Big Bear
12-11-2008, 03:29 PM
It was just...well...everything always seemed wrong to him.
Not just the way someone would talk but their very face as they said it.
It wasn't just the impatience of waiting in line,but peoples countenances that bothered him.
In truth he hated everyone.
Many nights were spent writing as he was a critic for a local newspaper. There was not an issue under the sun that did not escape his angry focused eye.In fact many times he imagined being the proverbial child with the magnifying glass,slanting the suns rays to burst into flames anything it contacted.In his self-righteousness he loved to see people burn.He loved to see silly aspirations and dreams quiver under his glance.In fact he had destroyed what he considered ridiculous claims at a profession for many aspiring artists,cooks,club owners,etc...
In his loathing,he silently feared one thing more than any.'What would happen if people found that he was a fake'?'What would happen if they could actually reciprocate in the one-sided communication pattern he had established as a critic.''God forbid what would happen if he actually met one of these cretons"?
It kept him up late in the night.To dispell the horrible dreams he drank heavily.In the morning he awoke with a deeper hatred,and the process would start all over again.
One day,as he awoke,there was something quit wrong with him.He had intense pain in his abdomen,and he sweated profusely.He could not spit out venom that day,so he sat with the venom within.He suddenly realized as he writhed in agony,he had absolutely noone to call.He had long ago burned bridges with family and friends with his sharp,relentless tongue.For the life of him he could not think of one person that would respond to his distress.
Finally before he slipped into unconsciousness,he called 911.
He awoke with a start.He was not in his own bed.An IV protruded from his arm.His abdomen was on fire.
As he acclimated to the hospital room he noted an elderly man staring at him.'What the *&^% do you want',the elderly man seeing his pain pressed his own nurse button and soon was talking with the attendant nurse.Something went in the critics arm,and darkness yet again.
I will not bore you with the rest of the story.This elderly man was one of those angels we run into from time to time.He was effortless in his loving kindness to the bitter man.When the critic finally died two weeks later,the outside world perhaps might have not noticed a change with this man.Reading the obituary many still carried bitter feelings towards him.They were not privy to a fundamental change.
In essense the critic was lucky.It is rare that one can with intervention re-assess ones life.It is a rare gift indeed to see the night of our discontent,to recognize all the elements of this night and then gradually accept that once again through deligence and love,the dawn again will come(this,all he gained from our elderly friend).
And what of our elderly angel? Some would say that his task was pretty unremarkable,but I tell you as they pulled the IV from the critics arm and covered his face,the astonished nurse's saw a smile etched softly on his hard angular face.Does a miracle have to be any more than this?....
peace,
jason
Not just the way someone would talk but their very face as they said it.
It wasn't just the impatience of waiting in line,but peoples countenances that bothered him.
In truth he hated everyone.
Many nights were spent writing as he was a critic for a local newspaper. There was not an issue under the sun that did not escape his angry focused eye.In fact many times he imagined being the proverbial child with the magnifying glass,slanting the suns rays to burst into flames anything it contacted.In his self-righteousness he loved to see people burn.He loved to see silly aspirations and dreams quiver under his glance.In fact he had destroyed what he considered ridiculous claims at a profession for many aspiring artists,cooks,club owners,etc...
In his loathing,he silently feared one thing more than any.'What would happen if people found that he was a fake'?'What would happen if they could actually reciprocate in the one-sided communication pattern he had established as a critic.''God forbid what would happen if he actually met one of these cretons"?
It kept him up late in the night.To dispell the horrible dreams he drank heavily.In the morning he awoke with a deeper hatred,and the process would start all over again.
One day,as he awoke,there was something quit wrong with him.He had intense pain in his abdomen,and he sweated profusely.He could not spit out venom that day,so he sat with the venom within.He suddenly realized as he writhed in agony,he had absolutely noone to call.He had long ago burned bridges with family and friends with his sharp,relentless tongue.For the life of him he could not think of one person that would respond to his distress.
Finally before he slipped into unconsciousness,he called 911.
He awoke with a start.He was not in his own bed.An IV protruded from his arm.His abdomen was on fire.
As he acclimated to the hospital room he noted an elderly man staring at him.'What the *&^% do you want',the elderly man seeing his pain pressed his own nurse button and soon was talking with the attendant nurse.Something went in the critics arm,and darkness yet again.
I will not bore you with the rest of the story.This elderly man was one of those angels we run into from time to time.He was effortless in his loving kindness to the bitter man.When the critic finally died two weeks later,the outside world perhaps might have not noticed a change with this man.Reading the obituary many still carried bitter feelings towards him.They were not privy to a fundamental change.
In essense the critic was lucky.It is rare that one can with intervention re-assess ones life.It is a rare gift indeed to see the night of our discontent,to recognize all the elements of this night and then gradually accept that once again through deligence and love,the dawn again will come(this,all he gained from our elderly friend).
And what of our elderly angel? Some would say that his task was pretty unremarkable,but I tell you as they pulled the IV from the critics arm and covered his face,the astonished nurse's saw a smile etched softly on his hard angular face.Does a miracle have to be any more than this?....
peace,
jason