Jonathan's POZ Blog

There is magic in this world.

There is beauty and hope and splendor. There are enchantments, magnificent deceptions. There are places to meet your birth, and your death. There are truly marvels, if we are open to recognizing and accepting them.

I know this. It’s not a matter of faith, but of experience and concrete knowledge.

As I feel my own winter bearing down on me, I am grateful for the opportunity to be a human, to walk this road for awhile. Though I veered far from my initial path (and to be fair, veered from many paths which followed) I have had an adventure, and maybe even learned some stuff I can take with me, to wherever’s next. I would not venture to say I am wise (though perhaps wiser than before, whatever that means). But I’ve seen a lot, and tasted a lot, and felt the crunch of summer grass beneath my feet. I’ve held the powdery miracle of snow between stinging hands, and kissed lips hot with desire. All in all, not too many regrets.

More time, I suppose. Would have liked to have had more time. But who doesn’t say that? My own father, on his deathbed, wanted just a little more time, one more kiss from my Mom, one more moment on this side of the vast river.

I woke up this evening, from another full night and day of sleeping, of saturating my mattress with sweat and thrashing with fever. And after a while, the fever broke, and the sickness subsided for a moment. And I felt, enough to finally think the thoughts in full, that my time here is coming to a slow close. That my days of walking this path are numbered, and that it’s ok.

Seriously, it’s ok.

More time? Yeah, would have liked that. More healthy time, if I can be specific.

My doctor wants to keep me alive. I want to live. Those are becoming disparate goals, I suspect. These last few months of meds, of pneumonia, of toxic chemicals and their repercussions, have forced me to re-examine all the decisions I have made, and made me choose my fights far more carefully.

I choose not to fight for my existence right now. And maybe not again. A life of pain is frustrating. A life of invalidism is depressing. Sensing, dimply a world passing underneath my prone body, in which I am no longer relevant nor participating, I have chosen not to struggle so hard to simply stay. Not for it’s own sake.

I have outlived so many friends. And I have outlived so many incarnations of myself, if that makes any sense. I have outlived my relevance, I think, and my ability to strap on the silver armor. And that’s ok. Because it’s something most people do, if they live long enough. I am alive today, and I celebrate that. Celebrate it more for these precious and dwindling moments when there is no fever, no burning eyes and foggy brain, no unpredictable and insistent intestinal trauma, and no haze of pain.

I feel as though my fevers have burned away something that kept me from clarity. Something protective maybe, something necessary for one with both feet firmly planted on this plane of existence. And what is left seems oddly raw, exposed, and ill-suited for survival as we recklessly define it. There is something else, and I feel I am moving towards it with the slow surety of any particle of matter drawn towards a singularity.

I could have written more, and drank less. I could have loved more wisely, and not so much. I could have kissed fewer lips with more conviction. I could have sent more greeting cards. I could have fought fewer useless battles, and more relevant ones. I could have spent less time in the snare of fear, and more time at the beach. I could have wasted more time in better ways.

This has been a great ride, and I am aware I am closer to it’s end than it’s beginning. Though nostalgia and regret make me sad sometimes, it’s the bittersweet sadness of a party well attended, if only half-remembered. I refuse to discount that, to deny the truth my body and soul tell me every time I leave the comfort of dark sleep.

The last few months I have dreamed of my family, including my dead father, quite often. Last night, I was tending my ferrets in my sleep. All of them, those who died in my arms and those still slumbering in the other room. The easy mixture of the dead and the living does not escape my attention, and I know the recesses of my primitive brain is telling me something important. I am passing from one state of mind, perhaps from one state of being, to another. And I am ok with that. It’s as natural as the snow, and as miraculous. It is as normal as the passing of seasons, and as relentlessly magical as the turning to leaves from green to orange.

Fall seems to be heading to winter for me. As it’s supposed to. As it does, for everyone and everything we know and love. Whatever else happens, I know I will not be alone, on this side of the river or the next. To say that is a comfort is a gross understatement. I do not think my dreams are lies. I do not think my love is wasted.

I am recording this because people have asked if I am OK. And thing is, yeah, I am. I’m sick. Might be dying. But I am fundamentally ok, if a little wistful and sad sometimes.

Though I have placed a moratorium on buying any new DVDs (thanks to Netflix) I made an exception when the special edition of "The Last Unicorn" came out this month. It's a movie I highly recommend, and not particularly for kids. The theme song includes the following lyrics:

When the first breath of winter/through the flowers is icing
And you look to the north/ and a pale mooon is rising
And it seems like all is dying/ and would leave the world to mourn
In the distance, hear the laughter/ of the last unicorn
I'm alive