Trite and Cliche Scribbles of a Glorius Day
So yesterday i blew off my second class just to enjoy the weather and write.
Sometimes i just feel like i deserve a break. For no particular reason, really- just this general notion that after every so many days, months, bedtimes, and mental breakdowns, that i deserve some time to be away, separated from this samsaric day-to-day being, and to be found, reborn if only for two hours or so in a new body with a fictitious life, living in temporary otherness.
So sits me, beside a red brick wall, atop a semi-hill, beneath a tree that strives to look alive, overlooking a lake that has been neither near nor dear to me at any point in my life, and i let down the walls of past experience, memory, wisdom, personality, and other such internal constructs to allow in all those broad stereotypical feelings that one is meant to feel in response to this fragmented nature; cliches like serenity and peace. I'm breathing in words like "boundless", as the lake appears to stretch on for eternity, despite its obvious finite existence. The water changes, alternating: blue, green, blue, green. An eternity of pasteurized liquid, flowing up and down, directionless, stationary, and sublime. Another one of those words- Sublime. And when an airplane rumbles through the deep blue of the sky, it seems so related somehow to nature. It feels so a part of this ephemeral hum which was just a few days ago present only in places on weather forecasts that i never see and romantic scenes of beaches long forgotten.
I don't think I've lost my reason for living, i simply misplaced it and forgot what it looked like. Forgot how it smelled and tasted- how it held my hand, calmed the swirling waters and cooled their boiling nature.
And when i think of the air now and the air how is had been, i can't escape the idea that i have made mistakes; that i had let the darkened clouds of yesterself decide that there's no reason to go outside- that umbrellas are illusion and raincoats un-trendy, snow-boots obtrusive and knit hats constraining. Weather is local. End of story.
And nothing but the solid backhand of God could pry me now from this- my temporary outdoor shelter from the storm that brews inside those doors...
Until it's 2:45, my vacation ends, and class begins anew.
Sometimes i just feel like i deserve a break. For no particular reason, really- just this general notion that after every so many days, months, bedtimes, and mental breakdowns, that i deserve some time to be away, separated from this samsaric day-to-day being, and to be found, reborn if only for two hours or so in a new body with a fictitious life, living in temporary otherness.
So sits me, beside a red brick wall, atop a semi-hill, beneath a tree that strives to look alive, overlooking a lake that has been neither near nor dear to me at any point in my life, and i let down the walls of past experience, memory, wisdom, personality, and other such internal constructs to allow in all those broad stereotypical feelings that one is meant to feel in response to this fragmented nature; cliches like serenity and peace. I'm breathing in words like "boundless", as the lake appears to stretch on for eternity, despite its obvious finite existence. The water changes, alternating: blue, green, blue, green. An eternity of pasteurized liquid, flowing up and down, directionless, stationary, and sublime. Another one of those words- Sublime. And when an airplane rumbles through the deep blue of the sky, it seems so related somehow to nature. It feels so a part of this ephemeral hum which was just a few days ago present only in places on weather forecasts that i never see and romantic scenes of beaches long forgotten.
I don't think I've lost my reason for living, i simply misplaced it and forgot what it looked like. Forgot how it smelled and tasted- how it held my hand, calmed the swirling waters and cooled their boiling nature.
And when i think of the air now and the air how is had been, i can't escape the idea that i have made mistakes; that i had let the darkened clouds of yesterself decide that there's no reason to go outside- that umbrellas are illusion and raincoats un-trendy, snow-boots obtrusive and knit hats constraining. Weather is local. End of story.
And nothing but the solid backhand of God could pry me now from this- my temporary outdoor shelter from the storm that brews inside those doors...
Until it's 2:45, my vacation ends, and class begins anew.