my journey through conciousness
"Spring began with a flourish of boredom. There just wasn’t really that much to tell about, except the weather, of course. The temperatures would begin to rise just a little bit each day for the length of a week, and then they would plummet straight back to the frigidity of January for a day or two more. Winter just wouldn’t give up. And not only were we allowed to enjoy the playfulness of the thermometer but were also graced with the merriment of the cold, spring rain. Being playful and cold, how absolutely rude. How unequivocally like March to taunt you outside with the sun and then freeze you half to death with the invisible glacial wind."
"...it most definitely would rain if you were doing anything at all outdoors, until you gave it all up and went irrevocably indoors."
>I blog<
certainly you can relate. I know I did. it all started in the rain. rain was pouring down. down through the sky. down through the air. down through the power lines. down and down and down through the trees, through the gutters, through the september corn, through windshield wipers. slowly it trickled down, mightily gushing. down and down and down on window panes and porch steps it spattered. spattered in never ending speckles on a canvas that holds no stroke. it was raining and nothing could stop it.
nothing could stop the progression of time as the drops ran between my eyes. tears I had not cried stained my cheeks. as expressionless as the day, so was my mind. I could feel…nothing. to remember was a forgotten skill. the gloom of green evening light seeped into mind, invaded my attic as slowly as the dawn mist bathes the world. instinctively I placed buckets under each drip but there were too many. soon the windows were stained the color of twilight. carpets squished under foot now, releasing their years of trapped dirt, telling the tale of how many footfalls had come and gone.
the mess continued to grow as the hours dripped by. white walls became lined with brown. demarcations of the height of distress were evident on every surface. the basement was beyond full. perhaps it had been for some time. now the the ground level was filled and the upstairs was inches deep. surely no house can take such stress. no man is strong enough. all of the dirt and grime and garbage floated near the ceiling. the force of it all was too great and now the cleansing rain that had so washed down…now it rose up filthy and angry. on it floated the past and that which should be forgotten and let go. slowly that which I had so long stored locked in chests and closets, under the bed, behind cobwebs, all of this was at my roof pushing on the ceiling. and as the flotsam of life pressed on my mind, slowly the roof began to raise. one corner at a time, one creaking nail after another gave way and soon I was overflowing. my memories too long kept were getting away, and with them drained my sanity. but there was hope. part of my mind was still in tact. the entire roof hadn’t gone yet…there still remained something to hold the walls together and keep myself from coming apart.
perhaps you wonder why I would sit by and watch this happen. I didn’t. I was on vacation and I returned home just in time to see my beautiful old home about to come all to pieces. but old-fashioned as I am I had foresight enough to modernize my house. there are sump pumps in the basement. all I had to do was flip the switch and all would be under control. finding the switch was difficult. the yard was littered with what had spilled out of my roof and there were many years of vines covering the box the switch was in on the back of my home. pulling and tearing and sweating, I finally got it open. strangely I didn’t recognize the switch though it seemed like a very useful and necessary thing to use. I couldn’t read what was written there because of the deepening night shadows, the rust from years of weathering and the water now cascading down the exterior walls and over the vines, the switch and me. with some pushing and pulling and lots of wondering at how it got into such bad shape, the switch finally moved. the pumps were on. the water was going down. what a relief. and yet, what an empty…feeling. feeling and emptiness. where had all of my possessions gone. what would I find when this murky water receded.
perhaps this flooding was the best thing for my old self. to become washed in the newness of life’s storms and filled to overflowing is not so tragic. what once was has now truly become what once was. my precious flotsam is now the jetsam it should have become years ago. and the emptiness I feel is not to last. there are rooms to use and floors to fill with the dust of years of life. the stagnation in my basement has been drained away and will likely never return. dirty fingerprints are gone. the food under the stove is gone. lint balls behind the couch are no more. forgotten spices long ago gone bad in the cupboards hide no longer. each cherished thing so useless and futile bobbed up and away. like a house newly purchased I explored each space with awe and reverence and excitement. there is so much I can do with this place. I must start immediately. I have a home to fill.
come and fill my life together with me.
