I almost died when I was 15, nasty virus attacked my brain and almost killed me. Every day, I have the reminding ringing in my ear that’s annoying as hell, saying “death happens every day, I can take you at any time.” Well, I’m sick of it. Yes, I love death, I love the concept of it and I have no fear of it, in fact, I love staring it in the face, taunting it to try it again.
So, this summer, I’m going to start living again. My Evil Fraternal Twin woke me up this last winter. Struck the match that relit my fires, and I’ve been doing what I could, since, to stoke the wood to progress from smoke to actual flames. Finally, I’m being consumed by the ensuing fires.
It’s time to re-learn those little things that gave me small pleasures as a child. The sand between my toes, the branch sticking out of my foot or my brother’s during our summer game of “chinese downhill” (ask and I’ll explain) at the dunes on the Indiana side of Michigan lake. The smell of salt on the air, the numbness in my limbs from the frozen waters. I actually had a tan back then, if any of you could believe it. My Indian came out then, the wild child running through the woods of the farm, barefoot, communing with the spirits, and dark of skin. Gods, the days when I didn’t get 2cd degree burns after being outside for 15 minutes.
I will be traveling more, job will enable it, and I can homebase from the Armoury, with my Scotsman anchoring. This summer, I will jump out of a perfectly good airplane, float in the ocean, fall towards the Earthface and bounce back to the sky, learn to enjoy being in my skin. The one thing I was never comfortable with, being human.