Skip to main content

From, "Therapy On the Run"...




Chapter Twenty-Two
The Glove of Heaven

…As I approached the well-lit dam, more joy, and fascination ensued.  It was about five o’clock in the morning or close to that time.  The night sky appeared to encompass me like a glove of heaven.  It’s cool, crisp air embracing me so deep, I could feel it in through my eyes and in my blood. 
    I had heard deer leaping in the wooded areas surrounding the path I took.  Yet, I did not see one.  It was as if they were running beside me.  I actually have had a deer run with me as I ran, once.  It was miraculous: 

Leaping deer…

    It was early one morning.  This buck with a full rack, ran side by side not more than twenty feet from me, leaping over fences as if to keep up with me.  My friend, Brian McCourt, was running to my left and the buck was running in sync with us to Brian’s left.   This was for a good hundred yards. 
    Brian didn’t notice it till the end of the run with the buck.  Brian as usual, was hammering me, pushing our pace as he ran, now warmed up.  My quads started to scream.  I knew the pain would continue for miles as always.  Then depending on how soon I felt my right leg start to collapse out from under me.  It would buckle and then I’d try to drive the body with the left leg and my lion’s heart.  When I’d get to this point, just moving my head would make me trip or fall over.  My balance seven years before was not good.  Back then, I thought no one knew this.  I figured if I avoided the subject, I could win my legs and my health back. 

    My thoughts digress about where my body had been before today, before all of this peacefulness.  I ran back then to conquer illness and injury.  To get past and increase my energy to twenty thousand cycles per second, and to explain myself to God, and to rid myself of detained rage. 
    Rage?  Oh, everyone has rage embedded into their soul.  Most of us are in denial.  I had a few men make me face it, one for bad, many others for good.  If you don’t rid yourself of the toxic levels of rage, your immune system is suppressed.  You become diseased.  You become an addict.  You’re no longer enthused and perhaps no longer marveling at life.  Then you lose the joy of your life.  Not the tangible finite part.  It is the worst you lose.  You lose a little piece of the eternal part.  The sacred intimate relationship you have with your Maker.  And that is what Hell is.
    The glove feelings I’ve had while outside my home, running, at times fighting for my life or for what is right, the gloved feeling has come in many forms.  Sometimes from the late night air; the desert late day breezes of heat, yet over one hundred twenty degrees fahrenheit, it still feels good.  I wondered as I feel the glove of heat from the desert, if this is how one feels, if they were to be such Biblical characters as Moses or Christ wandering in the desolation of a desert terrain.
    Those early mornings in spring-time when, only the first tweets of birds are heard in the stilled darkness just before light.  And the secure gloved feelings I’ve had near times of death.  The times I thought I’d be dead, I became somehow masked from, and felt the protection of God’s essence.  Something perhaps few have felt.  Even seemingly dying, was replaced with calmness of the glove of heaven, then I re-arrived back to earth.
    I’ve had other experiences such as these, fighting for dignity or what’s right.  That day you raise your hand, and swear on a Bible.  Walking into a courtroom to testify, when you know you’re the truth and all else evil must fall at your feet.  Because you know you are just a spec of sand, yet the glove of heaven secures your task at hand.
    Now this all was past, and I ran knowing for now as much as I’m on amber alert probably forever, I’m still progressing forward.  I’m feeling every spec of air as I run and pull away from the lighting of the Monksville Dam.  The darkness increases.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

2023 Holiday Letter from the Reicher's

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

Maybe It's About Love

Maybe I just don't get it... "...My father sits at night with no lights on..."---Carly Simon  In my male-dominant mind. Dr. Suess-ish sing-songy "...go go go go on an adventure..." (George Santos' escapades gave me permission to use "ish".) I'd been accused of not being detailed enough in my writing. as my writer friend, Caytha put it to me now near twenty years ago. I knew she was correct. It's gotten a lot better, a whole bunch better. But the writing of sex scenes... Well... I'll need Caytha for that.  "...his cigarette glows in the dark..."---Carly Simon  Even my husband Norman could have written the simple sex scenes better than I, that I currently need in my script. And he was not a writer, but a math oriented thinker. Ala carte he was a nurturing romantic. And a sort of romantic Humphrey Bogart to his Ingrid. Otherwise, I won't go into details there. I'll let the mature audiences use their imagination. I am so

Birth is a Lottery

  Yes, this is about Taylor Swift and Love. I’ve had this discussion in depth nearly twenty years ago with a client. We were discussing being grateful for landing where we had in the years we were born.  As to now, after that conversation, my attitude still holds. You gotta kind of be happy for other people in some way, no matter where you came from. It’s like good sportsman-like conduct. You lose, you shake hands, hug, whatever. That is how I’ve handled it 99% of the time, win or lose. I remember one time, one moment in my life I didn’t do that. And I still stand by my not doing so that evening after a competition. Otherwise, every other competitor deserved my congrats.  My fight coach said that I was unusual (2013) because after losing a fight, I act as though I’ve won. To me, it was that I was just so happy to be able to compete. I’ve lost more than I’ve won. I’ll say that again. I’ve lost more than I’ve won. In softball, when I was aged nine (1971), we lost all our games as the &qu