Rejecting my Inheritance

It was on a crisp Spring Michigan Morning. The first time I saw or understood Them

Part Two.

It was on a crisp Spring Michigan Morning. The first time I saw or understood Them in a way that was truly my own. It was 2003 and at age 14, I was just beginning to unwrap my own understanding of the world and how I fit into it.

I had inherited my room from my oldest brother Adam, who was wise and so naturally gifted that there was not a thing he couldn't do or elaborate on. He left for Brazil without speaking its native tongue and learned in one month what most struggle to learn in a lifetime. He returned home, Portuguese falling from his lips and  reading untranslated Paulo Ferria, The Odessey of the Opressed. He was cultivating  poetry and journal entries in what you would think was his newfound first language. He left for Nicaragua with a one-way bus ticket to celebrate the Nicaraguan Revolution that was an attempt to free itself of American imperialism where he learned to tend and till organically sustainable crops in an urban environment. He was charming without being condescending or disingenuous. His ideas about life lived in a natural and holistic way made you believe it was possible for mankind to exist in harmony; a tangible utopia. With my inheritance came an abundance of books; Vonnegut, Bukowski, Nabokov, Dostoevsky.

Photo by Parco Chan on Unsplash

Joy and anxiety dwelled peacefully in the same breathe. These works became my contact with the notion that source is in everything. The first book I read off the shelves was Kurt Vonnegut’s, A Breakfast of Champions in which the protagonist declares, “We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane.” A thought, which would overrule my thinking for years to come. 

A night I remember in depth around this time took place with my Dad. It was one where conversation erupted between my Dad and I in regards to how many hours I missed my curfew by.

He barged in my door and said, “Alex I don’t feel like you’re in a good place spiritually right now. You have time for your friends and all the other things  you want to do, but how much time are you giving to God?” I brushed him off and didn’t engage in the conversation. He then retorted, “when are you going to get up?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really have anything to do today.” I told him. With Irritation on his face, he decided to go all in on how he thought my life did not add up to the way he thought it should be lived. After listening to his assumptions for a couple of min I couldn’t take anymore of it. “How you see and feel God has literally nothing to do with me, please back the fuck off.”

Photo by Jonas Denil on Unsplash

As the words were leaving my mouth, I began to put cloths on. I needed  to get out. The more we bantered the more I felt a bout of rage readying itself for an attack.I ran downstairs to put my hat, scarf and gloves on.  Bull Dozing my way out the front door, the first thing that appeared to me was a single doe grazing on its first bit of blossoming flowers just peaking through the melting snow.  As the doe felt my eyes on her, she discontinued eating and very gracefully hopped her way into our subdivisions common area. 

My typical suburban neighborhood has one redeeming characteristic about it in these naturally stunning Oak tree’s that claim ages 50-100 years old. It was toward these giants, the doe beckoned me to follow. 

Pursuing down into the open area everything became instantly still. Not the lack of life where you feel afraid but the kind of internal peace that engulfs you when you've reached the summit and there is no one else there but you.  There was no wind, no outside noise or breath just the slight gleam through the clouds. My head down sunk with defeat, my thoughts became entangled in bitterness and deep sadness. My thoughts were festered with bits of bitterness, rage, and hurt. I was walking a path that had already been laid out for me and not matter what I did, it wouldn't be good enough in someone's eyes.

Peace picked my eyes up and there was the doe along with 25 other deer calmly foraging in a tiny three-acre space in Rochester Hills. It was in that moment that I first felt Them. I felt compassion, grace and love. Love so deep; it ached my heart and moved my mind to complete lack of understanding.

All the fear, doubt and numbness washed away and I was left enveloped sitting  on my knees as a child needing nothing else but that love.

-A.D. Verville