GOBLIN
(a fantasy writing project)
1. My Goblin
I can’t tell you how uncomfortable it is to find myself here with this goblin. This goblin is mine, no doubt about it.
Nearly fifty years of avoiding a life of motherhood and here I am.
I tried to run away from this but eventually someone called me to let me know that the goblins were bothering people around town, asking for help, and that it would be best if I came back to take care of my business. My goblins. There were two and now there is only one left and it's not doing too well.
I should clarify that I’m not a mom. Sorry I made that association earlier. I just meant to say that there is a kind of freedom I’ve always cared about, that I associate with the child-free, and having to care for a goblin feels a lot like what I thought caring for children would be like, for me.
The good thing is that it brought me back home, and it’s beautiful here. You should see the trees. They’re all over the place. You should see the beaches and smell the air. And the weather is so much better than L.A. You can wear sweaters and not be uncomfortable. I have to say, even my hair is back to growing strong and feeling healthy. I have a lot of good memories here too, having to do with the way the "outside" of my early life was. It’s like I am finally equipped to really live inside of the good things about this part of the world. But of course, there is a catch. There is always a catch-
The combination of returning home to a place I missed and the responsibility of helping this creature that consumes human joy and energy, without even realizing that it’s some kind of cause for the life it doesn’t really like, is confusing me. It’s so dreadfully familiar and creates a comfort that sits in rot. I was brought up in this goo, with only clues that it’s not well to be that way. Clues came from outside the rotten goblin cave. My neural connections were made there, so you can see how it can be a problem. I am now on another rung of the time-spiral of whatever we are all a part of, and witnessing a few layers down. The old familiar wants to bring me back in and is trying to scratch away at those slight ring layers. I’ve done too much work to not keep my guard up.
All of us here have won it.
My goblin holds life with claws, grappling. Not dearly, not with wonder. Eyes closed.
The moments of sitting in the warm sun and feeling that maybe life is the lottery, and all of us here have won it. From some other way of being- to be alive in this kind of space, with the body troubles, the bills to pay, the loneliness, the friendship. The warmth of a cuddle, the transcendence of a good night out, dancing. Meeting others and listening. Really listening, for the sake of taking it all in, before it’s gone.
No, my goblin doesn’t live that way.
The other one said, right before death, “I wish I had gone out on my little boat more often. That’s what I really liked doing and I chose not to. I didn’t do what I wanted, which wasn’t much, and now I can't.”
That gave me hope for the other one, that it would serve as a lesson, but I am learning that this hope isn’t going to go anywhere useful, aside from helping me make choices to do the simple things that make life everything I want it to be. All things considered, I guess that’s pretty useful-
The goblin left behind, or rather, alone, is always sad and repeats stories of the past. The same ones I’ve heard my entire life. Life as a young goblin, before I was born. All those years when I was away, learning how to live, no new stories were made, so new stories are shared.
My goblin feels short-changed, burdened, and misses the other one. My goblin doesn’t know how to be a friend and shares energy that keeps people at bay. My goblin made choices that led to how things are, but doesn’t connect the dots or accept accountability as an option. Too late for learning, so no leap of faith into acceptance or peace (peace would be nice). Just old guilt and sorrow in a cave, for all that should've been but wasn't. And here I am.
Nearly fifty years of avoiding a life of motherhood and here I am.
I tried to run away from this but eventually someone called me to let me know that the goblins were bothering people around town, asking for help, and that it would be best if I came back to take care of my business. My goblins. There were two and now there is only one left and it's not doing too well.
I should clarify that I’m not a mom. Sorry I made that association earlier. I just meant to say that there is a kind of freedom I’ve always cared about, that I associate with the child-free, and having to care for a goblin feels a lot like what I thought caring for children would be like, for me.
The good thing is that it brought me back home, and it’s beautiful here. You should see the trees. They’re all over the place. You should see the beaches and smell the air. And the weather is so much better than L.A. You can wear sweaters and not be uncomfortable. I have to say, even my hair is back to growing strong and feeling healthy. I have a lot of good memories here too, having to do with the way the "outside" of my early life was. It’s like I am finally equipped to really live inside of the good things about this part of the world. But of course, there is a catch. There is always a catch-
The combination of returning home to a place I missed and the responsibility of helping this creature that consumes human joy and energy, without even realizing that it’s some kind of cause for the life it doesn’t really like, is confusing me. It’s so dreadfully familiar and creates a comfort that sits in rot. I was brought up in this goo, with only clues that it’s not well to be that way. Clues came from outside the rotten goblin cave. My neural connections were made there, so you can see how it can be a problem. I am now on another rung of the time-spiral of whatever we are all a part of, and witnessing a few layers down. The old familiar wants to bring me back in and is trying to scratch away at those slight ring layers. I’ve done too much work to not keep my guard up.
All of us here have won it.
My goblin holds life with claws, grappling. Not dearly, not with wonder. Eyes closed.
The moments of sitting in the warm sun and feeling that maybe life is the lottery, and all of us here have won it. From some other way of being- to be alive in this kind of space, with the body troubles, the bills to pay, the loneliness, the friendship. The warmth of a cuddle, the transcendence of a good night out, dancing. Meeting others and listening. Really listening, for the sake of taking it all in, before it’s gone.
No, my goblin doesn’t live that way.
The other one said, right before death, “I wish I had gone out on my little boat more often. That’s what I really liked doing and I chose not to. I didn’t do what I wanted, which wasn’t much, and now I can't.”
That gave me hope for the other one, that it would serve as a lesson, but I am learning that this hope isn’t going to go anywhere useful, aside from helping me make choices to do the simple things that make life everything I want it to be. All things considered, I guess that’s pretty useful-
The goblin left behind, or rather, alone, is always sad and repeats stories of the past. The same ones I’ve heard my entire life. Life as a young goblin, before I was born. All those years when I was away, learning how to live, no new stories were made, so new stories are shared.
My goblin feels short-changed, burdened, and misses the other one. My goblin doesn’t know how to be a friend and shares energy that keeps people at bay. My goblin made choices that led to how things are, but doesn’t connect the dots or accept accountability as an option. Too late for learning, so no leap of faith into acceptance or peace (peace would be nice). Just old guilt and sorrow in a cave, for all that should've been but wasn't. And here I am.