beyond the cliff edge (redwill) wrote,
beyond the cliff edge

Back when I'd lost my internet connection:
[ Lancelot Price 2008 January 7 hour 19 minute 23 already night]

I went out to stand and hear the rain, and it brought to me the world. It gently filled my ears with soft sounds from afar, car alarm too brief to scare, a motorcycle from Japan, shifting, slowing down, four cylinders firing in sweet sharp hammerblows smoothing through cranks and flywheels and gears and chains to make such speed on dryer brighter times than this to thrill your soul, to blow excitement through your whole body, your whole mind, your whole you. In this rainy dark, it's now subdued, but only for a while. I find that all the world's implied in the sounds that come; I close my eyes a bit and look away when a white van turns from the cross street a block away shining artificial light through the rain too close to my line of view, travelling home and past my house and down the hill to the hollow. A little pond is down there, ringed by houses. I feel too full of the world's beauty now to think of those houses as a bathtub ring of wrongful dirt. Right now all dirt and water is right in my world. The unpredicted rain has come late in this day of an odd sort of winter that has had only a few days of cold and many where almost anyone would feel warm and surprised to be. Barely past the turn of the sun back north again, and yet we have these T-shirt days.

Somewhere out there miles and miles away in the rainy dark are factories and people who made all these many things I hear and these few I see. The whole world, the whole universe is out there in the night, I can feel it, and it's scary and comforting and so.. so big. I've spent so much time in little boxes in my mind that I've missed this world far too much. Yes, the little boxes have their own imaginary windows on other worlds that multiply the one I see and hear now in this night of beauty, this wet dark dripping beauty. Rarely can I feel the wonder of the everyday world and so have resorted to fantasies of my own and others' devising. If I can't find comfort and ecstasy and love, I have to make it. But on this night, this night, I have only to let myself hear and see. And I can feel it.
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