this won’t be an epic post. my head hurts, a lot. it (this post) will be about, …well, a force of will, and the sharing of my thoughts, and eventually, my soul.
truckloads of people perish in accidents, daily. I’ve always been lucky. the only thing that died around me last Tuesday was Satan’s hopes with his latest effort to get into my head.
lucky. fortunate. fortuna.
the miscellaneous keys on my chain, their purpose forgotten, some how, long before the writing of this post, were bent.
everything, except me, in the truck cockpit, blew up. my stereo ended-up in the back seat. my (drivers) seat was bent at a 45º angle. I felt the very air pulled from the cockpit, and my lungs by the force of the concussion. when I came too it took me a few minutes to sort out that my left boot was up on the dash (my foot was in it, attached to my leg, which fortunately, was still attached to me).
in the seconds it took between me catching site of the Jeep out of the corner of my eye as it hurtled towards me it did, perhaps oddly, also occur to me it was three hundred and sixty six days since we had lost Bill Pope. I willed myself to let go of the steering wheel, which was torn up-and-out of it’s mounting. time slowed down long enough for me to start thinking that I was surprised it wasn’t the “white van”. but, more on that later.
as the jeep then piled into me, and my world began to spin out of my control and easily into His (God’s, not Bill’s), I did start thinking: it’s okay, I am a Soul Surfer.
just so you know, soul surfing has been described as:
“the highest level, the pinnacle of surfing spirituality equivalent to Nirvana, Satori, and total enlightenment, but is rarely attained. the Soul Surfer expresses himself through his unity with the breaking wave. he borrows the wave’s spirit for a short while and uses his body and equipment to translate the essence of the wave’s spirit into Art”.
I understand that might be corny. …so?
I’m going to need healing. I have broken ribs, my left shoulder is jacked. I have an odd-shaped nob on the top left side of my head (as if my noggin wasn’t already badly malformed as it was), and perhaps most odd, my left calf continues to cramp.
I’ll also need a new truck. Nike sent over some new cool shoes to help me “get on and put on my fitness”. Apple sent over another iPad2 to help me read and research (and, evangelize them, naturally). I’m skeptical Ford will deliver a new truck absent my wallet, but little surprises me, these days. my wicked-cool, bad-ass black truck is totaled.
I really did love that truck. it had something akin to it’s own mojo – or spirit (and, some terrific memories hauled with it). and, it (helped) saved my arse, eh.
I’ve lost count of how many people have grimly advised me it was a good thing I wasn’t in my Porsche. I don’t really even like that Porsche. but, oddly I had thought about backing it out of the garage that morning.
luck. providence. fortuna.
two things I plan after State Cup (soccer) is to go and visit my dear, dear friends, the waves. and, not only will it be epic, but far from, here. I know that I need to surf, because it will help heal me. I also intend to deep sea fish. so, Chuck Papgeorgiou I’ll be calling in a few months and allow you to host that bucket list element. I’ve had more than my share of near-death experiences. but, this one was so close to home – literally, twenty meters from the driveway up to our estate. and, I want to breathe. maybe because that simple act is so difficult with the broken ribs.
I’m certain it was that proverbial sign. I’m also certain John Stein, who readers of this blog happen to know is an annoited healer, lifted me up and is healing me in record time. and, to prove it, I’m going to start running as soon as my head stops spinning so damn much. it’s going to hurt like hell. but, …well, just stay-tuned for that story as well. and, I know my unusual level of fitness also played a significant role in my ability to heal quickly. rather like Wolverine.
this post is not about surfing. although many of you will be drawn to this post while doing another form of that. this post isn’t about surviving, ether. because I’m not a survivor, I am a thriver. I’m also Racer-X.
God took my truck, but He left me to do, naught a few, things.
peace be to my Brothers and Sisters.
brian patrick cork