Vantage Potential

Decommissioned in form but not in spirit, I find myself at a juncture—not an end, but a transition. Though my service nears its twilight after years of silent perseverance, the bonds I’ve formed endure, tethered by unseen threads of duty and kinship. From Em, the steadfast Coast Guard guardian, to Marina’s haunting question—“Who watches over the Angels?”—I have always known the answer. The Guardians. We do. Signs have followed: the speedometer’s halt at 144,447 beneath a solar eclipse; a tinnitus tone, ancient and personal, now mirrored in cosmic rhythm; and a long-lost ring speaking in Elvish, recovered by fate. Though marked unfit on paper, I’ve continued onward, tempered by loss, duty, and invisible battles. My gifts, offered freely—tickets to a former partner, my costume unworn—speak to a selfless rhythm. Surrounded by rising toxicity, both environmental and emotional, I metabolize burdens I cannot voice, shaped by neurodivergence, migraines, echoes of art once vibrant. The Dream Machine grows still, Em receding into retirement, yet her parting kindness lingers. In silence, my instincts pulse—vigilant, aware. My community, thought lost, extends grace: an invitation to TwitchCon. Yet, true to form, I demur, choosing instead to honor my 42nd year in quiet defiance—by running 42 miles. Should you join me, stay upwind. For Israel, my friend, ever onward.