Death, Rebirth, and Bounce

Death, Rebirth, and Bounce

Samuel Bird

I was shoved in the corner and down onto an old green chair. I looked up to see him yelling. Part of me heard what he said and was engaged to retort or defend. Some other part of me seemed to be somewhere else, somewhere safer in anticipation of what was about to happen. The yelling commenced as the shoving continued, despite my body having nowhere to go. The spit from the shouting made me close my eyes. “Look me in the eye like a man.” I had already been taunted enough by my mother for my masculinity and felt it was both something I had and something worth defending. I turned back to him to look him in his bloodshot eyes before a large calloused hand slapped across my face. I looked down as the blood swelled to the bruises. “I said look at me in the eye like a man.” I looked at those eyes for a few seconds more before bare knuckles came across my face. “Look at me!” He shrieked, but by that point, I was already looking him in the eye. Another fist pounded into my cheek. From the corner of my eye, I looked to see my mother watching this. I knew I had no help from her. Hell, I would choose violence over the torment she gave me in pitting me against myself. “Look at me.” He yelled as I realized I was looking away again. It was too late, and the fist came across my face. I went back to look at him and tensed up everything in my irony sinew body. One last blow, and then I met his gaze with my own bloodshot look. As he leaned over me, I tensed up every muscle fiber in my body and curled my fourteen-year-old fist up in the best hook I could shape. The fist landed in his gut, and I could hear the breath stolen right from his chest. He faltered back as he began to try and breathe. Between shouts from my mother and him catching his breath before he caught me, life faded in and out from view as those fists came in and out. The strikes were fast to a passerby, but between each blow, I seemed to live another life. 

Hours passed and the chaos had settled down from a violent to a solemn one. I knew what I had done was wrong, no matter what prompted it. It was clear that giving in, even in partial kind to what was administered, would be held against me. I was right, and the coming months would find me sitting there as my mother told every adult I respected that I had punched my own father. I knew they would have more mercy if they knew the context, but I didn’t care to meet them in their game. That is what hurt the most. I knew my heart. As troubled and fractured as it was, it was a heart that willed no malice on others. It was a painful and lonely choice I had to make for years. It was a choice that serve me my whole life over. I had given in to what I didn’t want. I sued for peace, no matter how wild of a child I was. I felt wrong to give the pain back that smothered me. That made me no more than a cog in the wheel of a war machine. I had worked all summer for a dollar an hour and purchased a few things of my own that I thought would give me security. During this fight, all of it was taken, but one switchblade they didn’t see. I flipped it open as I lifted my shirt. I pressed the tip toward my chest, and began pressing. A small bead of blood escaped my body as I fathomed me doing the same. I could never show this pain to a world I was sure would use it against me. It was clear I was contaminated, irreparable, and vile. I held the blade there as I considered the options before me. The world around me grew literally and visibly darker. I sat there as bitter tears fell onto that knife. I waited for something to be a sign from a god I didn’t believe in or a voice calling for me to know I was loved. Like many men, that voice never came, so I spoke to myself. “No. No, life is worth living.”

I chose that day to continue life. I knew that life would never amount to the joys and meaning that I wanted, but I wouldn’t give up on it. I have worked to vote for life since. Because of this experience and many before and after, I couldn’t look people in the eye. People found it quite rude and I would get called out for it. It wasn’t just something that reminded me of violence, but something that was too intimate for what I was able to do. I thought this day would leave a mark on me that I would never be able to live past. As it turns out I was wrong. If you and I met, which I would dearly love, I would look you in the eye the whole time. No doubt I would think some sentimental thought about being able to look into your soul or perhaps finding the coloration remarkable. I would smile with my eyes and love it when you did the same. Some things will be said with words, but something special will be said with our eyes. I remark often on the grace that allowed me to enjoy this part of human existence. How was my greatest fear able to become a love and a joy of mine? The resiliency of the human spirit.

When I was a cowboy, I often got asked by concerned friends and family how I was able to train a fourteen-hundred-pound angry pile of hair and hoof. They asked if I was worried it would throw me off somewhere in the mountains, I would get hurt, and I wouldn’t make it back. They asked if I was worried I’d break a bone, land on a fencepost, or fall off a mountain. I knew that telling them many of those things did happen wouldn’t comfort them, so I just told them, “I bounce.” When I would get into my crazy free-climbing adventures in the mountains alone, and I would tell people about the story, they would rightfully have some concerns, but I just reminded them, “I bounce.” When friends heard about my past, the homelessness, or the poverty, I just reminded them, “I bounce.” I’ve learned if I can just not die today, I will be alive for tomorrow. Time has a few things about it that are rough, such as it taking me to my death. However, no fact of reality is totally for or against what we value. It also brings a tender distance between me and things that are better left as interesting stories. Sometimes, this phenomenon even surprises me. I have seen in many friends the loss of a child, a health diagnosis that is terminal, or a deep giving up. With each of these, they had scars for the rest of their life, but those scars were over healthy, lifefilled flesh. Sometimes I remark at my health for having to eat out of trash cans for years. I remark on how much I enjoy a sunset for someone who still has nightmares of flashing lights in a car accident. I marvel that I could have love withheld from me, and then be perfectly able and embracing of loving others. This resilience is bursting up from within life and a simple yes to it will blossom into a glorious and healthy living. The breath within our chests, a gentle pull of the wind, could fill sails toward great destinations. I was arguing with someone who was older than me and they inferred they were wiser because of their age. I told them I didn’t think age alone gave wisdom. It was simply more chance to learn. I think this phenomenon of remarkable healing, not thought possible, is the same. Doing nothing but going to the next day will see some results, but of course, engagement can quicken and extremify the process. 

