It has been noted that from great heights--from a plane, for example--the earth looks like a patchwork. Different sections of land joining together at odd angles. Shades of greens and browns butting together and overlapping. Blues and blacks intermingled.
This is a view I have often these days, as I travel back and forth across the country.
Staring out the window on one of these seemingly endless flights recently I was struck by the patterns and the way the colors seem to change depth and shade, sometimes suddenly and sometimes gradually. I could see my life in those changes. I could see it from a great height and I saw the patchwork that it is; the days and years running together as different shades of colors. Bad times, angry times are very dark and difficult to penetrate--from above or on the ground. They are overgrown and uninviting, promising only wounds and danger. The good times are airy and light. A mild breeze blows through them, pleasantly. Birds sing cheerily, inviting me in.
It was interesting that sometimes the border between the light colors and the dark ones would be clearly defined; the transition immediate and easily discernible. Those were times when my life changed suddenly--a wrong choice or a right one; bad luck or good. Something changed things with frightening speed so that the colors could not blend. I could not prepare or be forewarned. The change from dark back to light was often less severe, as if exiting the darkness is more of a process that must be lived out. Or perhaps it's just that we must suffer the consequences of our actions; and, often, the actions of others.
I think the places where the transition from light to dark is more gradual are more frightening somehow. They seem to say that I should have seen this one coming. The warning signs were there and I missed them. Ignored them? Likely. The dark patches after these entries were deeper and wider, taking much longer to blend back into paler shades.
Waters run through the scene as well. Sometimes shallow brooks joyfully falling across stones with grassy meadows on either side; a few willows on the bank for shade and rest. Other times raging, gushing, angrily rushing torrents of the blackest depths. Screaming "Danger" and offering no way to cross. Filled with sharp edges and pain. I marvelled at them, that I had emerged from them.
The further along this path I was able to see, the less frequent the dark patches appeared. And they seemed to be less dense and narrower. Am I wiser, or luckier? Not a fair question, perhaps. Maybe just less energetic.
Try as I might, I could not make out what lay ahead. It was hidden from me in swirling mists and semi-darkness. For the best, I suppose. For the best.
This is a view I have often these days, as I travel back and forth across the country.
Staring out the window on one of these seemingly endless flights recently I was struck by the patterns and the way the colors seem to change depth and shade, sometimes suddenly and sometimes gradually. I could see my life in those changes. I could see it from a great height and I saw the patchwork that it is; the days and years running together as different shades of colors. Bad times, angry times are very dark and difficult to penetrate--from above or on the ground. They are overgrown and uninviting, promising only wounds and danger. The good times are airy and light. A mild breeze blows through them, pleasantly. Birds sing cheerily, inviting me in.
It was interesting that sometimes the border between the light colors and the dark ones would be clearly defined; the transition immediate and easily discernible. Those were times when my life changed suddenly--a wrong choice or a right one; bad luck or good. Something changed things with frightening speed so that the colors could not blend. I could not prepare or be forewarned. The change from dark back to light was often less severe, as if exiting the darkness is more of a process that must be lived out. Or perhaps it's just that we must suffer the consequences of our actions; and, often, the actions of others.
I think the places where the transition from light to dark is more gradual are more frightening somehow. They seem to say that I should have seen this one coming. The warning signs were there and I missed them. Ignored them? Likely. The dark patches after these entries were deeper and wider, taking much longer to blend back into paler shades.
Waters run through the scene as well. Sometimes shallow brooks joyfully falling across stones with grassy meadows on either side; a few willows on the bank for shade and rest. Other times raging, gushing, angrily rushing torrents of the blackest depths. Screaming "Danger" and offering no way to cross. Filled with sharp edges and pain. I marvelled at them, that I had emerged from them.
The further along this path I was able to see, the less frequent the dark patches appeared. And they seemed to be less dense and narrower. Am I wiser, or luckier? Not a fair question, perhaps. Maybe just less energetic.
Try as I might, I could not make out what lay ahead. It was hidden from me in swirling mists and semi-darkness. For the best, I suppose. For the best.
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