The day was perfect. The air dry now, after being so wet and rainy these past several weeks, the sun shining in a near cloudless sky. I mostly looked at the ground though, raking up tall grass that had been mowed days earlier. It was warm enough to dress sleeveless, and the occasional breeze would blow to cool off my skin from what little sweat I worked up.
I raked the hay up into little piles, then transferred the piles into the big yellow bucket to bring to the garden bed by the old willow tree stump. I raked and raked, the prevalent sound being the repetitive Swoosh-Swish of the dead grass sweeping up towards me, and as I raked, I thought. The thoughts circled, at times considering to move towards more practical affairs, more wordly things, but never truly wanting to leave the matter pressing my heart. In love with a man 8000 miles away, desperately trying to work through hurdles and fears to forge and grow a bond despite the logistical impossibility of the situation.
We had tried to have a conversation on skype, but just as we again approached a critical junction, the crazy man who wanted to sky dive from space, 125,000 feet in the air, was about to move into action. The action proved to not be as iminient as we thought, but still, our attention had turned. So we sat, with images of each other in corners of the screen, watching a man in what was quite possibly the last hour of his life. Outside it was a beautiful day
Swoosh ---
--- Swish
The rake kept moving, the sun kept shining. The bucket filled to the top - overflowing, and I'd lift it to my hip by the rope handles, holding the overflow in with the rake and trudge it over to the side of the field. Dump. It fell out in a mold of sorts, reminding me of building sand castles at the beach.
I considered staying online with him, sitting there, both of us, pretending to be having a conversation. At times we'd mention a thing or two, try to talk, but there was no point really, we had to wait for the man to jump. As his capsule started to depressurize and I realized the moment would be soon, I grew uncomfortable. I did not want to watch a man fall to his death, should he die. I hoped he would live, but who could tell, in a crazy stunt like this? Considering the delicate state of our relationship, I thought about it, then decided it was bad Karma to sit there, together, 8000 miles apart and watch a man fall to his death. So I said I wanted to go. And there I went, to the rake and the hay and the bucket, and the swish-swoosh against the wind in the warm autumn sun.
As I walked to the pile by the garden, the wind would blow little bits of grass out of the bucket to fly away on the soft breeze. Gentle breeze, now and again, blowing my hair from my eyes, and whispering to me, "I'm here. When you're ready, I'm here for you."
Swoosh ---
--- Swish
There's something meditative in any action so repetitive. Something soothing. Generally a place very good for solving problems. But this was not a new problem. I had visited this one in many a meditative state before...and no answer had come yet.
The harsh truth of reality seemed to tell me there was no hope. That we were both fooling ourselves and drawing out the inevitable. "I don't want to lose him," my heart stated boldly, and the tears welled. The grass on the ground now blurred to an impressionist painting of greens and browns, almost like camoflauge... I blinked. Then breathing in deeply, I dumped another pile into the bucket. Tears fell on dead grass, and I stood in the warm sunshine, staring into the distance, wooden handle of the rake resting on my forehead. I noticed little sparkles and rainbows dance around my vision, where the bright sun had turned the tears on my eyelashes into tiny prisms. He'd be home soon, 3 weeks, maybe 5...no one really knew for sure, but even then, not much would really change.
Swish ---
--- Swoosh
There was much more grass to rake then I would manage today. Still recovering from illness, it felt good to be moving and doing again, but my heart was so heavy. I breathed deep, smelling the hay. Images of horses and memories of wagon rides in pumpkin fields and generally all things Fall sprinkled down around my heart, like multicolored leaves. Somewhere in the distance a lawn mower was running....ah, harvest time, there is always something comforting in that.
I wanted to operate from a place of love. How best to love in this situation? Perhaps as friends, but to be friends would require that painful separation period. No contact, for long enough to truly let go. I imagined what it would be like....thought of him and the other women in his life. He may well find himself involved with another, it was possible. Either way, he'd have more time for the troubled one whose presence in his life was so threatening to me.
Swoosh ---
--- Swish
The danger in loving truly, in loving from a place of maturity, is that you do not need the other person, and people do so love to be needed. And the clouds in the northern sky were a smear of little white blotches against a vivid blue.
"Happy is a choice, right?" I reminded myself. I think he said that to me once. Learn to be happy for happiness' sake. That one I think I read. Ah...but that wasn't going to happen today. I'm not quite ready for that one, but still, outside, it was a perfect day.
No comments:
Post a Comment