Copyright © May 6th, 2010 by P.R. Lowe
The house seems oppressive today and the woods are filled with invitations. Shadow and light dance across the forest floor intertwined in a mating ritual that beckons to me. I move toward an unusually scintillating light that lays in long shafts at the crest of a rise in the wood. There, fallen trees have embraced each other in geometric patterns, as if to mark the spot as sacred: as if their living and dying held one thing in divine integrity. The house pulls me back and I hesitate between the two worlds.
Looking again to the light, I believe I see traces of something adrift in it’s entreating glow. Silvery seed pods? Euphoric in the breezes of spring? Or something else? I squint to see their form clearer. In that instant, I feel induced to unlock myself from this spot, this place of man’s devising… to go, to move closer to the light.
I find myself barefoot on a crumbly carpet of leaves, still in pajamas, moving through the trees. Yet, I remain attached to the fishing line that caught me so long ago. It seems to anchor me to a boat that has carried my dreams, like old cargo, from port to port, city to city, in search of safe harbor, where these goods will serve a higher purpose and come to rest in the same integrity as the trees.
Before I am completely aware of having traveled at all, I am perched upon a fallen pine, sitting in the light, with tiny entities swirling sporadically about, like dust under a magnifying glass. They come and go in the ever shifting patterns of light and shadow. They are so small. Is this what I saw from the steps of the house? For still, my eyes squint to capture one clear snapshot; one thing I can register in my logic and take out later to decipher. One proof positive that this is something else; for the feeling of it, the sensation of it escapes my vocabulary and patterning.
For a moment that I cannot seem to hold on to, for one instantaneous click of the shutter behind my eyes, I see one clearly. And no sooner do I see it than it seems to become an imagined memory; here in this place where imagination and reality become like the “shadow and light intertwined in a mating ritual”, for there are no clear lines here, no break or separation.
It had hovered in my sight in silver adornment; long slender body, ethereal wings of venous translucence, with a delicacy that seemed feminine, yet the masculine presence was there in the strength with which my spirit was lifted up and all, that seemed as weighty before, was gone in that instant.
Briefly I think of continuing up the mountain and into the benevolence of trees. Just walking away and away and away. Just walking in the full presence of peace, until I am no longer visible amid the flora and fauna; as if I am watching myself from the back porch continuing into that place until I can no longer see myself… “no break or separation”.
Then without warning the line is yanked and I am reeled in; into the cloistered, cool safety of a cave; a place where I find solace from choosing; a house where I have gathered things and built time into something tangible; something I can argue with and react to. Yet, the house seems more comforting now. The noon day sun has melted reality into a pool of 3D and burned off the subtle energies of morning: the trailing place of the in-between-time.
Where is away? Anyway? I come back from my wanderings with a feeling of kinship to that tiny being; shadowy remembering of ancestral ties, deep rooted and so ingrained that they are ever present, where ever I am. And I begin to understand that I am liken to a bridge spanning the gap between the two.