Beyond the Window

I was unsure how to respond. So, I acted honorably and ignored her. I cast no aspersions. I told her no lies. I refused to speak. I moved on. Still, she lingered in the background of my thoughts. A specter of much more than a philandering lie. Her image and her deeds were the anchor that drew me to the depths of the ocean. It was dark. I was overwhelmed. Yet, I became content. Invisible. I took pleasure in solitude and watched life pass me by.

The lights. The noises. The struggle, the stress, the pain. None of it was mine. I don’t revel in the misery of others. I do not wish ill upon anyone, including her. I have learned how to avoid the feeling of rejection. That is all. I keep to myself and pave my path. I travel light. I step silently. I cause no ruckus. Yes, please and thank you. I do not have all I want, but I possess all I need.

The day she left, I thought my life had changed forever.

The day I took control, I changed for the better.

The day opened like a womb. The sun rose, traversing the course defined by forces out of its control. A rebirth. Dawn rose over a tired city.

Filthy streets and obnoxious sounds. The view through the dirty window was intoxicating, yet riddled with despair. Weary. The feeling is back. It is time to move. To see life beyond the edge of uncertainty that yields like a fragmented promise on the horizon, where the sun insists on being remembered, if only for a moment.

If only for a moment, I would not be here.

I wanted people to remember who I was, except that I had done nothing to warrant such adulation. We all want to be famous, on our own terms, of course. We don’t want to have to struggle with money or our thoughts. Yet, here I am, and there you are.

I turn away from the window to the hard mattressed bed in the middle of the room. It is a small room. Uncomfortable. Overpriced. There are no pictures on the wall. The place has never felt like home, though I often wonder what home is supposed to feel like. I finish stuffing my meagre belongings into a backpack and throw it over my shoulders. The load is light. I leave the room without a vague outline of my journey, and a faint reminder of the reason why.

It was the end.

It was the beginning.

I was criticized. I was condemned. The critics were those closest to me. They urged me to reconsider. They pleaded, and when that failed to yield their desired response, they became angry. They alienated me. They ridiculed, and they laughed. I thought I knew what I was doing. I was on the verge of returning to my former life. I searched for a reason to stay. Doubt began to settle on my conscience. Despite my fears, I committed to the cause of I. It was time to leave.

I walked with a firm, yet relaxed step beyond the square and conformed roofs of the city. Past streets covered in litter and people living in abject squalor. Where the poor gather in numbers and the addicted lie in doorways of abandoned buildings. The stench of poverty lingers in the unfiltered and tainted air. I walked past empty playgrounds and tenement squares with broken windows. I walked through parks overgrown with society's weeds, the homeless.

On the dividing lines of the city, between them and us, I walked past children lurking in the shadows of the alleys. I saw the toneless, formless shadows, the villains and thieves. My imagination ran wild. Whores and pimps, bullies and wimps, find their way into your soul.

Neon lights. Tempted with vice, the lure of pleasure, the antiquated treasure of desire. I remember it all. Smoke, thick, billowing, a crowd gathers to watch a fire burn. If only I could quench the fire in my soul. I am my own torturer. I ignite the flame and refuse to douse the fire.

An anguished voice shouts, scurrying feet, a baby screams, a woman rushes by. An old couple, hand in hand, by the lilting signs, endemic to the scene. I remember when we were young lovers, where beneath the wilting tree we confided our hopes and dreams. That was but a moment in which we fell into vulnerability. Wherever you are now, look beyond the misery that surrounds you and remember there is more of life to discover.

Night saw me beyond the lights. The road was dark, yet I continued to walk in a straight line and follow the course of the traffic. How typically practical of me. My life was a detour. I walked off the highway, took a side road, and never looked back. I had no destination in mind, just a peace of mind. I knew what I was searching for lay within, yet knew that the world without shaped how I responded. Before I decided to leave, I always thought I knew what I was doing. Routine, structure, and permanence pleased me. Yet limited in my experiences, I conversed with the world through a screen. Sharp-witted, yet ill-informed thoughts shaped harsh judgments. I was living in a circus, and I was the star performer.

I rested near a gurgling brook that wound its way through a steep valley. Fringed with bluebells, a radiant scent caused me to pause. Sunset reflects off the water. The soul reflection. Imperfection is beautiful. The beauty of a moment is rarely held in empty palms. It is the small things I have noticed since my departure. My senses have become attuned to the world. I see the vibrancy of colour more profoundly. I let the sunset touch my heart. I let a rainbow rouse my soul.

It did not take long to shed the past. I moved more slowly, yet absorbed more. I thought about the world less, though I understood more. I desired less, yet learned to love on a level inexpressible with words.

This was the life I chose. I was exposed but stronger. I moved with my mood. I felt my way through life. I was no longer a machine. I was no longer regimented by the clock. My possessions were few, yet I had never owned more. I saw people only when I had a need, though I was never lonely. I walked. I daydreamed. I explored. I was free. Free from want. Free from expectation. Free from toil. The oxen need to be unyoked. The dog needs to be unchained. Thoughts, objects, and desires cannot be held in perpetuity. They are not infinite, like the voidless drifts of time.

I can’t recall how long ago it was when I left. I once had a mind for minor details. Numbers. Money in the bank. Likes. Time. Dates. My life was built on the idle fancies of an expectant society. I tuned in. I labored. I struggled. I let ‘it’ get in the way of the self. I sacrificed myself for others. I gave all I had. Emotionally, intellectually, and economically. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t see the world through their eyes. I was not battered by their thoughts. I reached my maxim. I was confronted with a choice. Stay and crumble, wither and die or escape into the uncharted course of the future. I chose the latter and learned that life is the greatest teacher.

With every step, the knots unraveled. I became freer. The thoughtless chains that held me instead are now loose. I hear church bells and wonder, if only. I have lived many lives, yet have suffered only one. From a rise, hidden behind a bank of trees, I watched antelope frolic. Their nervous hoofs are dancing on the soft grass. They remind me of my childhood, when I was innocent and free. Talk was simply talk. Hopes and dreams were cast into the cool embrace of fate, where all that dies learns to grieve, yet does not learn to live. The warmth of the sun on my face gave birth to nature's dormant seeds. The roots of life held firm. I sprouted, I grew. I bloomed. It is only those who live that will die.

I saw a steamboat drifting on the belly of the river and coughing into the mist. I witnessed a man kneel and propose to a lady clad in a silver wish. At the quay, merchantmen sell their wares. I peered across the wide blue expanse in search of meaning. I watched as priests blessed the temple with a sign of the cross. Through an opaque window, I have come to understand that which exists belongs to us all.

To the other side of the mountain, my weary feet beat a haphazard path in chase of the dewdrop sun. Clouds gather in the west. I lay on the entangled grass and rest. The air cools, the breeze moves in, and the rain falls.

My thoughts have stirred. Memories flood through me like water down a dry creek bed. I feel lonely. I began to doubt all I thought I had learned. I yearn to see her face. To be in that safe place. The four grey walls. The bland and discouraging room. Watching my doom through a window, feeling life through a screen.

Yet here I am, in the genesis of a new world, where the tamed mind unfurls into an archaic mirage of doubt, fear, and expectation. I have been here before. I have stood in the rain. I have felt its beauty, which gives birth to pain. I don’t want the rain to stop. I am confused. Is it the rain I will miss, or the way it makes me feel?