The Sage

         Stairs to enlightenment are difficult to ascend.  The hill gets less steep every time I climb it, and I’ve climbed this particular hill so many times that I barely even notice it.  Even in the dark I know where to step, what to avoid almost by a sixth sense.  The slow even breathing of Ben is comforting, as he barely notices the ascent as well, wrapped up in his thoughts as he is.  It’s nice to have him back; he spent the last 3 months in Asia, fleeing himself, and I had missed his company here.  I wonder what he is thinking about, but I am patient, and know that all will come out sooner or later.  We continue to silently trudge up the hill, step for step in an unintended unison.  We felt the calling, and so we silently assume our thrones above the city, upon the pinnacle of contemplation. 
         Coming around the last bend, we are immediately enveloped in the breathtaking view that is cause for our frequency here.  One can think and wonder from an arm chair, but this place is special. The view causes us to pause for a moment, and this time Ben lingers longer than I; I can tell that he missed coming here just as much as I have missed his company.  It is funny how traveling the world, and seeing the wonders thereof, can make one miss the simple things of home.  I will ask him about that later.  He looks at me, and signaling with a smirk-ish nod, we continue to the stopping point. 
Among the weeds of a dirt path at the edge of a drop, between a small pile of cigarette butts and a broken beer bottle, we are exalted as we sit upon our humble thrones. Looking out we have an unobstructed view of twinkling city lights, as they blink their way out to the eternal horizon, save the obstruction of a single, quite solitary tree that has grown here.  I ponder this lonesome tree every time I come, I feel similar to it.  The tree has chosen this ground as his home, as have Ben and I, and for this I know that we are connected. The ancient spruce has a way of communicating to me, in a strictly one sided fashion.  It tells me stories, and I listen to them in the deep recesses of my mind.  Perhaps focusing on one neutral object allows my mind to freely walk about, but I like to think of it as an ancient sage disguised as a tree that speaks to only me.  Reality is all about our choosing, and mine is pleasant.  The message is always the same, and is always something subconscious.  Something about the tree, being grounded here yet seemingly reaching for the stars has always made me ponder what true majesty is, what greatness may entail.  Sometimes I find myself too bogged down by the tragedies of life to search after true greatness, to consider that I may ever be something more, but the way the tree is stuck here on the earth yet never ceases to reach upward and outward is inspiring.
         It has been a few hours and finally Ben asks his real question: “So…are you ok with it?” Immediate understanding of his intent enlightens me, my mind begins to reel.  I am snapped back into the unmentioned memory, remembering vividly what happened. We never refer to the memory specifically, only as ‘it’.
         The shrieking of a whistle has an interesting tone of desperation and urgency, especially when blasted so loudly.  The sound seems to register in two separate parts of my mind, in one of reaction, and one of fear.  As Natalie jumps into the crowded, turbid pool, I immediately start clearing my section of swimmers, in order to be ready to help.  My mind races as I start trying to watch both what is happening, and the slow patrons who are grumblingly leaving the water at my urgent demands. They need to move faster.  I see at the other end Natalie, treading water with a fist in the air, a clear sign indicating her need for assistance.  My throat clenches.  Ben goes off the diving board in order to land closer to her. “Oh God…” I start a never finished plead for help as I spring into action. 
         Sprinting around the edge of the pool I collide with a middle-aged lady and send her reeling, complaining loudly and painfully. I didn’t even notice her until the moment I slammed into her. I didn’t even stop. I had to help.  Ben and Natalie obviously wanted to pull the unconscious teen out of the pool from the deep end, and I was the only person strong enough to do it. I could feel the panic boiling up from my stomach, stabbing at my heart; I needed to get there faster.  Before I knew it I had the back board at the edge of the pool and our victim, Matthew, upon the board and by the wrist. I knew him, and his lips were blue.  We needed to move quickly, to get him air, to save him.  I could see the terror of recognition in Bens’ eyes, and was sure that I had the similar look. Where was Natalie?  With a violent jerk I pulled, and Matthew was on deck.  Natalie was there, sanitary gloves in hand, but she stood shaking and staring at Matthew.  Clearly not ready. I called to her. Nothing. I yelled. Nothing. I stood and snatched her gloves, this action broke her silent screaming, and I muttered “I’ll take care of it, go control the crowd.”  The terror in her eyes dissipated and was replaced with relief. I was going to do her job, and she mine.  I turned, and saw Ben with gloves on, ready. Mine snapped into place as we gave each other a fleeting look of panic.  Move!  I moved before thinking, the moves were automatic, drilled.  I tried to open the airway as Ben checked the pulse, but Matthews’ jaw was rigid.  Seizure. “The pulse is wrong” was the muttered result of Ben’s assessment.  I checked the pulse and felt the heart beat twice, then no more.  We both had failed.  Desperation has cold fingers.  “Ben, start compressions” I said with a forced calm, no need to worry the spectators.  I urgently tried another technique, air is too important. 
