An old Sundown

Music has become a lucid experience as of late. Listening to the semi-pop drone of the art supply store, I was suddenly and viscerally transported back to a scene of heartbreak, and my poor heart nearly cried out again amidst the cheap glass vases and unpainted pine. The sunset looming overhead of us was real again, a detail I had forgotten, really. Emotion welled into the upper palate, hinged against the pit of my throat, and I grasped at it, so taken aback was I at the sudden re-experiencing. Driving home I remembered crying in the arms of my friend, who, in that moment, proved himself dearer to me than I had ever been able to conceive. I must have cried for hours, and he let me. When all tears had been expelled, a sadness yet remained that could no longer find expression by shear exhaustion. This day, that grouping of days, shaped and modeled me, effected me in a way that I tried to immediately dismiss. I wanted so badly to put into practice everything I had learned about forgiveness, detachment, and compassion. All the teachings rushed to the surface in the moment, begging to applied to this crisis, and I obeyed, out of love for what I could conceive of the Truth, out of love for him who had just turned my world upside down. But to him it was right side up again, finally after many long months. What sadness I caused him I will never know.

I watched the sun go down this night. A smooth, unbroken shield of red to orange pierced forcefully through the cracks in kitchen curtains, and I felt the heaviness of it’s burning decent. It was a long working day besides my brush with vivid emotion, and I was happy bouncing along, steering the little tracker precariously into the pine woods, tending the garden and frying eggs. I’m just about ready for something, to come to terms with something, to look something in the eyes plainly. It remains the unnameable something for now, the unknowably beautiful sunset, the unreal lucidness of living.