Cliffhanger

Cliffhanger: (n) an ending that leaves the audience in suspense.

I can’t watch the movie.

I’m talking about “Cliffhanger,” with Sylvester Stallone.

There’s one scene that is just not able to be viewed. Suspended on a single rope, Stallone tries to lift a women up to him so that he can take
them both to safety on the edge of the cliff. It goes badly. Her glove slips off and she tumbles–thousands of feet?–to the ground below. The camera follows the face of a very disappointed Stallone.

Not me. I’m wondering what it’s like to fall three thousand feet to your death.

It’s why I could never jump out of an airplane. I would have to convince myself that I’m prepared to die, just in case everything fails. Because the sensation of falling is not one that is acceptable to the human psyche.

Of course, I feel that way about all deaths.

I think the old song, “The Gambler,” says it well. “The best you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”

Of course, that’s kind of creepy, too. You nod off and the next thing you know, well…is nothing you know.

Death truly is the greatest cliffhanger in our human journey. We’re not going to know what it’s really like until we get there, and by the time we get there, it’s much too late to build up the courage and spunk to “do it well.”

Sometimes I think about what the worst deaths would be, as compared to a more tolerable demise. But in the end, you’re either getting smashed or being forbidden air.

Great choice.

We’re all heading for the cliffhanger. Matter of fact, some of you reading this essay are already uncomfortable, wishing I would get to a final sentence and stop talking about this crazy shit.

So I will do…

 

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Bereave

Bereave: (v) to be deprived of a loved oneDictionary B 

I’m a silly goose (even though I’m not quite sure why that bird got crippled with such a characterization).

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but often I will be sitting alone and suddenly be overwhelmed with the remorse that will be felt by those around me at my passing.

I don’t know why I feel the right to project on them such a breakdown–but tears come to my eyes as I imagine them weeping over my demise.

Honestly, I cannot say that I get nearly as worked up about considering the death of another.

No, it is the absence of me on the planet that bereaves me.

I can’t imagine an Earth without my charming personality.

I’m reluctant to write this article, but having a certain anonymity due to the expansiveness of the Internet and my own obscurity … I assume I am fairly safe in maintaining this secret devotion to my own mortality.

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Answerable

dictionary with letter A

Answerable: (adj) required to justify or responsible to or for.

I find fads to be comical–mainly because they’re a backlash to some previous popular notion that has now fallen out of favor and is being replaced by what is usually an extreme contradiction.

Many years ago, when ministers were falling from grace or into the arms of women named Grace, a nervous twitch went through the religious community as it tried to make sure such indiscretions didn’t happen again.

It was decided that the fallen preachers had fallen prey to too much freedom–that they were not answerable to anyone else. So for a season an attempt was made to confirm that everyone who was part of the clergy had someone else they had to answer to concerning their actions.

You see, here’s the problem: just because you have an overseer does not mean you’re going to listen to him.

Submission is not placing people under subjugation, but rather, a selection we all make when we realize we need each other and that we are not comfortable with self-sufficiency.

I find myself to be a leader but also a debtor to all sorts of individuals who come my way, who in some way, shape or form, have an excellence that I have not achieved.

I take it very seriously, but not because I’m trying to be answerable. I do so because I become happier when I don’t lean to my own understanding, but instead, absorb all available wisdom.

Just the other day I was driving down the road at about 65 miles an hour, when suddenly a large blackbird flew into my windshield, bounced off and fell onto the road. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw it lying very still and dead.

It bothered me.

I wasn’t concerned that my windshield almost got broken or wondered why the stupid bird decided to kill itself on my watch.

For a few seconds I allowed myself to be the bird–to imagine my own demise as the result of such a tragic flight.

It ached. It hurt.

I didn’t think about it a whole lot more.

But I realized that when something crosses my path, I need to be answerable for how I treat it.

 

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