on a wire

saturday i went to see the documentary, "man on wire," about the frenchman who toddled between the twin towers in 1974. a supernaturally focused funambule, he has also crossed the sydney harbor bridge and the louisiana superdome. the world trade center caper took 6 years to execute. he spent 45 minutes in the air, back and forth about 8 times, and because all of it was so illegal, no press was summoned. there is no video, but there are photos of him 1/4 mile up in the air. there were moments when he simply laid down on the wire, surrounded by the morning.

when he at last felt finished, and fell into the impatient "octopus of arms" of pissed-off nyc cops, he was accosted by reporters and gawkers. what fascinated him then, and now in hindsight, is how the most asked question was "why did you do it?" he felt it a peculiarly american inquiry, and wasn't so banal as mallory to say "because it's there." all along, much of what thrilled him was the scheming. he watched old tommy gun/bank job movies for mind-set, lol, and spent hours criss-crossing a cable in his yard. to mimic the wind potential, his friends would yank with all their might to sway the wire he walked. he never once fell. yet he always knew that any step he took that august day could be the one to his death.

there are times in life when "why?" is a question with a simple answer. "because it's the right thing to do." however, when the query is posed in view of behavior with a negative or unpleasant impact our internal dialogue can get thorny and unpleasant. when a pattern emerges, that unresolved conflict grows like a painful cyst. my thick head can only go under so many times while i try to swim through the waves too strong. there is the fear of facing it, and deeper still, the fear of admission with the subsequent failure of self-management. which brings judgement. i am then terrified of the disappointment... the closing of the door.

and yet? i know quite well my behavior in all its feebleness is a response, not an instigation. and yet? a year later, i continue to display my insanity and weakness and keep walking into that same pointy stick over and over and over and never say "ouch" out loud. i drown the pain with an ocean and can't look for a raft. past training has taught me there was nobody around with a paddle. this is not solely talk of the owner, but my family too. there may have been some in my life to whom i could have reached out, but i was, am, always too afraid. the loathing is now so deep, i'd rather waterboard myself before somebody else gets to it -- just leave me in the drift and be done with it.

this morning, talk of emotional water wings in my near future. maybe i am not alone.