“Now there’s ghosts along the highways
And there’s storms out on the seas
My only hope is somewhere in that heaven
Some one is saying a prayer for me
I been ridin’ stone blind horses
Never seeing a reason to believe
Hey sweet Genevieve say a prayer for me
The wild young cowboys, old drunks, paramours and thieves”
—-Ray Wylie Hubbard, “Stone Blind Horses”
When you were a rock, at the cryogenic moment you sensed your immortality what could you know?
Did you see it coming? The growing reaching shadow. The smut-black shade. The narrowing lightless margin of your unchosen world.
Did you hear the growing silence created by the rushed voices phrasing an indecipherable new language as your space moved off-center?
Did you feel the creep in the room? The silent floating, then slinking, then lightly scratching, effortlessly encroaching inevitable behind your back approach.
Did you touch the stretching hardening inelastic distance from the then to the now?
Did the smell of loss find you unprepared? Malodorous, old-weight imposing unsurvivable thickness to your air?
Did the taste shock you? Bitter, uplifting, alien to your palette, non-lethal but final.
It always comes, bringing the second cryogenic moment and the reality that you are not a rock. That damned human thing!
- The value of time
- The success of perseverance
- The pleasure of working
- The dignity of simplicity
- The worth of character
- The power of kindness
- The influence of example
- The obligation of duty
- The wisdom of economy
- The virtue of patience
- The improvement of talent
- The joy of originating
“The Trainer’s Daily Dozen”, from D. Wayne Lukas
“He had entered by then the broad, human path of inconsistencies.”
― Joseph Conrad, Victory