Staring, hoping, into the dark chasm hanging up above, that some of those lights will flash before my eyes again, leaving its tail behind for a few seconds for dramatic effect. Mesmerized is a good word, I think. It's things like meteor showers that have opened me up again lately.
And it's things like gliding, flying even, above what almost seems like glass while that golden orb takes its final bow to complete its performance in yet another act of the story of the cosmos. Standing on the edge of that big boat, admiring the Caribbean water, which really is quite as transparent as your imagination would have dreamed of but never quite hoped for in fear that it could never live up to the expectation. On this day there are no waves, and even the subatomic particles only God is small enough for remain fixed and calm. You really are soaring above a sea of glass. And to make it that much more impalpable, untouchable, sacred, just as you thought it was already too much, a creature, a magical creature, a dolphin, makes her dramatic appearance. And then another. And another. And there's a family of them--all dancing as the sun sets gently over the waters.
Or how it turns into the great abyss. Completely dark in every directions. It's really no wonder they thought you could fall off the edge of the world. I almost believed it myself. The tiny lanterns hung up above are magnificent. There must be a million of them. Almost. You could try counting, but I'm pretty sure you'd never get to an end. New ones always seem to slide out from underneath their cover, only very dimly at first. And the longer you stare, the more you see. But never to be outdone by the Old Man himself, shining down quite pompously to his subject Earth. His rays getting wider and wider as they approach on the water. And however fast your vessel is moving, on the water, the rays never cease to follow, the moon with a sly grin at your futile attempt. Impressive he is, though. The guardian of the night sky, keeping all in order in stead of the now resting sun. What a portrait set before you. What a symphony of colors and emotions. The wind in your hair reminds you that you are alive. Not in a metaphorical, adolescent kind of way, but solemnly alive, taking a breath and then one after that. That you have blood running underneath that flesh of yours. That you exist in something bigger. That your life is connected, even to the wind in your hair that will inevitable continue and rush into another innocent admirer's hair on the next ship 25 miles behind. Connected in those rare occasions that lights are seen somewhere on the horizon. Connected to the life it mandates. Some lighthouse, some village, some fisherman in his boat... some soul that is breathing along with you.
All of these things I have experienced in the last week have been a growing signal to me. A wise high school English teacher once tried to teach me about life--and against my arrogantly futile internal attempts to stop her (my 17 year old mind was obviously much more aware of my world than she was)--apparently she succeeded. I'm not sure if she even tried to teach me about life, come to think of it. I think it just happened out of her passion for it. For the gritty, raw, aspects of it. But as Mr. Camus rightly screams from his pen, so she screamed from her living, the utter importance of action and reflection. The gravity of doing and then being what has been done. And strangely enough, it has made a lot of sense of life lately. The coming of April and Displace Me marked a new chapter in my life. I moved past the cage that had become reflection into the freedom of action. And that path took me out of my wallows, out of the rut, and into summer. Honestly, I haven't looked back.
Until the meteor shower. Until the sunset. Until the night at sea. It crept back into me. And the more and more as I clutch this pen, I know. It's here again. A new chapter, a new reflection. Even as my life is inevitably going to erupt into busyness, responsibilities, deadlines, and events, it won't stop my pen. It feels new, it feels fresh. I feel that this chapter is going to be positive--one of new realizations, of forming into the new man that I am becoming. And I am gladly welcoming this positive spirit that has seemed to have invaded me. You are welcome any time.
The kiddos (said in presumptuous nose-in-the-air because I'm a cool college kid tone) are sleeping now--waking up in only a few hours to find the first day of school staring them down. A chance for new beginnings, new somethings, new anythings. And I would be lying to myself in some small sense if I did not say that at least part of me were jealous. I mean not really--but the excitement of seeing those familiar faces again, of the opportunities the year would bring, of figuring out how I would define the new year: the semester's play, model UN, a new girlfriend, my AP classmates as we battled for that coveted 5, the campus ministry; of the prospect of another season of friday night football, of before school/after school hangouts, of youth group times, of merely growing up, experiencing life, and understanding more of my world. Oh, the innocence of it all. I had life too well.
It is hard to look ahead when such fond memories are all around, though I feel as if it is my time now. Different, that is for sure, but this stage will be one I look fondly back upon as well. Here's to a good one.
