It took nearly a year, but even Zelda The Magnificent, rebellious leader of sheep, is beginning to succumb to Maria’s loving charms (II did). She comes up every morning for a back scratch, along with Ma. Zelda would not come near any of us for nearly a year, unless it was to knock me or the Red Dog down, which she did repeatedly. Jim McRae the sheep shearer is coming next Monday from Vermont to shear Maria’s sheep. Zelda’s fleece will be Maria’s yarn.
I reminded myself this morning to never quit on me, a promise I have often made to myself and sometimes struggled to keep.
If I were writing a Dystopian gloom story, there’s money in that these days, Dystopia is the land of the Soul Suckers. I’m thinking about writing a screenplay about the “Chronicles Of The Soul Suckers,” those many people and things and institutions and ides that drain our souls, that whisper in our ear again and again, this is too difficult, this is too hard, this is too expensive, we are in danger, be prepared, you can’t do it, just give up, accept the hollow life, you can’t paint a picture, take a good photo, write a good book, do what you love, find someone with whom to share your life, manage your own health, make your own decisions.
In my fantasy, the Soul Suckers – many live in Washington, deliver the news, manage health care insurance programs, sell fear for profit and pretend it is concern, run corporations, ruin work, run for public office, toss people into the street, sometimes Soul Suckers even live right alongside of us. They are loud, angry, nasty and fearful, their voices form powerful siren sounds that steal our faith and confidence, make us feel small and overwhelmed, paralyze us with warnings and fears, destroy our eardrums with arguments and conflict, bring us images of death and destruction and convince us that this is our world. They are hope killers.
Not quitting on me doesn’t mean I can have everything I want, or slide away from responsibility for my own life. It doesn’t mean winning all the time, or indulging all of my fantasies. It doesn’t mean being enabled or saved by others. In my story, not quitting on me is a state of mind, a spiritual place, the preservation of my center, the creative spark. A spiritual practice. Life is mysterious, it gives us hope and aspirations and challenges us with legions of Soul Suckers, armies and armies of them, like a scene out of Narnia. They come marching across the plains, chanting, waving flags, relentless, blotting out the sun sometimes.I think in my story there will be a magic elixir, a wand maybe that drives the Soul Suckers back, a safe and impenetrable place. Maybe it is a farm with donkeys and dogs and someone to love, a place where there are daily workshops on the good and meaningful life.
The Soul Suckers are terrified of love and promise, they don’t come near it, it turns them to ash. They love quitters, feed off of them.
So every morning, in my movie, when I get up, I look out the window, wave to the donkeys, feed the dogs. Don’t quit on me, I say, every time you refuse to quit on yourself and your dreams, a Soul Sucker (in my movie) explodes in a cloud of dust and sails off into the sky. I wonder if George Clooney is available.
