i can feel it happening to me.
as i raked the yard this evening, i saw my life. the simplicity of a life for the land. tending it, nourishing it. healing it in my small little way. my dreams of camaraderie, of universal union, of transcendent and widespread love—dreams that have been fuzzy since conception— are slipping, smudging a bit more every day.
so i see it.
abandon them. live adjacent. how broken, how horribly sad.
i swore i’d be different. but then, i guess a lot of us think that, right?
this isn’t wisdom. it’s hopelessness.
with a quiet devastation and mild hesitation, i’ll reduce myself to what we all eventually reduce ourselves to be.
i feel the breeze on my shoulders and my back. it’s also selfishness. how selfish, to want to feel this peaceful and beautiful forever. because if i did commit myself to change, to macro healing, i would not get to feel this. simple and silent. we aren’t inherently selfish, obviously, you know this. we know this. but we’re simple. and who wants to submit to a life of tyranny? a short, hectic life, and likely for no lasting effect.
feel the fly scurry over my thigh, look at the work i’ve done, watch the wasp zip by. the birds, they glide, and the palm trees shimmer in the gentle breeze and quiet sunlight of early evening. oh this is what they mean by the glory of summer. it tricks your mind. the pool is a pot. you, glowing, sink absentmindedly to simmer in summer.
jerry melissa rebecca miguel joseph reed