"I was, in fact, homesick for wildness, and when I found it I knew how intimately - how resonantly - I belonged there. We are charged with this - all of us. For the human spirit has a primal allegiance to wildness, to really live, to snatch the fruit and suck it, to spill the juice." - Jay Griffiths, Wild: an Elemental Journey
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Hello Sorrow. Let's Take a Drive.
Pain can in a very strange way make everything seem brighter. Not better, but brighter as in more. . . luminescent.
Like because I'm already raw I'm extra sensitive to everything around me and extra appreciative. I notice everything -
Like the robin collecting pieces of grass to build her nest in the honeysuckle bush behind the wooden planks of Katie's back fence.
Like the fat carpenter bees mysteriously working their way through the thick wood of her back porch eaves, dropping sawdust snowflakes as they carve.
Like the combination of the breeze from the ceiling fan and the open porch door and how it feels on my leg.
Like the way the barely dusky twilight shows the shadows behind the kids playing football in the street as I leave her neighborhood.
I feel hyper alive,
hyper grateful for every little thing.
I guess it's because I'm so aware
that everything around me
has an ending.
I'm not hanging on.
I'm taking the long way home, using all the back streets - all the way from Baltimore. I just can't handle 95 right now. So much life happens beyond the boundaries of the highway. So much that I don't see because I'm in a rush to get there the fastest way. But these stoplights - All these damned stoplights are little reminders to breathe.
I'm beginning to see how sorrow is not all bad. It is creative fuel. It is an awakening gift. It is an invitation to life.
I love that it's almost 9 PM and there's still a long line outside of the soft serve ice cream stand. I wouldn't have seen that on 95. I've never seen that ice cream stand before. And why is there a giant sculpture of a hot pink bunny outside of that library?
I want to roll down the windows as I drive and open my mouth wide to eat all of the cool, almost-summer, honeysuckle-laden twilight air.