In an attic like this one, some wind would be nice.
A dormant death is all that lies here. Tattered news articles, faded to yellow, litter the corners and cobwebs stretch across the rafters. What little light can triumph through the dirt and raindrop stained windows, stands dismally in a pale shaft on the wooden beams. Boxes scattered around reveal aging trinkets that someone wanted to preserve, once upon a time. Now, they look as though they could crumble with a touch, so fragile beneath the thick coating of dust.
Speaking of dust, it's everywhere. Over an inch deep in some places, it lies resolute in every crevice and corner it can find. It's been years since anyone crashed through the hushed ruins, stirring up the ashes of the past and making them dance in the delicate sunlight. These tiny particles have settled into a perfect and unmoving trance.
I would rather be in a desert than in that bereft room.
In this place, the earth never stops dancing. A gentle breeze inspires a whirlish devil, and off again spins the sand, happy to be alive and full of action. Unlike the Mojave, which is stifling in heat and without a breath, I picture the Atacama of Chile, where the wind moves playfully and the ground responds joyfully. For a moment it perches on a ledge to catch the next breath and it is off again, sparkling and laughing.
Wouldn't it be a better thing to always be open to such adventures? For once in your life, instead of losing sight in what is life, to catch a glimpse of something beautiful and reach out for it?
Where I grew up, I had little chance to explore. I was immediately forced to accept a certain viewpoint as the only right perspective, and failed to see the worth in any living person besides myself. I grew up accepting-albeit hating-the fact that no school was good enough for me, no friends were noble enough for my company, and that my only chance in live was to find a godly man who would support me as I raised his children and kept his home.
Cheerlessly, I trudged along the path of life, acting out a daily routine in deathlike motions. My aching heart grew heavier and heavier as I struggled to keep moving, until at last I came to a crushing standstill. Without a wind of inspiration, I could not hope to keep moving, and I became another hushed, still frame living without hope of ever really living.
But unlike others who had accepted their fate, I carried a burst of air deep within my heart. And when I frantically released it, this small wind carried me to a desert, and I could finally see the way I was supposed to live-dancing and laughing. Now I bound from adventure to adventure, only resting as long as my feet can hold still. Forever I will dance here, a piece of earth blissfully aware of life.
Never again will I return to the dead zone. Never again will I settle.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Posted by Angel Renee at 3:34 PM