Thursday, January 26, 2012

The Sting of a Bee

There's a lot of stress whirling around in the air these days, and most of us are just sucking it in, allowing its evils to penetrate the fragile walls of our inner self as we are eaten away, bit by bit, like the last piece of cold pizza.  And for most of us, this stress will probably never ever go away, but merely hover among us like the moon and the stars, taunting us with its very existence.  But for me, I've found an interesting way to deal with some of the worst of what life has to offer.  It's a small dose of cerebral trickery that has helped me through some of the roughest of days.

Bee Stings

Alright, this is going to hurt just a little.  Think of one of those times that you felt like somebody had literally punched you in the gut.  Maybe it was a moment you had been anticipating for a long time, or maybe you never saw it coming.  Nonetheless, think about how much it hurt, and compare that pain to the sting of a bee.   How much did that moment sting your heart, your body, your mind, your soul?  How powerful were the motives and the people behind it; how big was the bee?  Was it a mere yellow jacket whose looming havoc could just as easily been flicked away with the tip of one's finger?  Or was its wrath more like that of a Queen Bee's?   So wicked, so venomous, so horrid, that its quick injection into your veins caused every fiber of your being to convulse with the greatest pain of your life.  

Alright, so now that you've identified the size of the bee and all the darkness hiding within its putrid pockets of pollen, it's now time to figure out just how you're going to pull its nasty stinger out.  A stinger that just loves to sit there jammed into your tender epidermis, making all around it bulge like a pus filled balloon.  You can of course do nothing at all, exposing the stinger, and the pain it emits, to those unfortunate souls all around you.  Forcing the world to watch as you wallow in your own self-pity, vomiting a clear liquid of misery and self-absorption until the stinger has completely festered up and become so infected, that you are no longer even a fraction of the "wonderful" person you once believed you were.

Or, you can grow some balls (or a vagina as Betty White likes to say "those things take a pounding")  and find the courage within yourself to empower your mind and body, so that you may fill up with just enough strength to begin the long game of tug of war you're going to have to have with this ghastly stinger.   And depending on how deep it is, you may even need to enlist a few gracious friends to help on your side of the rope, hauling and heaving that God damned thing until the force of its ultimate removal leaves permanent burn marks all over your hands.

So it's gone.  Now what?  All is well again?  Nope.  It's healing time.  Time to figure out just how long you are going to let this SOB's poison run a muck through your thoughts.  How long until you've stabbed its demons directly in their hearts with your remedial dagger.  Because before you know it, as you become stronger with every passing day, this former mountain of reddening swell that once dwelled upon your inner strength, will slowly begin to lower its flags, and disappear into that small room in the back of your brain where life's lessons spend their remaining days.  And it all ties in with my belief that the way we deal with the problems in our lives is directly connected to how happy or sad we ultimately will be.  Because if you really think about it, all any of our problems really come down to is how they affect us in the long haul.   

And please always remember that you will most likely be stung by many a bee in your lifetime.  Some will be quite powerful, while others will just be power-hungry.  But the one thing to always keep in mind, is that in most cases, when a bee stings you, no matter who they are or who they think they are,  they will usually crumble onto the sidewalk at some point after the sting, leaving your better self to walk right over them, as you hear the beautiful crackle of their hollow carcass, crumbling beneath your humble shoes.


Thursday, January 12, 2012

Splitting a Candy Bar

Our daily lives are cluttered with countless objects, some holding strong sentimental value, while others just seem to float around like specs of dust, merely there to satisfy our selfish, fleeting needs.  But sadly, most of these possessions and their attached memories will be ultimately forgotten through the passage of time, as the hope chests within our minds are continually filled with newer and newer objects, leaving less and less space for those older things that had once rang so true to our past selves.  But for me, there will always be one item in particular that I can honestly say has helped shape my life.  A thing so special it's been strapped securely to the cliffs of my memory banks, so it may not fall victim to the rapid river below.  A river so fierce, that it's forever determined to destroy all that is beautiful, as it drags life's most faded memories away from all recollection. 

And the reason this item has been so life changing for me, can be related to the simple act of arguing and how it affects each and every one of our lives.  If it be a dozen bloodthirsty texts sent and received over misinterpreted frowny faces, or a brutal duel between two overly sharpened tongues, no matter how or why a heated moment occurs, all that truly matters in the end, is the end.  A nasty fight with an even nastier conclusion has the power to shatter the bonds of even the closest of people, potentially to the point of no return.

And that is why my father would always try his hardest to end the most terrible of arguments on the happiest of terms.  Each time stopping, softly smiling, and then asking if we wanted to split a Hershey's candy bar. And at that moment, I'd always find it strange how such a simple gesture could take away so much anger, and in turn, create the kind of honest happiness normally lost within the tribulations of life.  I'd then simply nod and give him a smile back, as he'd break the bar in half, making everything right in the world once again.  

And all these years later as I think back on my happy childhood and the strong bond I still share with my dad, I realize how things could have gone quite differently and am grateful everyday for his immense wisdom.  And I can only hope that someday my own children will find my father's tradition as magical as I did, realizing that its true meaning goes well beyond a sweet and sugary coating.