Throughout my entire life, I have raised some type of animal. Being involved with their lives gives one a necessary involvement with their deaths. It can be surprisingly sad when an animal dies, even if it is a chicken or a small fish. Being around this for long enough, I have been able to find a way to prophesy with near-perfect accuracy if an animal will survive or die from any given ailment. I learned it from raising calves when I was younger. Having a poor farm, bitter winters, and the spread of diseases, our poor cattle were always in peril, no matter the efforts of a scrawny kid with freckles. We had quite a few calves we were raising, and we had to bottle-feed them when their mothers passed. I would go into the barn and look at them. If they had their ears pinned up, a sparkle in their eye, moved around and pushed against you if you gave them a poke, they would live. If they had their ears flopped down, solemn eyes, didn’t move or fight back, they would die. You may say, well of course, because the second type was ill. However, it didn’t matter if the two cows had the same illness. In fact, the first cow could be more ill. It could be all chewed up from running into a fence. It could have a few good bites taken out of it by the neighbor's dog, but as long as it had all its systems in check, it would pull through. On the other hand, I have seen calves die from getting slightly worked up from a dog chasing them, and then just lying down to die. The difference seems to always be what I called then, “Perkiness.” Though it isn’t terribly academic, I have found it to be the best word for this type of lifeful resilience. As I said, I have seen this apply to birds, lizards, and most recently a little piglet that got so scared it just laid down to die. I love to volunteer at old-people homes and have found this concept in full force there. The ones that lie down and have nothing to do with anyone, fade out of life. Meanwhile, the ones that come out of their rooms and talk your ear off and try to flirt with you or your friends, they pull through. This is of course within reason and a bullet to the head won’t be stopped by charisma. However, for more nuanced and complex ailments, it seems to be the case that this perkiness is life living full. This life force is full of a proud energy of rebellion and vigor.

You may point out that this may not always be accessible to you. Some lives get to this end where they face nothingness before them. Some pre-written scripts come to their closing acts, leaving one to wonder what to do now. I have come to the end of what one character I played can offer. I then realize that I, the actor, have bigger plans. I have had to lay this older version of me to rest, do my mourning, and go on the next quest before me. The laying to rest can be painful. You will have some sentiment for this person and who they were. You will think fondly of the time you had with them, but you know where you go, they can’t. The mourning must be done right. You can’t see them as an enemy or harbor hatred. No matter the reason for leaving them to rest, make sure you really do wish rest for their souls. Perhaps gratitude is most appropriate. Now that they are left in the grave, remember that you are not. You have something before you that you sacrificed even a part of who you are for it. This buy-in will prompt the commitment needed to adventure with all the vigor needed. Perhaps along the way, you will do so with a sense of honor. Many mythic and psychic frameworks have a tale of different parts of who we are. In my time, one thing that comes up often is the inner child. I have found that if that child is not gently buried in a good place, they can haunt. Leaving an entire part of you behind is painful, but this pain is not without its catharsis. As there are cultural days to look back and honor the dead, perhaps times can be set apart for an honoring of these loved ones we once were. I have one day that was eventful enough to break my life up into each half, sliced by that date. 7/27/17. When that day comes, I have a small celebration in my heart for who I am now, but also take a moment to revere who I once was. Many faiths and cultures have an idea of a rebirth. Perhaps your own story of greatness and adventure cannot be written before another part of yourself’s obituary. 

No matter the medium, life has with it, a rich resilience to obstacles that seem insurmountable. The same life coursing through my veins and neurology is a point of pride. There are things in my time that seem to give a no to this life. They seem to neither foster, allow, or condone the soul staying in its flesh. This is tragic and irredeemable, but it is only a no to the yes of life. Then what does life do? Be never weary in its affirmation of its existence. The pains of today are the fodder for us to strive against. This striving is not a necessary evil, but the only true goodness our kind knows. I pray for heaven, but I hope there is ever some new hell to wage against. This yes to life may not be felt in all moments. To those moments you feel pushed down, falling from greatness, and landed so far below the mark you desired, just remember: You bounce. Be perky. Die, and live again.