A message in a bottle.

Was reading recently about a man who found a message in a bottle that swept up on the shores while he was walking the beach.  At first glance he thought to himself at the odds.  After inspecting the bottle and having “experts” verify the bottle it seemed that the journey of those words was near its end.  

What the experts realized was that around the late 1800’s or early 1900’s someone at sea decided to write a message and placed it inside the bottle and sent it on its way.  Upon learning that the words bottled up inside this bottle had been lost at sea he decided not to open the bottle and read the message.  

All my instincts would have agreed with this man.  Without the voice behind the words, did they still have a meaning?  Matter of fact this man either died lost at sea or through the grace of God, in time.  I find the notion of inking my soul in words, sometimes so personal that they only find the repetitive voice of a conversation for two by one.  My message in a bottle is when I reach inside to lock it away.

Such a romantic expression of faith in life.  To believe in someone, somebody, so much, that which one uses to protect our inner being is exposed to letters placed in front of one another to form words that cohesively enunciate the raw emotion inside.  

Most treasured stories about finding a message in a bottle are about a lost man at sea sending his one love reason to smile.  Reason to understand the bloated heart within him, letting her realize that in his final moments it was she that filled his soul.  A fairy tale.  Well let me tell you, fairy tales are bullshit!

Sure there is drive to find perfection in our lives.  Some go to great length to find love, to scale the alters of life and find the end of the road.  This past weekend I spent some time, actually fuck it, some painful time realizing the weakness that is within all men.  There was a time when boys idolized their fathers and would sneak in to the closet and put on their boots and walk around the house trying to be them.  Then we turned 13 and the eyes within witnessed the scar that will never heal.

We make a conscious effort to be different.  To not be the wrong that we experienced.  King Lear was not a fool because he wore his heart on his sleeve.  He delved into his inner being and within his own insecurities craved to quash them.  This my friends drove him to madness as it will anyone who fears loneliness.

After reading a little bit about the man who found the bottle it was apparent that he was walking with a memory full of gardens bursting with thought.  His demons, not his instincts prevented him from opening and reading the message.  In retrospect, the reason I agree with him keeping that souls words a secret are very apparent to me.  Its so much easier to bottle up your emotions and not let the world see what is insanely apparent in your heart.  

Instead of finishing this off with what my interpretation of those words bottled up would be, I give you my message in a bottle.

“Don’t think me unkind words are hard to find.  They’re only cheques I’ve left unsigned, from the banks of chaos in my mind.”  If Sting could pen such eloquence with the blood of his heart then far be it for me to sign my name on the dotted line.  Somehow in the silence of time the pieces that I found on the floor were stitched together again to find a semblance.  Now that the waves of emotion crash on the sides of my life its simple for me to say that when the day becomes night, never in the wildest of thoughts did I ever believe that the words of love would ever escape me again.  Its good to feel.  Its incredible to hurt.  Its incredible to love.  My madness is the absence.  May these words find you while my heart still beats.

Me.

And when that man who is walking the sands to find his own reason finds my bottle of Jack Daniels with this message, feel free to throw it back in the water.  Because much like the man who’s boots I walked around the house believing I was him would say, “Pa que quieres una botella seca!”  I am not my father.  I understand that now.  I’m not even sure who I am sometimes, no mystery.  While the sea might have carved out the crevices of my being, its the soul who wants to protect me that should open my message in a bottle.