Bare feet pace rhythmically across the wet, glistening asphalt as rainwater is corralled into a tiny rippled stream. It pools by the blocked drain where an isolated silver maple tree lost its limb to the chaos of the winds.
The waters are rising; to her, it’s a drizzle.
For years she’s strained her dainty neck to keep her head above that which consumes. Cautiously wading the inner waters of chaos, she’s waited for the beginning.
If she can just focus outward, she thinks, maybe she can breathe just a little longer… maybe stick around, for a little while longer… Walking with a suppressed sense of choking, she waits for something to change.
It is her self-imposed isolation that keeps her silently drowning in each inevitable gulp. Maybe she likes it that way.
A lone car speeds by and saturates her in recycled rainwater; she takes a deep breath and laughs.
“Be where you are”, she whispers softly, “it’s the only way to remember you’re alive.”
Sometimes music gives me this overwhelming feeling in which I’m transposed, standing on top of an urban building in the rain while streams of sunsetting light cast columns of contrasting shadows and warm hue across my skin and surroundings alike, making it all one, or I’m laying in a wheat field under the current of a gentle breeze, sunny with clouds approaching in the distance, leaping from a plane against the cool mist of a cloud, or even slowly drowning from the rise of something within…
…Do you ever get that feeling: like your inner world is on epic mode, but instead of just being complexly unclear and then tingly in its beautiful revelations, it’s like every visit is a full body submersion. Holding your face just above the waters, you take a breath to dive deeper, for a glimpse of what feels like peace and clarity- even if momentarily suffocating. But one can’t stay too long- for it’s the life from the outer world that keeps us connected, postponing the severance of our existence here. It’s the connection to everything here, at every moment, that makes it worth it.