Sing.
Migrate.
Sing about what? Migrate to where? I'm not going anywhere.
...
The above was a melodramatic post that I wrote but didn't publish months ago. I look past it whenever I post a new blog, but can't find it in me to delete it. Why? Because at the time, it was a real feeling that I was afraid to put into the world. It wasn't because I believed I would feel differently, but because of all of the people I have preached hope to. The hope exists, but at the time everything was blurry. It's still blurry, but I can drive.
When I was a kid, we would go to this church three or four nights a week and my mom would practice her songs or her skits with her friend. Me and Jason would occupy our world in whatever way made sense. We were and are very different people, but would find ourselves in the same building over and over. I'm not really sure what he did with his time...he was more of a loner. I would explore every dank, wooden crevice of that building. There is this certain smell of old Bibles and felt paper whenever you enter an old person's church.
This one night, I was in the basement searching for something interesting among all of these boring books when the lights went out. I was alone in the basement of an old wooden building as a 7 year old. I rushed to what I thought was the door and ran face first into something old, creaky, and wooden. I got something in my eye. I started to panic. I didn't know which way was out and I couldn't see anything beyond the blur that the tears were bringing. I shouted and got no answer. I shouted more and got only my own echo off of the wooden lecterns.
Life was doomed.
I used my hands and crawled my way to an opening which led to stairs, then out into ear shot of my mother who was talking to her friend. She got me in the car in hysterics and taught me this trick to getting things out of your eyes. She sat me on the passenger seat of our old duct taped conversion van and looked into my teary eyes. She taught me to pull your upper eye lid over your bottom. If it was just and eyelash, the problem would be solved. If it wasn't the tears would drive out the beast. It was an eyelash.
I won't forget that moment because of the feeling of being completely alone and in the dark. I felt that again when I wrote the words above. What I wasn't thinking of was that I found my way out of that dark wooden basement and to the safety of my mother. I think I remember a lot of terrible moments and focus on them without focusing on the way out. I guess right now I'm feeling my way to safety. That's a comforting feeling because I know safety is within earshot.
Sing.
Migrate.
