The Night Still Holds Its Terrors
I blame Rod Taylor. It all began with him. You know Rod, that Australian actor of the late 50's and Early 60's who tried and almost succeeded in becoming a true star and idol? In 1960 he starred in a movie called "The Time Machine" which was a rather well-made telling of H.G. Wells' story of the future and all that awaits mankind. At the tender age of eight my father took his family to the home of a friend where we were treated to a rare home-viewing of the movie in his friend's home theatre rigged up with reflective screen and 16mm projector borrowed from the school where he taught. As an impressionable child I loved the movie but one creature jumped off the screen and implanted himself into my psyche in a life-altering manner. He was The Morlock. That troglodytic cannibal imprinted his horrific existence in my mind and altered my dreams to a great extent.
The Morlock began what has continued to this day, namely my night terrors. After watching that movie I began having nightmares so upsetting that I soon could not sleep without a light on in my room. I would awaken, in the middle of the night, terrified and with beating heart and find that I could not get back to sleep. My terror was so complete I would have to sit with my back to the wall in my bed (after having checked under to make sure nothing lurked) and keep my eyes opened in order to protect myself from the creatures in my closet who were lurking to grab and devour me. I knew it was silly, I understood that it was only my sub-conscious mind run rampant, but it didn't matter. I was in fear for my life and must keep vigil least it be forfeit.
My old AM radio became my ally. Tuning knob in hand I would search the late-night airways looking for the ionospheric bounce which would bring me lonely sounds from Wichita or other places unknown and I would listen to the high, lonesome sound of Hank Williams and the sad ballads of Mickey Newbury. I would hear Red Sovine tell me the tale of "Phantom 309" which is still a favorite today because it told me a ghost tale of a different kind. A tale of a ghost who meant well for all and in the sacrifice of "Big Joe" I found an icon which warmed my heart and gave my juvenile mind an archetype of friendliness to emulate. Many were the hours I sat, tuning knob in hand, searching for the distant sounds which would tell me that I was not alone in my dark vigil. These sounds soothed me and eventually I would be able to sleep again, confident that the world went on and I was safe from the cannibalistic evil seeking my hide.
But although the heavy terrors of the night are gone, I still awaken sometimes with racing heart and dreams I cannot recall. I find that in the lonely hours of the night I must reach out again for the radio, the sounds different these days but the same in so many ways. I listen to plaintive celtic ballads and rock music talking of love and loss and if I'm really lucky, I'll find a college station where the late-night DJ is playing Tom Waits' excellent re-telling of "Phantom 309".
At times like these I find that I'm in love with my lonely vigil. It has given me a view-point of life which, though singularly difficult to express, has moulded me into the man I am. I would not change my quiet walk with the distant drummer for anything and though I blame Rod, I also love his work and will sit up late at night to watch his movies. Soon my heart subsides from its racing and I will go back to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.
I wonder where my old Red Sovine album went...
The Morlock began what has continued to this day, namely my night terrors. After watching that movie I began having nightmares so upsetting that I soon could not sleep without a light on in my room. I would awaken, in the middle of the night, terrified and with beating heart and find that I could not get back to sleep. My terror was so complete I would have to sit with my back to the wall in my bed (after having checked under to make sure nothing lurked) and keep my eyes opened in order to protect myself from the creatures in my closet who were lurking to grab and devour me. I knew it was silly, I understood that it was only my sub-conscious mind run rampant, but it didn't matter. I was in fear for my life and must keep vigil least it be forfeit.
My old AM radio became my ally. Tuning knob in hand I would search the late-night airways looking for the ionospheric bounce which would bring me lonely sounds from Wichita or other places unknown and I would listen to the high, lonesome sound of Hank Williams and the sad ballads of Mickey Newbury. I would hear Red Sovine tell me the tale of "Phantom 309" which is still a favorite today because it told me a ghost tale of a different kind. A tale of a ghost who meant well for all and in the sacrifice of "Big Joe" I found an icon which warmed my heart and gave my juvenile mind an archetype of friendliness to emulate. Many were the hours I sat, tuning knob in hand, searching for the distant sounds which would tell me that I was not alone in my dark vigil. These sounds soothed me and eventually I would be able to sleep again, confident that the world went on and I was safe from the cannibalistic evil seeking my hide.
But although the heavy terrors of the night are gone, I still awaken sometimes with racing heart and dreams I cannot recall. I find that in the lonely hours of the night I must reach out again for the radio, the sounds different these days but the same in so many ways. I listen to plaintive celtic ballads and rock music talking of love and loss and if I'm really lucky, I'll find a college station where the late-night DJ is playing Tom Waits' excellent re-telling of "Phantom 309".
At times like these I find that I'm in love with my lonely vigil. It has given me a view-point of life which, though singularly difficult to express, has moulded me into the man I am. I would not change my quiet walk with the distant drummer for anything and though I blame Rod, I also love his work and will sit up late at night to watch his movies. Soon my heart subsides from its racing and I will go back to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.
I wonder where my old Red Sovine album went...
posted by S.A.M. Tanner at 5:34 AM
3 Comments:
The Red Sorvine? The morlocks took it while you were sleeping!
i had the biggest crush on Rod...he was a hotie. And oh so jealous of the woman in the birds. What was her name? Tippi Hedron...yea.
and you are right. the solitary walk actually is what we all do. We truly are alone in ourselves. despite who we surround ourselves with.
keep up the vigil friend.
;-)
I still have moments where I leap, with pounding heart in my ears, into wakefulness. I've held my hand over my chest (silly, I know) for fear it would jump clean out of my body if not physically held in check.
I would not, for a moment, change who are but I sure do hope that for every bad dream or sleepless night, that you have one of deepest, restful, slumber and magical dreams.
{{{hugs}}}
~M~
It is interesting to think about - if you hadn't seen that particular movie would you have still had all those lonely nights? I would guess yes. But what form would your demons have taken? And would the different shape have changed who you are?
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