I’ve spent my life being mindful of the seconds before the trigger pulls.
Those moments time tenses up and reality braces for insanities impact are the moments that need the most attention.
And even habits born from fear, instinct and design can miss those moments and good things are blown from reality, replaced by broken things that good things need to mend.
Helping the mind be in the moment before second chances are but a seconds request is a time keepers only duty at best for if they fail their duties, sanity becomes nothing more than expectations jest.
Sanity as it seems is entirely compromised by those whom choose to participate in the keeping of the watch, what seconds deserve to be seen, deleted or cleaned.
Even more reason to slow down the ticking of the clock, the picking of the talk that ticks in so many.
Between the tocks following the ticks, silence doesn’t stand but trips, slipping in front of those whom pay attention.
Those whom do not stop its stumble loose their grip and tumble, slipping upon what silence trips, the wasted opportunity to notice what falls between the ticks.
Of what moment does sanity occupy before the rip, the tear that comes from not noticing silence slip.
The surreal silence of insanity snaps with the tock of last seconds tick, the clock only forward lets sanity slip.
Between the seconds is the trick, the discipline before the tick.
There are moments between the seconds of reaction and action.
If your mindful, you’ll notice those moments.
Make those moments count.
(sureality is not a real word, just like my symptoms are not my reality)
A PTSD survivor for over four decades, survive seems to be the word that keeps you alive. And survival is kept within the seconds and the moments you keep those seconds kept.
In the past few decades, long after I had become a husband and father my symptoms intensified and I struggled. Because I had not yet even stumbled across the proper tools to deal with my health, I took all the necessary precautuions.
Cheap Canadian whiskey and the small circles of thought a traumatic brain spins upon itself.
See, I have these pre-existing conditions that keep me mindful of those moments seconds keep.
There is solace is honesty, vulnerability brings upon the comfort of courage that is a warm relief in a reality ever fearful of insanities seconds.
I empower myself with the honesty of what is known, those answers lead me through the unknown and by wielding vulnerabilities sword it cannot be wielded against me.
Speaking old truths so that new ones can heard.
My grandfather broke my father and my father broke me.
However, generational trauma and the curse it carries is but one front in a perfect storm.
The curse carried is but a variant, a black sheep amongst wise wolves that revive dead forest.
My grandfathers violent traditions although well kept for a generation were rejected and this generation is the prototype for change.
Heredity aside and its ill thanksgivings a childs traumatic brain has only a few options for freedom in an ever present arrested state.
Creativity, Grace and Mischief
These three amigos kept me within the seconds well enough until my third decade.
Too much of the third mixed with a lot of the first and God hit me with a utility truck to bring upon the second in 2008.
Traumatic brains, Heredity and Traumatic Brain Injuries are stooges, the slapsticks that want nothing but seconds to slip and stipulations to trip.
And here I stand with a time piece in hand staring at the stooges and what seconds they demand.
A battle born unto me, the seconds are my legacy.
If I can just be strong enough to keep these moments mindful and bind the seconds from the mindless.