When the angels stood watch over the remains of your name

"...I think I forgot how to hear the voice of God."

Before I continue on, if you think you might be offended by talk of religion, God, and suicide, please don't travel with me any further. We are not going to pull any punches tonight.

Ok. Deep breath. Here we go.

"I think I forgot how to hear the voice of God", he says to himself often. Usually around the time he imagines a gun in his mouth. He imagines this not out of some personal pity party or plea for attention, but just because it would be quiet, and he wouldn't have to worry as much any more. He wouldn't feel like such a sniveling and helpless burden. Wants to be the protector, the Guardian of Light & Love for his family, not the annoyance whose heart won't stop beating so damn hard all the time, and who (at the worst of times) feels like he has already lost the things closest to him. He knows he hasn't, which means the end must be on the way.

Don't want to be a burden. Enter the shiny gun.
Don't want to cause pain to his loved ones. The gun in his mind is unloaded.
Standoff.

Hell of a predicament for a guy who is just trying to find Purpose. Contentment. Peace. God.
Sometimes he believes in Hell more than he does in Heaven.
Rephrase that. Sometimes he believes he more likely Has A Place in Hell than he ever could in a place where he would be at peace.

Probably think we are talking about me, aren't you? Maybe we are.
Maybe we are talking about many of us,
Maybe I am talking about the childhood friend
That took his own life before he truly had a chance to shine.
Maybe we are talking about the musical friend who recently took his own life.
Did they feel this way? Were they just wondering where the hell the Divine had gone?

Maybe they too got sick of the scientific babbling while trying to glean the traces of Creation from under a microscope?

God isn't there.

Maybe they became tired of all of the Mysteries being "debunked" by some self-righteous "enlightened" bullshitter who decided those of Faith are weak, and that the path to Truth is through the worship of science, "facts", Facebook, and Wikipedia. Analyze, study harder, and ignore your heart. Truth is found within solutions and mixtures.

The Divine cannot be found within a petri dish.
God is not an alchemist.

But He seems to be quiet these days.

An old man told me once that there is no one more dangerous than someone who believes in nothing but themselves. There is nothing for them to lose or gain.

I have always been afraid of religion. I have been even more afraid to find God.
I don't know if my God is your God.
I don't know if they would get along.
I don't know if your God would beat up my God.
I don't know if they would get along well enough to pick out matching silverware without fighting.

I don't know... but I am scared I will never find His (or Her) Voice.
I am scared I will be left alone in the dark, no sound in the hollows of my insides but
The loud boom
and then silence before one of my attacks; like the quiet that quickly follows a massive explosion.
It is eerily quiet for a split second, terrible beauty,
Before
All sound
is amplified
ten fold
And all I hear are the gnashing teeth and grisly lies these demons scream at me as they latch onto my back and tear the best things from me.

I want to feel safe. I want to hear that Heaven was proud of me today for trying my damn best to be a great father and even better husband.
I want to leave the dark spaces and know that God is watching, and that there is a voice inside that speaks Truth. A voice that is unclouded and unfettered by science and fact, but lives in the realm of heart, a place of implausible but true, of faith beyond reasoning.

I am afraid of these things. I fear drinking just as much. I fear dying even more.

I just want to remember how to hear God's plan, and know that those that came before didn't leave blood on the sand for nothing, that it was ok, and that they are doing something better now. They are angels of the highest order looking out for the powerless and unloved. I want to know that no one is truly unloved, that no one was ever left behind, and that when I wake up in the morning those nasty little things eating my happiest moments won't be there... they will have moved on for something more palatable, and less Light.

No one wants to be left in that dark place with themselves.

I look at my family, and realize that I see a glimpse of the good that God can create.
I treasure it. I cherish it. I honor it.

..but I don't know how to listen for his Voice, and I miss it.

why do your hands fall (relaxed) to their sides when the heavens speak your name...

There is something small inside of me.
It is a quiet little thing, delicate lace roped around simple memories, smiles. Sunlight.

A tiny little thing waiting to be born, maybe inching it's way slowly out, curiously looking back and forth.
Getting frightened by
the harsh light
and rushing back to it's hiding place. It is too loud and scary out in the real world.
Better off in here,
safely snuggled in my imagination,
where light is always warm, honesty is the only accepted currency, and the good guys will always win.

The dreamers were supposed to inherit the Earth.
Using weapons forged of truth, compassion, creativity, and love,
We were supposed to change things.

I believed one day we would win.

The good guys are always supposed to win.
That quiet little thing inside reminds me of this.
It always reminds me.

I like this little piece of me. I have to strain hard to hear it's plaintive and pleading voice from somewhere deep in my chest.
It gets harder to hear in the stark light of morning, and when the angry things inside have their say.
Little Voice has a name.

At one time it was called Innocence.

... but the good guys don't always win, do they.
Sometimes they do battle for as long as they can,
and then they break.

When the Kings and Queens of Idealism fell in battle
I always imagined the Earth would shake in uncontrollable sobs and heaving sighs.

..but sometimes it is worse. Sometimes there is
no sound
at
all.

Instead of honoring those who championed for a better place with tales and songs of remembrance
there is just quiet.
another one is forgotten.

A light goes out.

Hopefully someone noticed.

My little voice reminds me of a good friend.
Haven't seen him in a few years.
He is a little like me.

As kids,
many soft lit afternoons were spent building a friendship over Nintendo games and
chef salad.
Our worries revolved around getting to the next level in Contra.
There was a lot of laughter back then.

We got older.

