Tuesday, April 20, 2010

the kaleidoscope

yesterday I had nothing to say.
that doesn't usually stop me from posting something here. however, I knew I'd have something to say today, and my subconscious steered me away from this site all day long yesterday, saving it for today.

today, you see, is jake's birthday.
my feelings about today are an ever-changing kaleidoscope, created out of illogical and surprising bits and pieces of common, everyday bits of humanity.
do you remember the awe you experience holding a kaleidoscope up to the light, twisting gently, watching new shapes and forms fall into stunning, unimaginable designs? the word is from the greek words kalos, beautiful and eidos, form, and the english scope, to see.
my feelings are like this, with just a touch of melancholy draped softly over the vision.

I have great joy for what was, and for what he is now. I have pain and sorrow and loss, for what was and what wasn't. I flounder in a field of nothingness, trying to imagine his brother and what might have been. I swim in the love of it all. I ache to touch him again, I am split apart from knowing I can't. I thrill for his ability to be everywhere around me, always, omnipresent. my heart swells with gratitude for his freedom, my heart swells with grief for my own loss.
each aspect of the experience is an exquisitely cut gemstone, gleaming, allowing light through on every side, casting multicolored shadows over the world.

this morning I rose early, setting out on my bike for the spot where snow covers the road to east canyon, ending all skinny tire passage toward the summit. the morning was warm enough that my earlobes and toes and fingertips were only tingling with cold, not bitterly complaining. I rode until I was certain my path would be thwarted, then rode further. and a bit further.
when snow and ice rendered forward movement impossible, I paused.
I twisted open my small metal container and let a bit of jake float down to the winter-weary snow on the side of the road. it wasn't a moment for deep words, but instead a deep involvement with the awe of the moment.

jake and his brother sent two messages this morning. the first was a porcupine alongside the road, who fluffed his quills into a prickly, peacock-ish display as I rode past. the second was a moose, hanging out in solitary peace in the brush banking little dell reservoir. I read their messages to be these: the porcupine, throwing up his quills, meant to just do what I'm meant to do; the moose, seemingly alone, conveyed the message that even though I may feel or seem alone, it is okay to be so. the porcupine was just following its instincts, and the moose, its individual path. and none of us are ever truly alone.

I rode home a bit lighter.
I have another touchstone now in my life. I have so many, so very many physical locations that hold great depth and meaning for me. this one, the rutted and rock strewn side of the road that the tired snow will eventually melt and dampen, 2.6 miles past the gates blocking motorized traffic from big mountain summit, will now be a small, multi-faceted stone in the kaleidoscope of reality that is jake and susan.

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