Dangling on a Hook (the Mostly Sad Story)
HoOk \'huk\ n 1 a curved or bent device for catching, holding or pulling 2. something curved or bent like a hook 3. a f.ight of a ball that deviates from a straight course in a direction opposite to the dominant hand of the player propelling it 4. a short blow delivered with a circular motion by a boxer while the elbow remains bent and rigid
Talking, a friend made a quip, not instantly grasped. Taking pity the friend replied, "I won't leave you DAnGLing oN a HoOk". My response, "It's okay, I rather like dangling from a hook."
It made me pause
The HoOk we all dangle from. That big HoOk. That enormous HoOk. That HoOk reaching down from the sky. The HoOk beyond all imagination and proportions. Held by the hand of Gawd? Held by the fates? Held by the choices & circumstances of our lives?
Waking, perhaps from sleep, perhaps from conception, there I am, the HoOk pulled through all that is me, inextricably caught, compelled to dangle and wait. The frustration immeasurable. Sometimes painful. Sometimes just uncomfortable. Sometimes, oddly, beatific. Feet & legs & torso suspended, arms & hands & head ineffectual, the cold metal of the HoOk, always there.
First there'd be surprise, shock, disbelief. How? Why? Suspended. DAnGLing. ON a HoOk! Then fear. Concern for self. Perhaps concern for others. Cold fear, shattering fear, body shivering, disbelief fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the HoOk. Then frustration. Panic. Horror. Dread. The unending knowledge of unknown caught, holding tight, grasping liberty, independence, life.
I see my frustration, twisting around, trying to examine the HoOk, see how it works, perhaps devise a method to remove. I see legs flailing, even hurting self. Desperation. Kicking out, twisting, turning, bouncing, screaming, only to secure the HoOk tighter. I see glimmerings of hope, as imagination contemplates release. And despair, imagination slapping me in the face, laughing its evil laugh, "Caught again". I see exhaustion and sleep. Perhaps dreams.
Dreams of freedom. On solid ground. Arms touching again, any object, anything, anyone other than myself. Or the HoOk.
I see me walking, free, and then the horror, perhaps momentarily still lost in the dream, and then the pain, when fully awake, knowing, sure knowledge, we are still tied. Me and the HoOk. I see me crying out. Crying out to loved ones, the Gawds, anything, my soul, and faith shattered by unresponsiveness. I see delirium, laughter, simplistic joy and terrible love. My companion, the HoOk.
Then after, after the frustration's gone, after the fighting and flailing, after the praying and hope, after the pain and joy, after acceptance, there I'd be, dangling, just me. And the HoOk.
HoOked on Life
HoOked on Phonics
By HoOk or by Crook
On one's own HoOk
HoOked on Drugs
That Song's got a HoOk
HoOked off Stage
HoOk & Ladder
HoOk & Eye
Off the HoOk
HoOked on Love
HoOked on You
HoOk, Line & Sinker