Five Wounds; a strong warrior from the Nez Perce nation once shared, “Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
People don’t know how to react when I say, “It is my dream, my fantasy to pick up my house and pour it into a giant dumpster for no reason other than to free myself from collected stuff.”
But which house has more to haul away? The one built of wood and windows created by many men with hammers and roofing shingles or the single living space held together by a weathered imagination set free to run into the same face in mirror called self?
I cheated during this game by allowing these ten fingers to paint daily words onto pages; therefore I’m not forced into uncontrolled spirit sweat fighting to remember what living was like because no moment has passed that I haven’t documented. Being just as playful as I was during the kid chapters; heartedly I laugh when I sit with my daughters two children and threaten to turn their wedding day into moments where the old guy is going to rip from the waterproof boxes the chapters he had written during their terrible twos and pouty bouts when being with Mom and Dad seemed more important than exploring Charleston, a rundown nearly invisible lake with giant bugs the size of Christmas and the nearest McDonalds that always has incredible French Fries.
While cleaning out my Grandma Dobrenz’s home in Sheridan, Wyoming I swore boxes brimming with nothingness and bookshelves with chapters nobody beyond them would read wouldn’t become part of my collected dust. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I still have shirtless, no muscles or chest hairs to be found Rock n Roll photos of my wanna-be high school garage band. What I find interesting are the enormous amount of mental images I still have plastered in my thought process versus a physical snap shot taken by just anybody that stopped by because loud music is just cool when you’re a teen.
“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
Nightly I bend at the knees when Katie Couric shares stories on CBS about survivors locating simple things after being brutally attacked by Japan’s tsunami, the unheard of wreckage in the south caused by the worst string of tornadoes in forty years and the never ending reminder of what September 11, 2001 did to all of us. While materialistic carries value for your eyes, fingers and something to smell…it’s what we hold inside that termites can’t reach but reality has no problem destroying.
I don’t remember there being a class in high school that exposed late teens and budding college roomies to figure out how to seek better shelter. We made Baked Alaska in cooking not how to build a fire without matches. That’s what Boy Scouts do not rock stars. My loss…
No matter what house you choose, if you could pick it up and pour everything out…what would you be willing to let go of? Actually I’d be more afraid of what I’d find. The stuff you assumed was long beyond your current step or the one time weight that nearly took you out and damn if you didn’t just put it back on your shoulders.
How many times have you located a pill bottle and thought; I wonder if this stuff still works? Every now and then I’ll sift through my shoved into a very dark corner art work created over a decade ago and without a doubt I find pleasure in lightly rubbing my fingers across a peaked color knowing why I didn’t smooth it out. A leaf from a tree that was placed in a baggie then crushed by a larger than life book or the boutonniere my son in law war on his wedding day in Los Angeles when I sat in the back row sketching everything witnessed but I’ve never gained the confidence to share any of it with him.
I shove my stuff into my heart then give it permission to be worn on my sleeve.
“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
Does this mean we can’t get rid of what no longer carries the scent of a one time favorite perfume or cologne? When Jethro Tull came to Billings, Montana in the late 70’s they tossed a humungous air filled ball into the crowd…it took no time for that baby to explode…I still have a piece of it. Leif Garrett signed a dollar bill for me. I have an Ace Frehley of KISS guitar pick…a picture of me at 17 with my face cut and leg wrapped after being beat up badly while playing hockey.
If this is the stuff I collect on the outside…what’s being covered with dust in the opposite direction?
“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
I hold true to the self I’ve become when I admit that one of my worst mistakes was sending a giant card to ABC Watermark in Los Angeles applying for Casey Kasum’s job on American Top 40. As close as I got is nothing compared to how far I am from wanting to be what I truly set out to become. Therefore I’ve settled…and I’m not the only one.
“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
Picture postcards never fade not even in the sun and the words written on the back carry just as much impact as they did the moment your eyes convinced your heart they were meant to be read. As much as you take in everyday is the amount you should release on the other side; instead we add to it by creating shortcuts to better feelings and acceptance. My good friend Todd once said to me, “I’m glad you never discovered the incredible high drugs give to people because if you had…you’d be dead.”
“Whatever the gains, whatever the loss, they are yours.”
What’s in your house?
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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