I walked a ways out of town yesterday. I had a lot on my mind and I felt something outside of it all calling me closely and intimately. I decided to walk, not drive. I needed to be outside.
I needed to breathe.
All my past, all my future, everything was coming back to me. I felt alone but in the most content and comfortable way. It’s like how you feel after a long day at school on a Friday and you walk out when the bell rings and actually decide not to hang out with any friends. You just walk. You get on the bus, plug your ear buds into your ears and crank your music to block out the sound of all the strangers around you and the God awful radio. And you just stare out the window. The spring sun seeps through the windows and warms you as you stare out the window at the people diving below you in the town you’ve been in for years. You feel disconnected. You have room to think and just enjoy, for a moment, being human.
That’s how I felt when I walked a ways out of town yesterday.
So out there in the bleeding sun, I found a house made out of stone. Without a thought, I walked into the house. The floor, walls, and windowsills were made of wood. The floor boards gave an assuring groan under my feet as if to say, “Welcome to nowhere.” The table and chairs were covered in dust. Under the dust they looked worn and so used. Somehow this place was familiar. Somehow I didn’t feel alone.
It seemed as if I had built this house. It made me think of all the things I have built before. I’ve built who I am, what I do, what I expect and what I become each day. It makes me think of all the things that have been building up around me from the start. The smiles, the laughs, the promises, the sweet tears, have been used the build the house. I look down at my hands, my hands. And then I looked at the house around me, my house. I didn’t care. This was my house. I built a home for me. And not just me, but for you too, for everyone to see, but for only some to come into.
Though, I’ve had to stop building this home. It has begun to disappear from me. It has begun to disappear from you.
And then I had to leave. I stumbled out of the house and into the back yard. It was an open yard with a large expanse until you saw the trees come into site and welcome you into the deep forest as if saying, “Welcome to somewhere.” I could tell this backyard used to be a garden. It used to be such a beautiful garden. We planted the seeds in this garden. There were so many colors, but I remember that we were the only ones who just saw maroon. Then I looked up and saw a tree. I am as old as that tree. The branches were green as if they had been sewn by the very color by grandma and her slow moving, precise hands. I knew the ground. It wanted to rise past the tree’s knees. The tree had cracks in its skin that were so magnificent yet so miserable. Nevertheless, I used those cracks to climb to the top of the tree. I realized you can only reach the top and see the world if you learn to climb there by your cracks. And I saw it. Then that gust came around. It came around for no other reason than to blow me down. So I held on to that tree.
I held on as tightly to that tree as you held onto me.