Nighttime ramblings of a really old guy
By Leoni Venter
Disclaimer: Methos and Immortals belong to Rysher: Panzer/Davis. I just borrowed the ROG's mind for a while, he's still theirs, more's the pity :-)
No rating.
Maybe he's talking to himself, or perhaps Methos is feeling mellow at Joe's, and is talking to you...
***
Nighttime is the worst.
Living through days is something I'm used to. The comings and goings, the aging and growing of everyday life gets so ingrained that even Mortals learn to take days one at a time. I can do no less if I want to hold on to my sanity.
In daytime, the sway of branches in the wind can catapult me back to countless days, because branches have swayed in the wind since I can remember. You'd think that after all this time I wouldn't notice things like that anymore. The blueness of the sky, the magnificence of a thunderstorm, the joyful song of birds or the laughter of a child.
But those are the very things that ground me, these ordinary precious things that prove to me every day that I'm present, here and now, and that here and now is part of the long but ever connected thread of my life.
So in daytime I experience life. I have my routine and it probably seems like I'm hiding to some I might mention, but I try to learn something new every day. And it isn't hard to do on this wondrous world of ours. Days are for making memories. Pleasant or not, my memories describe all my life.
But at night, when the bright of day has fled, I am left with nothing but those memories. And while I treasure them as mine, still they haunt me.
In the evenings, when I make my way back from Joe's or Mac's, my faithful memories keep me company. Some cheer me, some uplift me ... some reproach me. It is so easy with the hindsight of thousands of sleepless nights, to now say what I should or should not have done. Why do people persist in this futile replaying of events in their minds? Why do I?
Of course I feel regret. That, more than anything, convinces me that there is hope for me, that I have indeed changed from what I was. But having said that, can't I let it go?
Still, even with the tossing and turning and the sounds of agony clear in my ears, still I sleep, and that is very often worse.
Because when I am awake and thinking, I can at least distance myself from my memories. I can say, "Methos, that happened three thousand years ago. You're not like that anymore." But when I sleep, my dreams are a portal to that past world. I am transported back in time and am forced to relive in astounding detail, days and nights that once I lived.
My dreams are not all nightmares. Those are the ones that get out of hand and take on a life of their own. Sometimes they trap me, but mostly I can recognize them and distance myself.
What makes my dreams cruel are the voices and faces of people I have loved, so clear and present in my sleep, that when I wake and realize that I've lost them again, it almost destroys me. When I see them alive and smiling, loving me, and the dream stops without giving me a chance to even say goodbye, it's as if I betrayed them all over again.
Yes, I do feel my continued life is a betrayal of those I've lost through the years. I've known Mortals and Immortals alike who've been far more worthy to live my days. Those who would have sought wisdom in their time; those who would have been noble and good. Who knows, maybe another Methos could have brought peace to Immortals and Mortals by now.
But I live every day, recording memories in my mind and on paper, a living chronicle of history maybe, but no great asset to anyone. And at night I struggle with that guilt, awake and sleeping.
And sometimes I wonder if I will perhaps someday find a worthier purpose. Time will tell, in the end.
(c) Leoni Venter, 26 December 2002
By Leoni Venter
Disclaimer: Methos and Immortals belong to Rysher: Panzer/Davis. I just borrowed the ROG's mind for a while, he's still theirs, more's the pity :-)
No rating.
Maybe he's talking to himself, or perhaps Methos is feeling mellow at Joe's, and is talking to you...
***
Nighttime is the worst.
Living through days is something I'm used to. The comings and goings, the aging and growing of everyday life gets so ingrained that even Mortals learn to take days one at a time. I can do no less if I want to hold on to my sanity.
In daytime, the sway of branches in the wind can catapult me back to countless days, because branches have swayed in the wind since I can remember. You'd think that after all this time I wouldn't notice things like that anymore. The blueness of the sky, the magnificence of a thunderstorm, the joyful song of birds or the laughter of a child.
But those are the very things that ground me, these ordinary precious things that prove to me every day that I'm present, here and now, and that here and now is part of the long but ever connected thread of my life.
So in daytime I experience life. I have my routine and it probably seems like I'm hiding to some I might mention, but I try to learn something new every day. And it isn't hard to do on this wondrous world of ours. Days are for making memories. Pleasant or not, my memories describe all my life.
But at night, when the bright of day has fled, I am left with nothing but those memories. And while I treasure them as mine, still they haunt me.
In the evenings, when I make my way back from Joe's or Mac's, my faithful memories keep me company. Some cheer me, some uplift me ... some reproach me. It is so easy with the hindsight of thousands of sleepless nights, to now say what I should or should not have done. Why do people persist in this futile replaying of events in their minds? Why do I?
Of course I feel regret. That, more than anything, convinces me that there is hope for me, that I have indeed changed from what I was. But having said that, can't I let it go?
Still, even with the tossing and turning and the sounds of agony clear in my ears, still I sleep, and that is very often worse.
Because when I am awake and thinking, I can at least distance myself from my memories. I can say, "Methos, that happened three thousand years ago. You're not like that anymore." But when I sleep, my dreams are a portal to that past world. I am transported back in time and am forced to relive in astounding detail, days and nights that once I lived.
My dreams are not all nightmares. Those are the ones that get out of hand and take on a life of their own. Sometimes they trap me, but mostly I can recognize them and distance myself.
What makes my dreams cruel are the voices and faces of people I have loved, so clear and present in my sleep, that when I wake and realize that I've lost them again, it almost destroys me. When I see them alive and smiling, loving me, and the dream stops without giving me a chance to even say goodbye, it's as if I betrayed them all over again.
Yes, I do feel my continued life is a betrayal of those I've lost through the years. I've known Mortals and Immortals alike who've been far more worthy to live my days. Those who would have sought wisdom in their time; those who would have been noble and good. Who knows, maybe another Methos could have brought peace to Immortals and Mortals by now.
But I live every day, recording memories in my mind and on paper, a living chronicle of history maybe, but no great asset to anyone. And at night I struggle with that guilt, awake and sleeping.
And sometimes I wonder if I will perhaps someday find a worthier purpose. Time will tell, in the end.
(c) Leoni Venter, 26 December 2002