We were part of a ragtag band who rode
fearlessly on the backs of their dreams.

We spoke of our futures.
True loves and honest, wholesome families.
Families that didn't fight.
Lovers who loved only us.
We would make our dreams come true with our professions. We were the creative ones.
We were just waiting for life to begin.

We got older.
Something happened.
It was ok, though.
We were still waiting for our real lives to begin.

It was just around the next corner.
We could feel it.

Things happened.
Events unfolded that didn't resemble our fantasies.
I became self-destructive, wallowing in dirty chemical experiences
and becoming more and more familiar with the opposite sex.
It's funny.
I worried less when I was hell bent on hurting myself.

This isn't what I wanted.

This isn't what my friend wanted.

We wanted warm light, and wives who wrap their love around us unconditionally.
Not just until the more interesting or exciting prospect came around.

It was ok, though.
Our dream lives were coming soon.
We were going to be Uncles to each other's kids.

We got older.
One of us gave up. One of us didn't.
I am not sure which is which.
I was always better at playing the game.

He was always the better person, though.

My little voice reminds me it is still there, whispering so softly to me.
It tells me that my dream life is here, but I have forgotten how to see it.
Little voice tells me it is ok to relax. it is ok to rest.
It is ok to be happy this time.

it isn't going to be like those other times.
and if it is then so be it.
you have come this far. Don't give up quite yet.

There is nothing to fear. Everything you ever wanted is right in front of you.
Accept that. Enjoy it.
You are not those that came before you.
You never stopped fighting, even when those closest to you fell in battle,
Sometimes even by their own hand.

That is ok.
They did what they could.
They are at rest. Let those ghosts be.

..but that little voice reminds me to look around.
Open your eyes.

Just breathe for a little while.
It is going to be ok.

...tiny little needles, tiny little deeds

I know someone.

He is kind. Smiles a lot. Has a lovely family. Wonderful family. He is told he is the envy of many.
He believes it. He knows he is blessed. He cherishes them.

He has a secret.
His smiles are fabricated. He sprays it on most mornings like hairspray on parched lips.
It isn't that he is lying about this beautiful life.
He knows happiness is there. No one has done anything wrong.
He just can't feel it sometimes. Can't feel much outside of his tired skin.

But his secret is big. Only a few of us know about it.
Most of us don't really even understand it.
Some of us think it is just in his head. He can shrug it off. Think pleasant thoughts. Meditate and think about good vibrations until the sky no longer looks like it is on fire.
He sees only a blaze caused by his unintended deeds, good intentions turned to dust. That may not be true. It is just how the salt of unshed tears tastes in his mouth every time he thinks he ruined something lovely.

Seems self-absorbed, doesn't he? I don't think he is.
It is his secret.
He thinks it might be killing him.
Sometimes in the early morning he thinks about whether he should take care of it. Get him before it does.
It is a selfish thought, but maybe then his insides wouldn't demand that he listen to their filthy, maggoty whispers. Maybe it would be quiet again.

The secret is a condition. Mental, chemical. Frightening.
It is a potent cocktail of an extreme panic disorder blended slowly and poured over some sort of depression.
He told me he wants to be happy. He knows he should feel it. He feels grateful...

when he doesn't feel
angry.
melancholy.
frightened.

He hears from all of us that he used to be more fun, more friendly.
Sometimes he still is. He fakes it. Wants those that love him to remain loving him.

He is screaming inside. He doesn't even know why.
He wants to grieve for things that happened. Never got a chance to.

Loves his wife. She wants him to open up.
She really wouldn't want to see inside.
But, he trusts her. He gives her a tiny, tiny little peek into the things he no longer knows how to tame. 

They end up arguing.
He tries to talk to her, and then FEAR. FEAR is all he thinks, all he experiences in this tiny moment.
No coherent thoughts allowed right now. His emotions speak in loud voices that are not his own.
This is not him.
He tries to explain. FEAR. JEALOUSY. this is not him, he says.
ANGER. FEAR. 
She is frustrated. Understandably so. It is too much. He knows that. No blame aimed at anyone but himself.
SADNESS. ..damn it, not again. Not this feeling. He can't think clearly.
This isn't him. Not who he really is. Not how he really feels. It is the little monster in his panic-filled belly that he considered cutting out the other day. It is hungry. His secret needs to be fed. He is not supposed to feel peace of mind while it is awake.

It was easier when he used to drink. He could numb himself.
There was no more FEAR ANGER ANXIETY MELANCHOLY
Just the endless nights spent vomiting his future away...
but it was quiet.

He can feel the sound of the traffic outside on his skin.
He can taste the color of his own disappointment on his lips.

When he gets like this his senses don't make as much sense to him.
They are amplified ten-fold, but.. wrong somehow.

His secret demands attention. Wants all of his focus. It has time for nothing else. It is hungry.


He wants peace inside himself, in his home.
He is getting help. He tells me he is hopeful. I pray for him. He needs rest.

Says he's really tired, and is just trying to hold on to the little bit he has left inside that hasn't gone to rot.
He knows that to keep the peace he needs to hide inside himself again until he can get better. Can't really share what his loved ones think they want him to. He knows better. Been down that path. Doesn't want to lose his family like he has lost before. He says he can hide. he is good at hiding. He can be happy shadow and try and ignore the demons that speak in his ears and tell him terrible things that at calmer moments he knows aren't true.

He will just smile, he says. Starts to cry a little. 
Just smile.


I don't know if he is right.
but I will pray for him.

I will always pray.