Torment

I hate this time of the year, especially at night. It is when I hear him more. He laughs at me. He taunts me with horrible thoughts on how the accident occurred. He tells me that the killer’s car was airborne as hit Kim’s car head on. He knows that it tears my heart out when he tells me that the airbag that was designed to save Madison’s life was cause of snapping her infantile spine. He ponders was Madison’s death painless or a slow drawn out process? His words reduce me to tears. Undaunted, my tormentor continues. He reminds me that Kim never had a chance and how she had to be sent to Georgia Crime Lab to autopsied. With a gleam in his eye, he smacks his lips with anticipation on seeing how I react to his malevolent diatribes.

Seeing that I am barely hanging on despite his best efforts, my persecutor takes a new tact. He comments that would not the killer of Kim and Madison be one of my clients, if the accident took place a few miles down the road? With hatred blazing in his eyes and on his breath, he tells me that I am fool to expect to make a difference in the lives of my clients. He declares that they are worthless, listless, and the dredges of society. My clients should be exterminated like vermin. He notes that with all that has happened to my brother that I have the unmitigated gall to represent a man that has not only killed one man in a driving “accident,” but also a mother and her child. The words of my nemesis cuts me like a knife. With each new word, a fresh new wound is created and each injury is deeper and more painful than the last. My foe only relents temporarily. He reminds me that no matter where I go he will be there to hector me.

I wish that I can say that my enemy is some bitter relative. I wish that I can say that my tormentor is an unforgiving prosecutor. I cannot. My enemy is me. These are some of the thoughts that been racing through my mind for the last two years, since the death of my sister in law and my youngest niece (Kim and Madison). However, I carry on with my life and practice. I believe that man is inherently good. I believe that every man is deserving a second chance. My God was willing to sacrifice all of glory to redeem me, even though I did not do a thing to deserve it, because he loved me. How can I not give my fellow man the benefit of doubt or a modicum of love? So, no matter how hard the evil angels of my nature beset me with these horrendous thoughts, I will carry on. I have to. If not for me, for Kim and Madison.

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Stephen Foster

I am falling love in the music of Stephen Foster. He was the first real American songwriter. the music is excellent. Here is a sample of his work.

Slumber, my darling, thy mother is near,
Guarding thy dreams from all terror and fear,
Sunlight has pass’d and the twilight has gone,
Slumber, my darling, the night’s coming on.
Sweet visions attend thy sleep,
Fondest, dearest to me,
While others their revels keep,
I will watch over thee.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flow’rs are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I’ll wrap thee up warm,
And pray that the angels will shield thee from harm.

Slumber, my darling, till morn’s blushing ray
Brings to the world the glad tidings of day;
Fill the dark void with thy dreamy delight–
Slumber, thy mother will guard thee tonight,
Thy pillow shall sacred be
From all outward alarms;
Thou, thou are the world to me
In thine innocent charms.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,
The wandering dews by the flow’rs are caressed,
Slumber, my darling, I’ll wrap thee up warm,
And pray that the angels will shield thee from harm

From Dust to Dust. . . .

Another meaningless entry

I got sworn in as a member of the bar for the Georgia Supreme Court and Court of Appeals. It was a hoot because the chief judge of the Court of Appeals like my suit so much that he wanted to know who my tailor was.

Before and After

Before enlightenment – chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment – chop wood, carry water. ~Zen Buddhist Proverb

Fathers and Sons

Once every month, I go over to my parents house to do basic maintenance on my car, such as change the oil, check the filters, and make sure the tires are properly inflated. (Don’t let the two degrees fool you; I am one generation removed from farmers and auto mechanics.) The work is not hard, but it is a time for me and my father to talk about what’s new, etc. Although I have done this countless times since I was 16, I still feel like a little boy that is happy just to spend time with his daddy.

The Hopes and Dreams . . .

There are days when the fear and anxiety crash over me like a tidal wave. My mind goes blank, my heart beats erratically, and my fighting spirit dwindles away. At these times, I am tempted to believe my problems can be cured by a pill, a drink, or some other chemical substance. Yet, I am a man; I am more than a fleshy sack of chemicals and water; I am more than the sum of a great number of biological and chemical reactions; I am the culmination of my ancestors’ hopes and dreams. The spirits of my ancestors are still with me. From them, I find the strength to carry on to fight another day.