All Saints Day

Today is November 1st. All Saints Day. I was told once what the origins were… I remember the story being sad and beautiful, but I cant quite summon it up anymore. I have accidentally buried the good with the bad under years of heavy self indulgence of all shapes and sizes. Just a small sample of the casualties of this forever war.

My brother cried on a bus a few days ago. Not just any old bus either, It was a party bus. He was drunk… Hell, we all were. But I don’t feel like that was the catalyst of it. The whole thing didn’t come out of nowhere, The timing was way off, but you could sense the premeditation of it. Tears came to his eyes and he started in on me about "major life decisions", "becoming a man", and rations of other like minded shit that was far to heavy a load for any party bus to carry.

The whole thing was unusual and uncomfortable to me and I instantly reacted with anger towards the conversation…. Not so much at him or even the slight embarrassment that he caused in me.. It was more about the futility of it all….At the fact that there was nothing Him, I, or all the Saints could say or do to answer for any of what was swirling in him. Those kinds of hopeless and answerless questions strike fire inside me…and apparently water inside my brother.

So, we just sat there stewing together for different reasons that held the same hopelessness. Him, spilling all over the place trying not to drowned. Me, holding up the firewall trying not to let it spread to the rest of the party…And the wheels on the bus go round and round…round and round.

But I am (so they tell me) coming face to face with a major life event. I never looked on it as such a thing or felt like I was changing in any way. But people keep asking me if I feel like I am…They keep asking me if I am nervous or excited… And when they do I see in their eyes that they are both….and I don’t know why. Maybe my life reminds them of theirs…Reminds them of what they used to know, what they had to learn, and what they cant teach.

Me, I don’t know what I am. If I had to put a word to it I would say I feel more curious then anything. Maybe a little excited to get to the next page to see what happened next… But not overly….I like my pace. I am a slow reader. Always have been. I don’t want to miss some small taste of beauty. Those rare happy accidents…Those small hiding miracles that so many people miss because they are all rushing around selfishly emotional and spiritually baffled….Its the small things that keep the little light inside me fueled. It is the thing that makes me…Me.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am ready because I never had to ask "why?". It simple never occurred to me… And the next time someone asks me how I feel, I will smile confidently, look them in the eye and tell them so. Maybe then they will stop being so nervous…For me or themselves. Maybe then my brother will realise that there is no how..Or why….Only doors. Lots of doors., and you cant stand in the hallway wasting all your time asking what one to walk through… Sooner or later you just got to take a deep breath and kick one of the fuckers down…Then walk in and face whatever lives there….Like a man.