A Little Time Out

Rush.

Everything here is spinning so quickly I trouble myself to separate one day from the other. Sharp tones of alleyway echoes, gargling television sets, lovers quarrels, the whoosh whoosh whoosh of four-lane traffic, all swirling to form the noisy mosaic that has become the scrim lining the forefront of my vision. 

  There is so much life here, energies and discontent that descend upon bodies like an infection. There are also lessons, cautionary tales sandwiched between the lives of the creme de la creme and the lonely rattling of an old woman's shopping cart meandering down the street she'll come to rest upon.

         I have spent a great portion of my life craving this existence; variety, opportunity, bustle, beaches, the quick convenience of a next-door McDonalds.... But there are moments when I feel stuck in the rush, a country daisy trapped and flailing in a steel web of competition and crass commercialization. The flow of metropolitan life: ebbing outward in the form of loud colors and billboards, boldly expressive, reaching an arm to invite and to squeeze, yelling at the top of its lungs for all to experience its offerings. 

And at the same time a force that pulls, a magnet that creates a swirling, hysterical suction drawing its people to the center like the beckoning hand of addiction. The jungle of commotion is enough to consume the sole focus of a human, enough to plant the building blocks that form provincial mind frames, ones that invite a kind of apathy toward life's more humble vicinities. 

It is times like these-as I work my way through the wild web-that I find myself missing home. Moments hardly preceding the instant that these turbulent urban forces will surge toward the center, where zillions of electrons of tension and pleasure meet atoms split from a series of combusting stoplights, cocked pistols, polished auto parts, and roadside fruit- each particle accelerating toward the other in a lethal collision course- when I decide to leap backward, take a breath... and everything FREEZES.

   Standing in a still-life of chaos, surrounded by jagged layers of city, I am able to wander, unhindered. I conjure images of cool valley water and boiling tree sap; feel the gentleness of snow. I can remove myself and relish in the memory of a more natural existence; appreciate the stillness resting in deep, unblemished forest stretches, taste the beauty of a silent winter's night spent in solitude. 

      A swarm of frenzy flies and comes to rest in a gentle place, and I am standing in its core, watching as it explores its own depth, as it finds the only certain truth embedded beneath a kingdom built from asphalt: nature. The quiet simplicity in the veins of a drifting maple leaf, the peeling exterior of white birch illuminated by an unadulterated streak of light. It can be a burdensome understanding for the urban cluster, but with little blame on their behalf. I find a lack in the perception of total universe in these dwellings, a pure element lost somewhere between concrete walls and oil wells that line the ocean. When I talk of my home in rural New England, I'm commonly met with the perception that I am ignorant; a child locked away and deprived of a "real world". As Thoreau said, "If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen."

      It could not be more true. But I am certain we are in NEED of this true love. The love of others and of earth, a productive species balanced by the vast, unexplicable forces of the planet. I cannot express the humility nature instills in me. The perspective I gain from watching a cycle that comes not from the hands of man but from life itself, breathing colors through limbs and leaves then wiping them out, only to promise a new kind of vibrance in shades of white and, later, green. Hidden in the planet's crevices, a world of nothing but truth, for nature doesn't lie, humans do. It is difficult to come by in this age, but I do wish, with all my being, that when these human tensions rise, when self-interest and pettiness wrap their fingers around the city like an icy trap, that we could take this time out, freeze the commotion. I hope we can come to a place of tranquility, absorb the creation surrounding us, find pieces of God in the drop of a stone.

RUsh rush rush!

Shhhh...peace, have peace, my friend.

I want to draw all to this place, be the pausing finger on the world's frenzy. I want to share the simple pleasure of clear, cold moonlight and rippled valleys, unadulterated by oily, thieving hands. BUt, contrary to my chopped-up babble, I am not an idealist. I, like others around me, am the subject of a racing, impatient society, a society that, if conquered, will allow me to achieve my dreams. A realistic life with obligations that I must fulfill, and only upon their completion can I return to my unpretentious landscape. 

      But for now, I must rush faster than the pace of nature demands, keeping this place planted in my memory so it will one day have strength to manifest, to grow. I will emerge from this place, and conquer the smoggy, scheming light, hopefully bringing it back to a purer place. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep..."-Robert Frost