Wednesday, July 18, 2012

glide away on soapy heels

but it sounds kind of like magic.

In one piercing moment, he felt as though the music was the only thing that mattered. In singing the honey-golden phrases, the world, boiled down to a cohesive, simple phrase of melody interwoven with harmony, made perfect sense. The mellifluous notes tugged at his heart, begging him to lift it up, to relinquish a vise-like grasp on his own adoration, as he proclaimed every day he would.
Ubi Caritas et amor Deus ibi est. 
The music was a calling and an answer. Challenge and consolation. The song was an oasis in a desert of a world--a world unutterably confounding and complicated.
One thing is needful. And that was to sing. 

She was running. Running through the mists of the early morning. Running through the sunlit dewey droplets on the grass. Early morning runs are excursions into the heart of a world reborn; bursts of speed and experiences of a world renewed. Casting magic-y golden shadows over the earth, the sun was just about to hit its stride, gaining in strength and brightness. Moving from glory into glory. The tree over the water beckoned. She cast aside her shoes, and lightly darted into the labyrinthine haven of the tree. As she balanced between the worn and weathered branches, the golden sun bathed the tree in light. The light danced off the water, and reflected off the leaves. The water was singing its sweet, silent  song. The tree swayed to the rhythm of the wind. Creation was palpably alive--in all its silent solemn glory. Sitting on that tree--one small girl on the face of the giant globe--she was a part of that glory. 
The weight was easy to bear. 
It was effortless and natural.

He ran out of Mass. His eyes were red, containing tears that he had refused to let escape. But then finally, out they came. He sat under the awnings of Debartolo hall and sobbed in choking, gasping heaves. Sobs that had remained hidden and unheard for months and months made their way to the surface. His body, wracked by sorrow, could do nothing but pour tears and snot out of his body as his voice cracked, choked on itself, and cried out in sorrow. Sadness and hurt are painful. But they're more painful when kept inside, twisting in on themselves, embedding themselves in a soul. Crying dislodges the pain. The sobs washed his soul free from the months of hurt, frustration and disappointment. It was the sort of crying that can find cessation only through a friend seeking forgiveness. And when forgiveness comes, it finds a soul washed anew by its own tears, a soul refreshed and renewed. A soul yearning to take his brother in his arms and somehow make him feel how entirely forgiven and loved he is.

Sammy executed handstands gracefully, effortlessly. His muscular body barely twitched as his arms lifted his body up into the dark night air. He walked around as if his hands were simply another set of feet. Watching someone turn themselves upside down and then acclimate themselves to the antipodean world so simply is dangerous. It begets copy-cat behavior. I felt the rush of achievement as I balanced on my hands for a few seconds. Fantastic job. Just throw yourself into it a bit more. So I threw my body up in the air for a second time. My arms were not as strong as Sammy's, and they crumpled. As my body collapsed downwards onto my head, I heard the bones in my neck crackle and crunch. In shock, I laid on the ground, my first thought: I'm paralyzed. My spine is broken. After realizing that neither death nor paralyzation was my lot (at least for the moment), hysterical laughter broke from my lips. Some prayers come from your gut: S--t. S--t. S--t. Oh, dear God, help me. S--t. S--t. Sometimes life is painful, and you just have to let out a choice word or two. The good Lord knows wazzup. The pain was overwhelmed by the sheer gratitude and joy of being alive. In that moment when the world turns upside down, we forget to take life for granted. Life again becomes something marvelous, mysterious, and delightful. In seeing the world through upside down eyes we remember that intoxicating moment when our eyes first saw the world.

the moment when you last felt alive

1 comment:

  1. Have you ever read the story "Dandelion Wine" by Ray Bradbuy? These reminded me a lot of especially the first part of the story, both in writing style and content.