The Wise One

As I entered that dangerous period in my life that society has labeled "the middle aged crazies", I found myself seeking the enlightenment that had failed to reveal itself upon the pages of my life so far. No, I did not feel this overwhelming need to seek out some blonde bimbo, stash her next to me in a flashy convertible, and drive off into the sunset, taking one last stab at massaging my libido. What I felt I was missing I couldn't even define. I had walked my own path, found myself in the here and now, without any sense that the journey had so far led me anywhere. Was I supposed to be rich, accomplished, celebrated, wise, with the knowledge that only a survivor of half a century could attain? Well, if all these goals were the standards against which I was supposed to measure my life so far, then the weight of that measure would be found terribly wanting.
Then, I found myself wondering an entirely new universe, rich with the thoughts, stories, and histories of peoples from all walks of life, against which I could contrast my own, and perhaps discover where along the spectrum of experience I truly could find my own special niche. This universe was the internet and my window into it was the blog, and it was here that I met THE WISE ONE. The Wise One was not much older than me, and could not, nor did he ever claim, to have some secret insight into the miasma we call life, a life that we had both lived in different ways. His was a fast, furious, physical assault, granting no quarter and getting none, except in those moments when he took risks with his heart and withstood the consequences, for better or for worse. My own journey had been in it's own ways perilous, yet not so much so that I could not dodge the worst of fate's nasty possibilities. Where as The Wise One would bull his way thru his tormentors, I would dodge and weave and side-step mine. The Wise One would rarely think twice about tossing himself to the winds just to see what happened, whereas I would remain in the calm of what I knew rather than take chances with what I didn't, even if that familiarity kept me in a prison of my own making.
The Wise One survived all manners of horror, not so much by his own active avoidance as by lack of attention by an over-worked reaper. I became adept at picking and choosing which horrors I dared dance with, and time and time again some guardian would seem to step in and remove me from dangers or tragedies lying in wait for my peers, such as the fate that befell the submarine I was stationed aboard right after I was transferred off. Nonetheless, The Wise One and I both carried our scars, his probably more visible than mine, but equally deep in our souls.
And so, you ask (well, fine, then I'll ask for you) why I refer to him as The Wise One, while suggesting I have taken the position of erstwhile disciple? Well, my friends, as this man I speak of battles his demons, I watch and learn how I might swing my own axe as I battle my own. As he remembers, he fills in those gaps within my own history that should never have been missing to begin with. As he throws back that shot of rum, which I am loathe to do, I feel thru him the burn and need not suffer the blur it induces.
Thus, I smile, and tag him THE WISE ONE, and on this path we both walk, I am more than happy to let him lead, suffering no shame to follow, and all either one of us ask is that any fears that rise up to meet us kindly get the hell out of our way.