The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man

Deification, revisited

I leave Madison to its bright skies, my vision the only view with clouds. Doubt settles like dust as I wedge into my seat. Foreshadowed demise, rocking plane and shimming turbulence. I wait the inevitable decline as we land, rocky, but safely in Denver. I only barely acknowledge the droning voice of my companions, whose litany is peppered with lack-luster compliments and bored assurances. Stop talking.

It is something in the longitudinal shift.

I left Wisconsin a meager and worried individual. I arrive bereft of worry. I land, like Superman on Earth, a changed being. I am strong. I am a small god forcing back mountains with my stare. No more clouds. Only clear skies and warm weather. I am ready.

I am not who I was few hours ago. Here in Colorado, I am allowed to relive the worst hour, the hour that I knew I was tabula rasa before a giant. In that time I am recreated free of inadequacies previous magnified by the safety of "home." In that extra hour I realize that I am the saviour; I was called here. It is at my feet that these people will genuflex.

Time travel has its perks.
Tags: art-life-as, deification, madison, time travel, work - travel
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