The Black Dog - Revisited

A while back I read a book called, "Flyfishing Through The Midlife Crisis" (or something like that).  Here's a quote:

It cranks up somewhere between ages of 38 and 45, and in a really intense midlife crisis, which is the only kind worth having, you should count on five years of steadily intensifying anxiety or depression or some satanic combination of emotional torment.

For some men --- men who adore their jobs, are content in their love lives, do not fear death --- there may be an easier and much briefer adjustment.

Hear me, my brothers. You know who you are. Neither the old fathers or the sons you love can carry you now. The letters of wives and sweethearts cannot reach you. Your generals have fled the field. Their lies before you a severe journey --- a soul rending passage that will either heal you or wreck you. I leave you a note pinned to a tree in the heart of the forest. It contains all the advice any man can offer. The black dog is on your trail. Get ready to meet him.

 The line that stood out then, and stands out again is "Your generals have fled the field."  I don't think I took that line like I should have.  I took it to mean, you, the private - your heroes, teachers, pastors, preachers, bosses, authorities, government, rock stars, gurus, geniuses have no more to offer.  The field has now emptied and there's no adviser, no friends, no understanding, no questions answerable, no nods, no agreement or disagreement...

All that work that broke your body --- now this - nothing... but something... constricting... time intensifying.  Not a precipice but maybe one.  A tunnel?  Maybe.

The first reaction is like a drowning man that flails and screams for a life preserver... anything... tell me!!!  Everyone has left the field.  Anchor!  Anchor!  Anchor!

As you dig in the hole, people might even get to see the dirt flying out - shovels full of paintings, work, knots, writings fly out of that place you are in.  Digging!  Knitting!  Working!  Further!  And the sands fill the hole again!  Harder!  I'll get through!  Faster!  Submerged.  Falling deeper.  Back up again!  Resurface!  A dream?  Back under.  False alarm.  Dig! Dig! Dig!  Resurface!  Is this air?  Back under.

Before, you could satisfy the generals, the teachers, the preachers, the managers and eaters.  Now you are a half-baked crustacean washed up on a beach - time and no time.  Anchor to anchovy... slipping in your hands - back... back... back under.  Resurface!  Is this it???  Dunk.

I will give back.  I'll give back.  I've got to do this.  I'll give back.  I'll give.  I'm giving.  Back under.  Resurface!  Seagulls.  Flyrod.  Spoonbill!!!  Oystershell beach.  Sunset, sunrise.... plunge... resurface... Family... dunk.  I can't explain... but see here... here's a picture... a photo...  I healed a broken mug and put coffee in it this morning... rest... plunge... back!  Boat!?!?!  Camera?!  Float!  Hedgehog! Moat! Forest note!

I'm doing what I can.  I promise.

PS: Charlie, we are winning  lol