Preliminary Poultice for a Wounded Soul

He thinks of the wars he had to waged since coming over to these islands from another land far off.

At the start of his career, the honeymoon was terribly short-lived, as as the divorce and the annulment came right after one another.

The redeeming thing was that there was no financial alimony demand of that separation of mindsets.

The psychic payments were more than enough, and were powerful enough to have pushed him against the wall and say goodbye to the islands and seek his chance at life elsewhere, perhaps in shores farther away.

But that was meant to be.

There was The Force that made him stay.

And The Force made it sure that he had enough of the ammunitions he needed to get by.

Never mind that at one point, while he did his beat as Sunday broadcaster at a radio station, one caller spilled all the beans that could be spilled and told the listening public that the program he was administering was not grateful for all the good things this caller and her group did.

The tone of that accusation was like a wrathful goddess coming from the Pali mountains, in one of those steep lookouts that lead you to crevices whose bottom you cannot reach.

The bottom is plain and simple an abyss.

It is like human thought going everywhere but nowhere even as that thought thinks of ways to hit it right with the world, with one's obligations, with one's duty to continue the good things one has come to know and understand.

He let the nasty caller rant and rant.

'You are ingrates!'

She talks of scholarship, of monies going to some students, of a litany of help she gave to that man so he could run his program well.

'When did these things happen?' he asked her.

'Oh, 2005, or 2006.'

'I was not yet around here at this time. I was working somewhere else, farther away from these islands,' he said.

In his mind, he told himself: I let you go on and on and eat your words.

He did, allowing that woman to rant and rant, and rant and rant.

He thinks of events like this now, and the fingers of his recollection reaches his wounded soul.

There is balm in the memory.

Hon, HI/May 10, 2013

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