echos from a time before the train
I lay on the floor feeling sick. This day has been like a nightmare, though strangely poetic in it's agonizing slowness. The train whistle that echos through the valley and bounces off each peak of sugarbush haunts me; reminds me of things best forgotten.
there is snow, but not enough. I spent the day on the slopes, with a bunch of ungrateful 15-year olds and a hurt 19 year old. he wasn't there physically for very long, but he echoed in my brain the way the train whistle echos off the rocks. He left in a whirlwind of dissappointment and pain, and after that I rode by myself. Frusterated I took a turn too sharply and as I hit the ground, hard, felt my spine shudder from C1 all the way to S5. I sat there in the snow, in the middle of a vast and deserted trail, feelings welling up inside me like a murky pool. I wanted to lay in the snow and scream, I wanted all my pain to fly away and disappear on the wind like a snowflake.
rather then seeking solace in intoxication as is the norm, I just sit and visualize my cells as snowflakes. I lay in the snow and imagine I am part of it. I am the cool clarity of ice, the immortal yet ever changing pulse of water in the veins of the earth. I imagine the perfect death for myself... simply laying in the snow and calmly allowing my cells to sleep and sink.
and then it's mouse on the phone, and we speak of old times through music and movies, though we mostly just want to hear eachothers voices rise and fall... the familiar tide of comfort and history. And I think, that ever moving energy, that connectedness over distances, the nearness in farness and the ever changing waves of life and living, of dreams being born and dying, of seeds cracking and sending roots deep into the ground... of our voices playing a gentle ping pong accross miles and accross memory, I think, surely that is god.
there is snow, but not enough. I spent the day on the slopes, with a bunch of ungrateful 15-year olds and a hurt 19 year old. he wasn't there physically for very long, but he echoed in my brain the way the train whistle echos off the rocks. He left in a whirlwind of dissappointment and pain, and after that I rode by myself. Frusterated I took a turn too sharply and as I hit the ground, hard, felt my spine shudder from C1 all the way to S5. I sat there in the snow, in the middle of a vast and deserted trail, feelings welling up inside me like a murky pool. I wanted to lay in the snow and scream, I wanted all my pain to fly away and disappear on the wind like a snowflake.
rather then seeking solace in intoxication as is the norm, I just sit and visualize my cells as snowflakes. I lay in the snow and imagine I am part of it. I am the cool clarity of ice, the immortal yet ever changing pulse of water in the veins of the earth. I imagine the perfect death for myself... simply laying in the snow and calmly allowing my cells to sleep and sink.
and then it's mouse on the phone, and we speak of old times through music and movies, though we mostly just want to hear eachothers voices rise and fall... the familiar tide of comfort and history. And I think, that ever moving energy, that connectedness over distances, the nearness in farness and the ever changing waves of life and living, of dreams being born and dying, of seeds cracking and sending roots deep into the ground... of our voices playing a gentle ping pong accross miles and accross memory, I think, surely that is god.