Four Knocks and No Doctor Required

From Time to Time I like to take a stab at creative writing, as it is often found to be both an outlet to creativity and a medicine for the mind. So, without further delay, let there be four knocks and no Doctor required.  

Four Knocks and No Doctor Required

As the end of the year comes closer with each passing minute, a time of reflection arrives. The year that is slowly edges toward the moment of becoming the year that was. And, in the daily rituals of time and deed, many often reflect upon what becomes or what may be or what is important.

Sometimes we find ourselves looking back and forward at the same time. Are we in search of something lost? Or, do we yearn for that which has not yet been found? Sometimes, as we walk around the aisles of our mind, we may find that things which once held such admiration and honor have become discarded scraps upon the cold floor. Or, in contrast, we find things forgotten – now restored with new value and appreciation.  

Events comes and go. An event that means nothing to one can mean the world to another.

Actions are equal of cause and effect.  An action can bring both the intended and the unintentional – both at the same and of the equal.

A knock at the door.

What must we do when we find that which has, by choice and or maybe or by design, become intertwined within our very being now has been forever marked with a negative? This we allow to define us as it intertwines. Yes, even within our very identity. A Doctor by any other name no longer seems to matter. Who no longer seems to matter. Isn’t that a shock?

What do we do when a voice is stolen, overwhelmed by the unknown presence of intent, to the point that one says: NO MORE? What do we do, when a Moment is stolen, and is unable to be reclaimed?  Do we run? Do we stay, when that stolen voice can not be restored? Do we scream now when silence had fallen?  

A knock at the door.

Gathering of voices for a common endeavor creates a hybrid of ideas, all intertwined together. Be it on a stolen earth or the space between M and N, we bring our hopes and dreams and lay them bare to be digitized and digested. But, silence is ever there – ready, ever so ready, to fall once again, and plummet us into the depths of forgotten memory.

Travelers we all may be, but companions not of all. By no action did it occur of our own that made it be so. Actions and words of another create that reality.  

Some moments are special, in the moment of our intent. We think them special – because we decided they should be. Then, upon realization that an outside force – once welcomed – covers all sound of one and an equal. What must one think when that same force does not with two of High Council?  

A knock at the door.

Ego is strange, a beast and a babe. Feelings are like feathers, yet they carry the world’s weight. Mountains appear and crush the spirit, when – for others – the same is but dust in the wind. Acceptance is key, be you far or near. Acceptance, once given, comes with equal respect. Silence acceptance and be faced with departure.

Yet, forces arise. Destroyer of worlds, regardless of real.  

A knock at the door.

Now, here we are. Times are changing and so must we all.

Do you want to go? The question is asked. How can one stay – when the reality bubble is no more?

Was this a dream, this week, weekend, day gone? Everybody dreams.

The dream crashed.

Dreamers of dreams improbable….no more.  

Books no longer weapons be.

Fixed timed undone. more.

Let the neutrons flow, more.

Carrot juice…vile drink.

There is no water in the forest today.

And, for the first time in the memory of this mind, a neural transmitter awaits. Yet, one thing will be remembered, standing on Bannerman Road. Let the first to the seventh pass beyond memory’s gate, let the eighth to the war fight the time of no more. Be you nine or be you, sir, thirteen. Erase from memory…be gone…be still…be silent, as was I.

The mind washed silent…clean is the slate. From memory goes the Rose, even of Noble of cause.  From memory goes it all…locked away..inside..sealed.

Once stood in awe of the chattering of voices…once joined and rejoiced…torn…silenced…by one. Finale most important, new voices to be heard. Silenced by one..overwhelmed..with discord.

Pressing the button – no pear to the left or right. Walking into tomorrow, a tune in the mind…

dum..dum…dum..dum.  Dum..dum…dum..dum.  It meant so much, but in time will it fade? Replaced by the sound of a lone renegade?

Into the vault of yesterday does the story go.

The message is here, hidden in plain sight.

Moments are important, but then they are gone. The bells, all cloistered together, fall silent. There meaning matters not. The story may be done or there may be more to be told. For today, it is done. The knocks equaled four.  


Is all ok?


All will be well. No doctor required.  

Four Knocks And No Doctor Required

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