the seeds, the trees

"But once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, 'I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper.'" – Richard Bach

Tag: love

Aug. 29, 2012 – 10:48 p.m.

Today, after sitting in room 3021 of Knight Hall for nine hours, I had a revelation. Today, I didn’t do anything important. I made no contribution to the world, but I felt important. I worked all day on the computer with two girls trying to transform a presidential-candidate-contribution database into a map, divided by zip code. It was so difficult, and we couldn’t finish it in time, and something along the way went wrong. But I felt important.

I think that is why people want to love and be loved so much. Because finally they are no longer floating in the space. They have found what’s important, and it is enough. Finally, they know that all they have to care about is right there. They can see it and touch it and be with it. They are not alone. And they feel important. Today I was in a room, a speck of dust, doing something that would not be released or seen but I was with people, close together, doing something together, and I felt there – I was present and involved. That’s all anyone wants – to matter and not feel like the tiny hair on the back of the beast they live in. We want to be noticed, to be somewhere where we feel something else is. Today I was seen and heard by a roomful of people, and then I came home and made my mother laugh really hard and my dad smile and say, “You know, it’s really nice having you around. It’s really lovely.” And for once, it was enough.

Cornfield

Last night I ran through a cornfield, barefoot and fearless – a savage dressed in flowers. I ran and the stalks turned to felt because I wanted them to, and when we kissed inside the spider webs, the spiders trickled down my back and I was not afraid because I didn’t want to be. It was easy.

Today, in sunlight next to water, I look at my bruised, defeated feet and scratch the spider bites with scratched hands.

“It’s too hard,” I say, afraid again of everything I can and cannot see, and bury my broken feet in the sand.

Talking to trees

I haven’t cried since I started taking the white pills.

I used to dream of extraordinary things. Now I think of ordinary things.

I tried to tell you quietly why I didn’t believe in our lives anymore, but you didn’t listen. I grew quieter and mad in my towering glower eating the loneliest salads.

The trees ask me why I don’t think they’re different anymore. I see the red one amongst the sticks and it’s so assuredly red amongst the dead and I don’t care.

One day I spread my fingers and yell to them all at once, “Because I am too busy trying to save this drowning world! I am too busy trying to understand why we are starving, why we are thirsting, how our hearts can break and beat at the same time, how we can love so much and be alone. I am trying to understand how we believe we give a fuck when half of us are thinking about lunch and the other half about how wrong we were for doing the wrong things again and again.”

“Shhhh,” they say, “you will never know why you told him to go when you wanted him to stay.”