December 26, 2012
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A dead race
There’s nothing out there ‘in the world’ that you can really use to measure time. You can measure space by taking out a yardstick. There it is: three feet. There is that much space there. But a minute, a week, a decade? There is nothing you can hold up that actually is any of those things. The only measurement is that organ of life growing deep inside your soul. That feeling in you that you’ve been here for awhile? That’s as close as we get to measuring time.
I suppose there are markers. I’m different now than I’m used to be. I know that because my sister gave me pajama pants for Christmas and I decided that I like them. In the olden days I would make fun of people for wearing something just to go to sleep, like they were dressing up for their dreams. I probably won’t wear them to bed though because I can’t imagine wearing pants to bed. Don’t people know what blankets are for?
(ah, there’s that old defiant social critic)
How else am I different besides dipping my toe in the water of pajama pants? Well, I walk around city streets a lot more than I used to. I used to run, and when I would run I would well up a lot of meaning inside me. Everyone has a place where they well up a lot of meaning inside them. Running is different than walking though. You can’t really put your head down while you run.
Meet my family, but you won’t notice the tear marks
Meet my beliefs, but you won’t notice the fear marks
Meet my friends, but you won’t notice the wear marks
In Mexico where I was there were no stop signs or stoplights, just taxis honking as they glided through intersections. There were many small shops with seating outside until you got to the fences with the graffiti on them that lined the darker streets.The air was very warm as I walked along with my hands in my pockets and I thought ‘Some people only have their families, some people have everything but a family’.
I don’t think people know how depressing it is when they’re on their phones. It just leaves everyone else with this feeling ‘just think what this interaction could have been’.
Two people sit in opposite rooms with their backs to the door, each waiting for an apology from the other.
No matter how beautiful you think the world is, or how amazed you are that God loves you, or how many lofty words and great quotes you agree with on a day, love always ends up a very difficult thing to do.
The future is waiting for so much. What happened to all the rains these fertile lands used to know? Were we not promised much in our youth? Do our souls stop growing with our limbs? Why do I know but not feel that I will die?
I could use a weekend away where I told someone about everything.
I was promised snow tonight. They told me it was going to snow and it’s not snowing. Someone owes me an explanation. Where is all the snow? And what is that feeling I have as I stand on my porch that I feel must be common to all humans?
Comments (1)
Your post “wells up a lot of meaning in me” Philip, as I read and ponder your reflections. Your words put so much deep, human experience on the page. A lot to think about as this holiday season slowly departs… Thank you.