The air hung about us fresh and heavy, burdened with the weight of a billion falling tears. The very heart that pulsated beneath us in the soil opened up and sang a song of warm welcome to the soothing rain. Hills rose and fell before us like great waves frozen at their crests before crashing down into yielding valleys of green and virgin earth. We race off the beaten path and make our own way up the steep face of an unspoiled hill. Reverting back to childish innocence as we battle imaginary foes! Swinging makeshift swords, screaming into the wind. Our bodies wet, trembling and indifferent.
And there at the crest, among the rain and gentle foliage and in the companionship of faithful brotherhood; a universal language of leaves and wild things reaches out to communicate with us. An anthem of life echoes across the vast valleys ringing in the ears of adventurous souls. The tall and untouched grass sways and gestures with invisible hands as silver clouds caress the bosoms of hilltops like gentle lovers. Rivers rush down with force of grace, inviting us to follow it’s trajectory into unknown territories longing to be explored. The rampancy of turning gears ceases their manufacturing of endless thoughts and deplorable doubts as a natural intoxication envelops me in silence. Lost in ecstatic euphoria and vivid imagination, I am as far away from everything than I have ever been. And yet, I have never felt so close.
Close to the secret that alludes me. The great lesson to be learned in the language of the wilds that is no secret. A timeless wisdom that would make sages of young and willing minds. But I am lost in the translation for I do not know the native tongue. The winds and fertile lands tell me I’d learn, if only I’d stay. But the clouds are darkening with the setting sun and I damn the the brevity of winter days.
We turn back. Back towards home and the modern melodrama of our lives that loses it’s attraction when reflected in the unbiased mirrors of still waters. Back to fluorescent horizons, neon signs and the angry reds of tail lights. Nine to fives and traffic fines. Forty hour work weeks and 401k. Sitcoms that tell us when to laugh. Game shows and the evening news. Reality television, commercial advertising and radio broadcasting. Empty wallets and empty beds. Back to the freeways and super highways whose lanes become impacted and congested. Reminiscent of great migratory herds of cattle, consuming all in their wake. Trampling the old and and the weak for Weekend sales. Buyers looking to buy, never thinking they are the ones being bought. Back to the security of suburbia and it’s gated communities. The endless race for paper and property. Lost in the currents of waning humanity. Losing their minds in a country that is losing it’s soul.
Back to the manic parade. The carousel. People spinning inside of themselves. The fluctuating condition of the human animal, condensing and compressing together in great sky scrapers till the imminent moment of implosion!
And they call this a dream. Oh! What a dream.
But my eyes are open. For I have seen the evergreen.