    The sound of ripping jaw muscles is sickening, but an open airway has to be established. Better hurt than dead.  “This is taking too long” was my thought as built up foam sprayed me, pink from a mixture in the lungs of blood and water.  So Death wears pink? How odd. Air. Faster.
    Chest compressions had started, and Bens’ technique was perfect. I was thankful. “Thank you God…” started another unfinished prayer.  Our boss, Adam, came sprinting. Had Ben and I been that quick?  Between pink fountains of death foam, I got pure oxygen into that empty cavity. This was not going to work.  Death is pink, and Denial is pig headed.
         Matthew’s body arched painfully back onto his head and heels as the electric current coursed through his heart.  At least it would have been painful had he been conscious.  The body does such odd things sometimes.  Adam had placed the pads to the Automated External Defibrillator (AED) correctly, as trained. Sizzlings and pops were the imagined sounds in my mind’s ear; screams of pain too, by both Matthew and me.  The trouble with AED’s is that they don’t restart hearts, they only stabilize their rhythm. The second attempt had no better luck than the first, and now our machine of life had no more power, was dead. How ironic. Compressions started anew as a flashing light of blue and red caught the distant attention of my inner recesses.  Soon I was pushed aside and white hands took over.
    I stood there numbly, still dripping that pink substance which spelled death, holding an IV bag.  “Is reality cruel, or just selfish?” I wondered quietly to myself.  Standing apart, I was able to take it all in. I was close enough to the team of paramedics to see them secretly shake their heads as they performed CPR on a bag of lifeless flesh.  I had felt his heart stop.  The body on the backboard no longer Matthew seemed so small compared to the men working on it, so frail.  “Why do they still try?” Death had already come to collect his prize.  Perhaps it was all a show, like the bag of fluids I was holding. A show they maintained until they could escape the death scene with their heads held high.  A helicopter appeared out of the sky – I hadn’t even heard it – and landed mere yards from where we were all cowering over the corpse, tail between our legs.  “How convenient” I bitterly thought. “Perhaps it is not reality that is cruel and selfish, but God.”  I grinned rebelliously, deliciously.  The IV bag was taken from my hand with a sympathetic and practiced smile; and I watched numbly as the paramedics, those other guards of life, quickly loaded the corpse of a boy into the helicopter, still doing those futile compressions.  The door slid shut quickly and two failed ‘lifeguards’ in different uniforms locked eyes, and looked quickly away. The helicopter drifted into the distance and finally disappeared, as did the life, and securities, I had known.
    Such shared memories are referred to by Ben and me only as ‘it’.  I leaned back and looked upward, contemplating the ancient sage.  His question had struck me deeply, did I know if I was ok with feeling someone die?  I wanted to tell Ben my story of the three months we shared apart.  He had fled the continent in order to fill his head with different experiences, while I drowned in memories titled ‘it’, the lawsuit that entailed, and the hands of crushing strength called Guilt and Failure.  I wished to tell him that the experience had affected me so deeply, so tragically, that he was talking to a different person.  I wanted to explain how much I had doubted, about how I had systematically gone through every belief I had been taught and revaluated whether I believed it or whether it was a preconditioned response instilled upon me by society.  I had doubted God utterly, doubted life and the value thereof, and more importantly, I had doubted myself.  For the first time I realized that there were consequences to actions, and I wondered whether or not I was strong enough to attempt this merciless onslaught dubiously titled ‘real life’.  All these moments I pondered anew, and wondered and worried whether or not to bring them before Ben.  I looked to my ancient mentor in silence, once again appreciating the majestic simplicity of an old tree, grounded here. In a single moment, the implications of the lesson the tree had always taught me slammed into my mind and heart with the finality of sledgehammer. I understood. With a timid smile, and under the patient gaze of my ally-in-all, I admitted those words of betrayal “Yes, I think I am ok with it…”  I imagined Matthew shaking his head at me in disgust.  “…and more, I’ve decided to start praying.”  Apparently the lesson of the tree grounded in the trials and tribulations of this filthy world while constantly reaching heavenward had made an impact on me. I saw the fleeting expressions and emotions pass through Ben’s eyes as he contemplated my answer. “Really?  Do you think that will help?” he asked with perfect intrigue. “Yes,” I answered slowly as the soothing calm of confidence flooded over me “I’m quite sure it will.”  Ben smiled, and with a simple sigh of understanding, looked out once more to admire the glimmering lights, and I silently thanked God for the wisdom stored in an old tree.