2006-10-08
chalazae
As a part of my campus job at the post office, I go on mail trips and deliver to various departments.
One route has a stop at the chaplain's office. By the time I get there, the mailbag is really light because it's the last stop. I love how I can gradually feel it getting lighter with each stop. It's like a load literally being taken off my shoulders, and it does put me at ease.
The chapel stop is my favorite. I walk through the front doors, which are huge. No one is ever in there when I come. I walk down the aisle, and it has one of those tile patterns that really isn't a pattern at all. And I look up at the big arched windows, and the tall, tall ceiling.
It's a wonderful moment of quietude, and I do this aisle-walking really slow like a disabled bride so I can take it all in.
I end up thinking again how everything around here seems to just slide around and even float. In a bizarre way, it reminds me of a chalazae, the slimy white cord that attaches an egg yolk to its membrane on the shell. There are no anchors, only these tenuous links that are anything but concrete and secure. It's slippery, inconsistent, and unfamiliar in its cold comfort.
It's probably too early for anything concrete and secure. But it is still a very unique phase.
It's October again. I really like this month. The leaves are so crunchy now. Most of the color is gone from them, but there are still a few trees bursting with brilliance. There is this one that is so gosh darn yellow that I swear if you hid a dozen canaries up in its branches, I wouldn't notice. I started to write a poem about this stuff in my head while I was walking home, but I forgot some of it. The leaves made eddies on the ground, and whirl around with a rustling sound. They spin in this devil of wind on the sidewalk and it's really nice to watch.
I've been kind of meta-cognitive lately, and I think it is helping me. I think about my past and how maybe I glorify some of it in lieu of any familiarity here. I recognize the discrepancy between my ideals about the world and the actual reality that I can't change. I critique my hopefulness and acknowledge my naiveness. I am on the brim of understanding how I can be more true to myself in some very abstract ways. I feel good, and I wouldn't mind finding myself in a pew of the chapel, soaking in the silence without any weight on my shoulders at all.
leesah-likes at 11:59 a.m.