Thursday, July 14, 2016

Do you carry the fire?

Thought shot faster than my fingers are able to type them. Thoughts, multiple strands of them, often unrelated to one another found themselves intertwined with one another and again faster than my poor fingers can ever keep up with. The price to pay for living in this day and age. I wonder how it will be for the Son later on. Micro milli parsecs, faster than thought flight. Will our physiology be able to keep up? Will our muscles, our limbs then athrophy for want of use? Might we be then just mere head in a jar with shriveled body? Homo Craniumus? My God, the possibilities are never ending. Then there are also the possibility of a planet-wide catastrophy, global pandemic, nuclear holocaust, accidental black hole at CERN, or whatever. Mankind have excellent record of shooting itself in the foot.

Forgive me. Forgive me.

The arrival of the Son some two months ago amped up the paranoia in me. The slightest negative progression of events be it local or world in scope warrants a nervous reaction in me. Brexit, Daesh, Donald fuckin Trump or whatever. All i see the need to be prepared for the worse. The primeval instinct in me now switched on and it said this: Protect the tribe. The female and the offspring must survive. I now truly know the meaning of the heart skipping a beat. I worry. I worry far too much. Over too many things.

Happy, of course i am happy. God willing i have a boy who i hope will grow up to be a better person than in i am now or ever will be. Someone to carry on the blood and legacy of my ancestors and someone i pray, to be the one who would keep my grave perpetually lit when all else is dark.

God knows the things i want to teach him, all that i know, to show, to discover together. All the hopes of the world, all the optimism and all that is good and well in the world lies inside a farting/perpetually pooping little guy. There was this scene that Cormac Mccarthy wrote in The Road. When the Man had died on the beach and the Son asked the man who had been following them, do you carry the fire? I wish that for the Son, for my son. To carry the fire, to be the light in an increasingly dark world, to know compassion when none are shown, to know the meaning of honour and to strive to live with it always.

Carry the fire my son.

So much hope in so small a package. May you be a better Man than i am or ever will be.

Sleep now my son. Tomorrow is another day, another nappy change, another bath, another feeding, another bout of hiccups. Loads and loads of things for you, and me to learn fromand adventures to be had.

Sleep well, my son.