John Denver
Some Days Are Diamonds

Some days are diamonds, some days are stone.
Some times the hard times won’t leave me alone.
Some times the cold winds blow a chill in my bones.
Some days are diamonds, some days are stone.

Went out by Fontana Lake today to sit awhile. I’m wanting to get some pictures of eagles and people keep telling me a couple are nesting out along the cliffs; but it is a big lake. I sat on the edge of the lake for a while, watching the sky, but mostly trying to clear my mind, and put some discipline on my run-away thoughts. I keep running the lines of the John Denver song and remembering that to have balance, two opposing forces will exist. Trouble is that sometimes the scales tilt so far to one side it is hard to remember what balance or even the other side looks like. Seeing eagles would be a welcome distraction, but today, I am sentenced to deal with the thoughts in my head.

While I saw no eagles, Fontana Lake did speak to me when I centered long enough to listen.

Lake water kisses,
Softly along the shoreline,
Gentle this balance.

I found myself thinking of when I was in the third grade and living in Louisville, Kentucky. My mother, her husband, my sister and I lived in a one-bedroom, second floor, rowhouse apartment in the inner-city. I had a friend named Miles and he and I spent as much time as possible running around outside. There was no real play area so we would roam the streets and alleys; except for when we played at the construction site.

The construction site was huge. It was the excavation of the land that would become Interstate 65, running through the city. Oh, and what a playground it was for two active boys. There was dirt everywhere and I mean everywhere. There were holes to explore. There were paths to layout. There were plenty of places to hide and places to just hang out and talk. Since it was summer and the days were long, we played there mostly in the evenings and on the weekends. There was never anyone around, so we were never disturbed or run off. It was our kingdom, our refuge from the things kids should not have to endure in their life, and yet they do.

One day as evening was coming on, we were digging “caves” in the side of one of the slopes of a giant hole. The slope we were working was on a 50º incline and probably a good 35 foot in length. Miles was working on his “cave” while a few feet away I was digging mine. It was getting dark and we needed to finish, as getting dark was the call that it was time to go home. I was reaching into my “cave”, digging with my hands, like a dog does with his paws, when it collapsed on me. I was terrified. I thought I was going to die. The weight of the dirt was like lead moulding itself to the contour of my body. I could not breathe in and I panicked, which of course feed the terror. Miles did not panic. He did not run. He started digging me out with his bare hands. After a some work, he set me free. He was a true and unsung hero that day. This was the first time I experienced just how sweet the air is when you have been saved from death. Don’t know what happened to Miles as we moved at the end of the summer, but I will never forget him.

We sat for a while and talked. I never told my mother about this incident as I was afraid she would not let me play there any more. I have never lost that memory as that episode imprinted two values in my mind that have followed me to this day. The first is I don’t give up on friends, ever. The second is a type of claustrophobia that at times triggers extremely irrational thoughts and feelings. They manifest in the form of being trapped or not being able to breathe. Both have been burdensome at times.

I have held onto friendships when I should have let go. Looking back, I can see the times I went way pass any reasonable point of friendship, trying to have faith that all would be okay, or that all would work out well. With hindsight, I think that on these occasions I was either trying to save someone who was past the point or lacked the willingness to being saved, and I was unwilling to accept that they were past that point. As for the claustrophobia, I cannot stand small, dark, tight places. I feel as if I am coming out of my skin. I cannot breathe. I feel as if I am being crushed. Things begin to seem dark. Along the same lines and on a more curious note, I can manage to get that way psychologically as well.

I can find myself feeling psychologically trapped at times. Something will happen and that trigger is released. My breathing seems forced. I feel a weight, like the dirt that caved in on me, pressing on my body and mind. My vision gets tunneled and I feel urges to swing my arms and fight my way out. The oddest thing about it is the fact that I understand it completely. I know what it is and what to do to get out of the feeling. I know how to get to safe ground, and yet the feelings still come; but gratefully not often.

One of the reasons I like being able to go to the woods is to feel the freedom of the open space and be able to really breathe. No traffic and a scarce amount of people. That is why I found myself at Fontana Lake. Feeling trapped by my desires, my wants, my neurotic feelings and irrational fears. Needing perspective to know myself, in the scheme of the world where I exist and deal with others.

Saying a prayer
While the breeze kisses both cheeks
Caresses exchanged.