I just got done watching the entire series of Lost on Netflix for the second time. What a trip. What story telling. This time around things came a little bit easier. I more often had “aha!” moments and more than a few head-nods to the writer’s foreshadowing. For having gone as long as it did, for having kept almost all of its cast members the entire time, for having a grand story arch they stuck to and finished, and for the sheer magnitude of the undertaking, I can’t think of a better television series. Believe me, I’m a Browncoat, so you can take that to the bank. ;) So, if we have to go back, here are my main take-aways from the show’s six-year run…*spoiler warning*…
Fourteen days have passed since the day that never was, and I find myself here, in this unwanted moment, this day that never belonged, this February twenty-ninth.
I was running that day, full strength and head strong, hurtling towards the precipice, adrenaline fueled, fight or flight blinded, heart pumping, right off the edge
where I remain, here, in the painless agony of the nothingness, waiting for the drop,
waiting to hit ground.
But I remain. Still standing, over empty space. And no sign appears, either falling down above to save me, or rising up below to skewer me. I am lost, though not without compass, or a promise, and these I clench fast where naught else remain within reach and naught else remain to bear me up.
Here is where I make my stand, by will or not, in this void stillness. Here is where I make my leap of faith, this day so-called, this February twenty-ninth.