Of Rectitude

There are crossroads in the paths of our lives that even the most perceptive of us cannot discern until they are right under our feet. It takes a moment to let the right lush fever break through, and the chill to break, and silence to call forth its wondrous, ominous, thundering hush. The moment of discovery. It is a viola crying – music to shatter a thousand hearts.

I have to remember to keep my mind, keep my center, oh yes, find the balance. I’ve passed a crossroad, intrepid intersection of reason and doubt. It happened in a song, in a flash of light off the side of a commuter bus, in the silver sparkle of a plane overhead. It happened with the wind buffeting my car, a wave of murky water against my brain. I finger the steering wheel calmly. Will I remember this moment in a moment? In a day? Next week? I think not. It is the fluttering of tiny neural wings that lights so briefly on my consciousness.

IMG_0001And what does it do? It sits quietly in a darkened corner, daring itself to fade away. It slowly pulses with feeble life and like a dying butterfly, it passes. Away. Gone. Hollow wings mutilated with time.

I am back to my former self of rules, regulations, comfort in the word, right in the world. Rigid and crystal. The transparent mother, all bite and no bark. All fresh crisp rather than aged. red velvet. All icing, no cake. Disappointment corrodes. I look up as I drive, correcting myself constantly. The conduct of someone constantly adjusting to the ways and means of every day life. How can I find the true and livid center of Life? Poking the dawn with my fingers, I look for the light. The Light. Any light. Where has that crossroads gone?

The dull ache of almost-there caresses my skin. Almost. There. Where? Laughter, from some place just shy of a little off, wells up inside my lungs and bursts forth as the sun crests the hills. I am so close to something I was meant to be. So. Close. What am I waiting for? How do I hang onto it once it has allowed itself to be found? Can I find the piece of me that’s missing? A center piece, of un-straight lines and beauty-mark curves; a piece with colors that mingle with others, not yet known but perhaps found. I am lying on the table before me, waiting to be finished.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s