If you read my other blog, “Neurotic, Yet Classy”, that title may sound familiar. Apparently, I’m a forgetful writer. I’ve been known to write something, tuck it away (or click save), and forget all about it. Well, tonight, I’ve stumbled upon another buried treasure.
I was moving files from my laptop (where I had lazily saved them temporarily) to my thumbdrive (for keepsies) when I came across a Word document titled “writing”. Look what I found….
From above, a mere speck of orange bobbing on an endless rolling sea, my raft is small and empty. Beneath me, the gentle rocking of the ocean lulls me deeper into my thoughts. Inside. It will be weeks before I know where I’m going. Inside. My emotions, like the salty water beneath me, are never still.
To the east, from where the sun rises, I see the shadow of land in the distance. My marriage. My home. My family. My children. My world. The shoreline stretching as far north and south as I can see. Its jagged edges crawling with people, activity, conflict, distractions.
To the west, a small island lies in wait. Quiet. Peaceful. Silent. Yet, not completely alone. There, I see freedom. Escape. Tenderness and warmth.
Wasting here in this raft, my heart transforms itself daily. My thoughts never quiet themselves. As words and voices swell in and out of my mind like the tide; I wonder if I will ever reach land again. Which way will the currents carry me? Is it wrong that I choose not to paddle? I only want to sleep. Tuck myself in the bellows of this dainty raft, shielding myself from the world with nothing but rubber and air.
Air. What protection will that offer me? I’m exposed. Like the sun on my skin, the world is free to burn me at will. No longer can I hide from it. If I close my eyes, it does not go away.
I need a drink. My soul is dehydrated. I am depleted. For now, I’ll sleep.
In my dreams, I’m walking on the beach. My toes revel in the soft, warm sand. The wind on my face assures me I’m alive. As the cool water washes over my feet, I sink into the earth. I am connected to this world. I am committed to this path on which I walk. Behind me, I leave a trail. Evidence of my actions. Looking ahead, I am happy. I am content. I know there is warmth and safety where I’m headed. But where is that? Where am I?
At that, I return to the raft. Once again, we are floating, lifeless. Watching the water around me live, I am jealous. Might it know something I don’t? Is it possible that the water knows where it is destined to go? Does it have a direction? A plan? A road map for its journey?
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