(no subject)
I've felt so restless lately, like I can't find myself. I've been searching for something, waiting for something, without knowing what or why. So I decided to take a drive. I hurried through the last chapters of my readings, absentmindedly. Picturing the scenery that I wished to see, I quickened my step as I reached the door.
I've been longing to feel it again: the presence of being myself. Without thinking of what that means, or wondering if I had accomplished what I seek. Just being.
The car ride down was nothing but a tease. My spirits rose at the prospect that I would soon drink it ALL in. The feeling that put my soul (if it exists) at ease.
When I reached the Basin I turned up Pink Floyd--Dark Side of the Moon, rolled down the car windows, turned off the car lights, and shut the door. As I lay down upon the hood of my Rav my heart sank. The image before me, above me, made me go numb. In the apartment I pictured a starry night that brought the serenity which accompanies the joining of my Self with the lonely night. Yet the reality of what I saw was a muted version of what my mind painted:
The sky was impotent, a disgrace to the memories of past moments. The moon, half present, leaned slightly to the right and gave off a dull sickening-yellow glow. It was like looking at the face of a china doll, who had seen one year too many. With the music garbled by the windshield and the noise of crickets, contempt settled within me, and my stomach dropped for the second time tonight. Why did the stars look so bland?
I promptly jumped from the hood of my car and retreated to the darkened interior of the Rav.
The saying "you only live once" echoed in my head on the ride home. But do we live once? Or, is it that we only live in the moments where we find the serenity that completes us....that I was searching for tonight? If that is the case, then I should be ashamed for this account of tonight. Ashamed at my greed. I'm lucky to say that I have lived a hundred times, however breifly. I feel like a greedy miser, taking all the life I can get and never wanting to share; feeling empty while constantly wanting more...
I've been longing to feel it again: the presence of being myself. Without thinking of what that means, or wondering if I had accomplished what I seek. Just being.
The car ride down was nothing but a tease. My spirits rose at the prospect that I would soon drink it ALL in. The feeling that put my soul (if it exists) at ease.
When I reached the Basin I turned up Pink Floyd--Dark Side of the Moon, rolled down the car windows, turned off the car lights, and shut the door. As I lay down upon the hood of my Rav my heart sank. The image before me, above me, made me go numb. In the apartment I pictured a starry night that brought the serenity which accompanies the joining of my Self with the lonely night. Yet the reality of what I saw was a muted version of what my mind painted:
The sky was impotent, a disgrace to the memories of past moments. The moon, half present, leaned slightly to the right and gave off a dull sickening-yellow glow. It was like looking at the face of a china doll, who had seen one year too many. With the music garbled by the windshield and the noise of crickets, contempt settled within me, and my stomach dropped for the second time tonight. Why did the stars look so bland?
I promptly jumped from the hood of my car and retreated to the darkened interior of the Rav.
The saying "you only live once" echoed in my head on the ride home. But do we live once? Or, is it that we only live in the moments where we find the serenity that completes us....that I was searching for tonight? If that is the case, then I should be ashamed for this account of tonight. Ashamed at my greed. I'm lucky to say that I have lived a hundred times, however breifly. I feel like a greedy miser, taking all the life I can get and never wanting to share; feeling empty while constantly wanting more...