I must not think nonsense, he thought. Luck is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognize her? I would take some though in any form and pay what they asked. I wish I could see the glow from the lights, he thought. I wish too many things. But that is the thing I wish for now. He tried to settle more comfortably to steer and from his pain he knew he was not dead.
He saw the reflected glare of the lights of the city at what must have been around ten o'clock at night. They were only perceptible at first as the light is in the sky before the moon rises. Then they were steady to see across the ocean which was rough now with the increasing breeze. He steered inside of the glow and he thought that now, soon, he must hit the edge of the stream.
Now it is over, he thought. They will probably hit me again. But what can a man do against them in the dark without a weapon?
He was stiff and sore now and his wounds and all of the strained parts of his body hurt with the cold of the night. I hope I do not have to fight again, he thought. I hope so much I do not have to fight again.
This afternoon, a seventh grader at my son's school (a boy my son has known since they were in Head Start together) brought a gun to school and shot himself in the bathroom. For a tense hour, after I found out what had happened, I tried to contact my son. He didn't answer his phone. My mind went to a terrible, dark place since my son has been struggling with depression and suicidal ideation for several years. I have never heard a sweeter sound than my son's voice when he called me to ask if I could pick him up from school.
We attended a Bluesday Tuesday concert this evening. It was a very distracted night.
Saint Marty's koan for this evening: hope is the sound of your son's voice.
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