Posts Tagged ‘Post Traumatic Growth’


There is ancient Celtic myths around Leprechauns and their gold. Modern cerealogy tells us that luck is in charms. Meanwhile the sanitized celebration for a genocidal maniac, St. Patrick’s Day has us dying things green, and talking about chasing rainbows to their tails anchored in pots of gold.

Rainbows.

“I hate colour.” Lee Jacobs said. All he wanted was a deep sleep, the kind where you awake well rested and do not recall your dreams. What he got instead was  a mystical experience from a super-hero and a former mayor with their kids that many presumed missing, assumed dead.

“Mr. Jacobs, this is Camelot.” one of the children said. His mother hugged him and her sister close.

“What is left of Camelot. It is a pocketverse in the multi-verse.” Susan Kobwash said. Former mayor, adventurer with the Great Crime Fighters, and wife to Rick Saturn, the (original) Bionic Knight. “There is some literal truth in each myth or legend that goes with the eternal truth.”

Lee scratched his head, looking at the man in the golden armour, with the balding head. More salt that pepper in his beard as he locked tired eyes with Jacobs. What Lee had seen before entering the rainbow of the man with tremors was no more, just weary with some tears in his eyes. “Bionic Knight?”

“Not anymore. I hold the PenDragon magic, but Beth Venus is the new Bionic Knight of earth.” Rick said. Lee nodded, it already confirmed a heavy suspicion he had about the young lady, and gave him some pride that she had heard his words about battling hate without super powers that she would return to him in her secret identity to continue the fight. “I’m simply Rick.”

Lee nodded, as Rick and Susan went on to share what brought them to Camelot at the end of the Rainbow bridge. The piece of the multi-verse between all the other realms. What ancient philosophers, mystics and theologians had termed such as Hades, Purgatory or Limbo…a place of nowhere and everywhere all at once. They had been healing from the psychogenic non-epileptic seizures and chronic pain the decades of heroics had brought into Rick’s system as a result of his a-typical Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Susan and the kids had chosen to come to Camelot, much like the Fantastic Four was a family that shared adventures, so they chose to share adventures. Healing of all the traumas and vicarious traumas were on the board.

“So this is some mystical Big TOE type Post Traumatic Growth?” Lee said. (writer’s note: Big TOE is a metaphysical-quantum physics terminology for Big Theory of Everything).

(Also writer’s note Post Traumatic Growth, also known as PTG, is the phase of life after healing through PTSD where one can be known to come into a spiritual awakening).

Rick smirked.

“Yes, we are moving through the pain and the hurt to the new reality. The four of us are Camelot, and enjoying exploring all the other realities and the relationships that are we are coming into.” Susan said.

“Wait, you are Camelot?” Lee quizzled.

“Yes, the last of the PenDragon energy has allowed us to become Camelot that which was thought destroyed with my friend John MacCurtis when he stopped the evil alien god, Thor. We can slide through dimensions and universes using the Rainbow. We are finally home and at peace.” Rick said.

Lee got the hint behind it. Everyone kept talking about the “real” Bionic Knight returning to put things right. To save the world once more. Rick was closing that door, and he brought it to… “Why me?”

“Lee, I have grown up with you, seen what you do, and know people listen to you. Take the message home that we are no more, let the nation grieve and heal. Let them accept the new.” Rick said. He extended his hand. Lee shook it. “The Great Crime Fighters are yours. A new team, a new family if you will for old threats, but the wisdom beats in your heart.”

“Wait…I…”

The colours vanished.

The trailer’s laminate was all to real as Lee bounced his face off of it having fallen off the couch. Not really how he enjoyed mystical experiences ending, though it wasn’t like he had a lot of experience with them.

The sermon for Sunday was in his heart now. He clicked open his phone and dialed MLA Moon, here’s hoping with the election call looming she may still be able to swing a feed of the Sunday message to bring out the good grieving a country, a province, a city needed to embrace the new.

Meanwhile…

Louie Regis, former agent of Canada’s Supra Agency, who wrestles with his own typical PTSD that results in flashbacks, depression and anxiety spells. Today was a good day. He hadn’t had many before retirement, or since he had this feeling to track down MacKay to only discover his old friend dead, and a new batch of yahoos playing hero.

Regis finished what was left of his beer in the run down bar. His trusty snub nose .38 still in a shoulder holster under his rumpled suit. It was a controlled fire arm, and he was not supposed to be carrying it. But Louie had seen, and been involved with enough things to know the necessity of protection in a weird world.

Sliding from the stool, his worn loafers stuck a little to the pitty plank wood as he moved to the stain glass door and stepped out into the night air. Funny enough an avowed atheist, that he was off to church the next morning to hear what the big deal was with this Father Lee Jacobs, and the importance of rebuilding some parish always on financial life support (St. Jude’s).

The six beers were not sitting so well with him with the crisp night air, and light fog as he walked down the road to sleep it off in old hatch back. He had grown accustomed to sleeping in his agent days and as such when travelling never bothered with hotels or motels. Louie just cleaned up at truck stops.

“Loouiee!”

Regis turned to his name…

The arrow sliced through his left eye and out the back of this head sending brain and bone pieces…