Cold Gray Day

Concrete mountains rise above me, as I roam the city in search of something left behind, a magic moment of surrender, a realization of connection or impermanence, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Pushed to the gutter, and black with the footprint of this age, the remains of the storm lay forgotten, fading, dying, at the edges of commotion. For a moment, life had paused, breathing in the stillness gifted by this blanket of white. The rigid gray of the once busy streets softened slightly by its grace, hushed for a moment while the city stood silent. Then, shaken, as if waking disillusioned from a dream, and late for something important, life rushed ahead, defiling this clean sheet of fluffy newness with its excrement, its grime… pushing it back, revealing the cold, hard surface below, in a hurry to move beyond such inconvenient beauty, and back to routine.

For a moment, there was wonder… a sanctity of presence was felt. Life was honored simply for being, and the business of business took a back seat. So brief, this childlike amusement, how soon we forget to stand in awe, and begin the struggle to return to the struggle...

The air is moist with a foggy mist, hanging heavy over this world of concrete and steel, dampening streets and spirits alike. People wander, disconnected, unenthused, empty… avoiding contact, averting eyes. How quickly the joy of existence is forgotten. A broken man, gray like the sky and bent with age stands cursing those who pass, his eyes meet mine and I find emptiness there as well… sad… lost… He raises a finger to the world and protests his pain with hollow profanity. A fleeting thought of joining him in his salute crosses my mind, bringing with it the hint of a smile... perhaps in recognition of another firey but lonely soul, perhaps for the simple pleasure of giving the bird to the world, to stand beside another and proclaim “enough!”… “fuck you!”…

All around me is a hardness… sharp edges, cold surfaces, cement and steel… it seems exaggerated now that the snow has gone. Giant fortresses of brick and mortar, impenetrable by human warmth, capable of both protecting and isolating, equally adept at welcoming and locking out anyone who comes in contact. As I stand at the foot of one gray giant, I see myself. How is it that I remain outside, separate still? What level of warmth will it take to pass through these walls? They seem to be insurmountable obstacles, this building and my world, yet I know too well that both can be broken. How does one soften and yet retain the strength to stand this tall?

I shudder at the thought of facing one more night, this night of all nights, within my cell. New Year’s Eve, the world has begun celebrating already. I feel only solitude… separate and apart. Too many broken promises to believe that tomorrow is anything more than just another cold, gray day. Yet there are voices in the darkness, fireworks outside my window. How hard could it be to let them in? Maybe tomorrow I will open the door.