I use Rocket for my pen name. It was given to me years ago by my co-workers. I was a kick boxer and the guys started calling me Rocky. They were from Mexico and thought it a good nickname for a white guy.
I told then no, that nickname belonged to guys of Italian heritage; Marciano and Graziano. Then, because I was a bit goofy, it was Rocky Jay squirrel.
Finally, everyone called me Rocket. Some even thought it was my real name. So that is why I sign ‘Rocket’ on my drawings.
have felt this busted up. I worked for years machining concrete blocks.
It was a rough, dirty, and dangerous place.
I ran the machine which formed the block. It stood about ten feet high with huge metal wheels, cams, iron boxes that would slide in and out delivering concrete to the molds.
Great electric motors would spin off set iron bars, to shake the mix into the boxes and then a huge packing head would smash it all down compressing the mix. Above the machine was a hooper which held yards of concrete waiting to become blocks.
That place tried to kill me, numerous times.
The wrost was when I was smashing a two pound Hammer against the hooper, trying the loosen the mix which would build up where the metal joined together.
This must be done with the block making machine off. There are a lot of moving stuff, described above, all being driven by hydraulics and two ton electric motors.
The machine was off, I was ponding on the hopper, when one of the guy’s thought he would help out by turning it back on.
It was as close to death as I have ever come. The 'feedbox' shot forward and I was trapped, my legs from just below the knees down squeezed between three inch thick iron rods.
It lasted maybe six seconds.
I was at first afraid my legs wound be broken and crushed. Then I realized I was about to die. I decided to quit fighting it, I had no control, I was powerless. I let go and surrendered. I called out to what ever was out there to take me and I released my grip on life and met God.
I have never felt such a release, such a complete and total feeling of peace. The extreme pain was there, my body was afraid, but my mind and soul were serene.
I look forward to experiencing that feeling again but I an sure it will be at the moment of my death. I could never let go to that degree with out bring close to death. I felt wrapped in the arms of a great and powerful spirit. A force, if you will, which is always with us, but hardly noticed until time of extreme destress. I call it God.
There is a blank spot in my memory. I cannot recall being thrown from the machine. I came back to my senses on the ground, the great euphoria had passed.
The muscles in my legs were crushed, but the bones regained whole: amazingly the bones in my legs were unbroken. I spent three days in hospital. Six weeks off work and two years of surgeries.
But I no longer fear death. I am afraid of the process, the humiliation and weakening of the body. I pray for a quick sudden and violent death. Because I know the endorphins will kick in, adrenaline will flow and I will be in a euphoric state.
I tried but there is no way to really describe what I felt that day.
I only know there is a God, and I ain’t him. Or her. Why world God have a gender?
Thx for letting me share.