Squares and rectangles with light pouring in, raw and bright, the way that new monsoon light does. I’ve been noticing the way windows frame a view, just so.
Today the afternoon light splashes through glass. It makes the walls yellower and my mood softer, even without enough sleep. Where I am sitting I can see the hills from the window, and the concrete skyline. And, this view could turn two ways: either the concrete takes over like a blanket of lichen over a pond; or an Armageddon of sorts and when the dust settles and the first rain hits again, world goes green! I vote for latter!
We are always looking through windows, always seeing a view.
I spend the days indoors, looking out of windows and feeling listless and limited by the smallness of the being and the wants. I’d spent the day inadvertently waiting for something to happen, waiting for the view to change, for something sweet, for delight to find me here in this house were the walls sometimes feel very close and the rooms very small.
I had every intention of spending the rest of the afternoon pacing in the dark rooms of my mind analyzing whatever it was I had missed or done wrong with life, so far, curtains drawn.
Disappointment, if it could have a taste, would be the taste you get at the back of your throat when you jump into a pool, expecting the splash and the plunge, but forgetting to hold your nose. Or it would taste like burnt toast; or getting the popcorn flavored jellybean instead of the lemon one when you pick a yellow one out of the bag. Whatever its taste, disappointment was there on my tongue with the many bitter words I don’t say and swallow instead.
Under the imaginary table in my head I was kicking myself for doing it again: for expecting something, unnamed and remarkable at the end of a day.
Do you ever do this? Expect the world, when the world is already right here, and you are already in it?
I could feel tears at the back of my eyes. They spring up now, often and unbidden, a symptom of the tiredness that has begun to inhabit my body, making the skin under my eyes transparent and dark, and my heart quick to ache.
But, after much clattering of plates and flatware I realized that the only thing I could change was my view. I desperately needed to get out of the house. Right then. Right that minute when the sun was still high and the breeze would bring the scent of warm mud.
As I hiked I found the answers, scattered like last year’s fallen leaves. I realized that what happens with us is something that must happen to many people.
Without intending, it’s easy to become absent, distracted, distant, disheartened. And so there we are. There I am.
I realized I was not mad at all, I found, when I opened and closed the many crammed drawers of my heart.
Instead all I found was a kind of loneliness. A hunger. Shit. It’s so easy to let it slip. You blink, you are caught imperceptibly into life, the clock’s hands go round and round, and zip, it’s gone.
Along the way I noticed how a part of my body would ache, or tighten or complain, and I’d follow the complaint, the ache, the tightness through. I’d listen to it, run into it, and then miraculously it would disappear, and I’d be further down the road with a completely different outlook.