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Untitled: Opus Minimus No 9

CHEAP MAGIC CAN WORK. The whirlwinds inside have threatened to tear me apart. The rages of frustration and dungeons of despair; the misery of premature mourning and the emptiness of impotent hope. Uncertainty of the immediate future and being taunted by haunting memories – and wondering about the might-have-been-if-things-were-just-a-little-different. It’s like I need a reason – a reason for me. I do what I can – as limited as it is – and everyone accepts this without shame, blame or recrimination; somehow that just makes it all worse.

 

They call it emotional constipation; quite simply because everyone poops and at some point, just about everyone has – or will be – somewhat… bunged up. Not like trying to breathe through a snotty nose during a cold, but the feeling of… not waste, but excess stuff that needs to be ejected.

 

No music has done it for me.

 

No film or TV series I have on DVD has done it for me.

 

This kinda cold spot inside has grown into a lump and it’s blocking just about everything; I want it gone – need it gone.

 

A friend sent me a link on You Tube to an amazing dog rescue in America, where the dog had fallen into a frozen lake. Something tickled inside. Below this video was a list of other rescues…

 

One by one, I watch various selections, allowing myself to be led over time and space; a bit of European, some American… and usually accompanied by pretty manipulative music tracks. Schmaltz they call it, and like properly used cliches, there’s nothing wrong with it. Tale after tale of hopeless, terrified and lonely dogs – often neglected and ill, starving and injured, learning surprising quickly to trust and then bond with and adore their rescuers – and every time I see the dogs’ faces change. Every time I see that the rescued personality inside the non-human body shedding the anxieties I still feel, letting go of the pain I still go through and I weep with them for their plight to start with, then at amazement that very quickly they understand their unfolding situation even more quickly than the cleverest and most intuitive humans I’ve ever met.

 

And I allow the music to move me with these stories. I let go.

 

And I cry myself snotty and red-eyed.

 

But when the screen goes dark and I am left with myself, I feel clammy solitude crawl over my soul; for I am like any one of those dogs… seemingly a bit aggressive. Somewhat scruffy and not really approachable. Usually afraid of people, places and the next thing to happen – selfishly ignoring what the rest of the family is going through with this protracted… with Father…

 

No. That is not for now; for now, all I really wonder deep down inside – deeper than I care to admit – is if anyone will notice. And if anyone does, will they come and help? Show me they can be trusted and teach me to trust them and their word and the devices of This Life?

 

In short, Who Will Save Me?

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