I could only wish that my father would turn that incredible power to me, bestow it on me, give it to me and care about my life as much as he suddenly cared about this no one who just happened to sit beside him at the counter at Waffle House.
There was a power in those moments, power that I could feel like an almost electric shock run through me, over me, past me.
Twenty years and more into the future, I have long since realized that my father did give me that gift, but not in its application. He gave me that indiscernible, undefinable, red-phone connection to the powers that be, and I have watched as the lost and broken have washed up at my feet.
I know now what I didn't know then. We are all broken in our own ways. The scars of our past shape us and define us. The choices we made, the ones we left un-made. They are the road-map of our lives and they guide us to often unknown destinations.
There is power in those moments. There is adventure in those heart-to-heart conversations. The lightening rod endures a perilous existence, after all.
My friend told me it was a mutant power. My father says it's a God-gift. My heart whispers warnings while shouting encouragements and the lost turn towards me in the most unexpected moments and lift eyes to mine, words falling from their mouths as they confess their sins and beg a forgiveness that I cannot give them.
Instead, I open myself to their lessons and I try to learn who I am, what my purpose is, where I should be.
I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are all lost things.
And it's not so bad.
This entry was written for therealljidol 10.0: Introduction. There will be no voting, but it's a good chance to read and learn about the participants.