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.
Rattled and restless, ravaged by wind and history.
A sliver of moon in a winter sky scantily clothed by clouds of lace,
my heart is missing... I woke again, startled by something unseen, in the early, eerie hours before this dawn. It was gone then too, this restless organ of life and love. I searched for it, and found it at my window, pressed against the cold hard glass, straining to see that which it is certain exists somewhere. I knew then that I would lose it soon, lose my grip, lose the battle... it had ventured too far down this path of its own illusions and my mind no longer held the reins. In the chill of those silent, small moments in the middle of the night I was able to draw it back to me, lured by a nest of blankets and painted dreams, of fairytales and hope... and return to a shaky sleep. My body trembling at the knowing, the realization that something has shifted. Afraid to close my eyes, sensing that by daybreak it would be gone, sheer exhaustion pulled me under.
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.
Superficial layers of color and cloth, covering flaws, concealing anything real that might give insight into a heart or a soul. Longing to fit, to find a perfect piece in a fucked up puzzle, they sculpt and mold and otherwise modify until existence is minimal, and exhibition is the main. Seeking satisfaction, regardless of reality, nothing made of substance and genuine depth, but merely illusion and shallow deception, they stumble through, unknowing, careless of what is real or no. Pain is perpetuated, truth unknown, self-destructive source of motivation driving them on.
A broken blanket of white shrouds the world around her as she makes her way out into the early morning silence. At the edge of escaping this world, on the verge of caving in, she does the only thing she knows to do… she moves. Often, simply finding motion is enough, a change of scenery, a change of space, anything to keep the blood flowing. Sometimes she has been able to find groomed trails, her course smooth and easy, built for running, and she has been able to move with abandon, fast and free. In these times she reaches goals, climbs mountains, exists within her dreams. In these times, she runs for the sake of running, for the thrill of being alive, simply to feel the sun on her face, a gentle breeze guiding her in celebration.
