Inspired by ruined paradise. A panel of angels in their old winter clothes sipping hot coffee out of tin mugs to stay warm. Amongst the fallen pillars in the hidden winter sunlight, shuffling through papers on a long wooden table, their grace and wisdom inspires me.
Thank Beauty it is raining today. Funny that a girl who fears the night doesn't start her day until four. But the freshness of the rain and my presence on this porch reminds me of my grandmother once here, years ago, on the same porch, different rain. She sat reading a book while I watched the storm, and I watched her not noticing the thunder and the lightning, but all the while knowing that it was the storm that brought her here.
Like my grandmother in the middle of the storm, protected from the water by a small roof, and from the lightning by the thousands of structures taller than us, we are so often drawn to beauty and its power, letting its influence breath over our skin, the sounds drift into our ears, yet letting the full power of it wash over us. The storm passes and we are still distracted by our novels. We were drawn to it, we wanted its mist on our skin and its scent in our bodies, but we did not want to stand under it with our mouths to the sky. We'd rather push the thunder from our minds and remember only the water, washing away the dirt of the city.
Why do we try so desperately to oppose Nature? We cling onto our bits of paper and our accomplishments and our photographs, never letting the old decompose so it can become earth again and give new life to the Spring? Perhaps we would lose progress. We would lose this computer, this piece of writing, these clothes, this meaningless existence. But perhaps we wouldn't feel so small. Perhaps we wouldn't fear death quite so much. Perhaps meaning wouldn't be questioned in the garden, for God is so wholly present at every moment. Where has it gone? Even the plants are diseased in the city. We've even tried to crush the meaning out of the Seasons. Strawberries in January, sun tanning in coffins of false lighting, electric heating, air conditioning. You can now live in Virginia and never sweat a drop. What heaven? What earth... Where has my paradise gone? It hasn't always lived in my dreams. The simplicity of rain hitting leaves, the breathtaking sight of a field at dawn, of horses grazing in the mist. Such simple things are my dreams made of. Yet even that seems unattainable.
By the time my arms have rotted, my feet may have sunk too deep into the soil. With waiting, our possessions can only pile, and the sacrifice may become too great. Shall I reconcile myself to the city? Are my veins bound up in the movement of the traffic?
I don't fear solitude. But I have no home in the country. Thus I am stuck. For now. The route to my dreams via investing in real estate and taking on a profession. How terribly heartbreaking. Nature and I will have to bear the company of misery and shame for awhile yet. First, I have to beat this game of humanity. I need money. The only way to set land free is to possess it yourself, to abide by the laws of dogs. The only way beyond it is through it. What kind of a war is this?
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