Spiritual Intensity

February 15, 2018April 14, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

conflicted

Alli sat in the cafe while it rained. The glow of her computer reflected off her glasses. Outside the sun was setting. The curbs were becoming lakes. The passerby stepped away from the edge of the sidewalk as his taxi cab cruised in.

The sky continued to grow darker. The droplets lashed the window. Alli sipped her coffee and listened to the crescendo. The white noise drowned out the smooth jazz coming through the cafe speakers. Every now and again, the door would open with a gust of damp air and someone would come in, fussing over their coat or dripping umbrella.

The coffee was almost cold. Alli sipped the macchiato gingerly. Nearly a year since Dallas. She had heard the Lothario was somewhere in Thailand now, probably enjoying sunny beaches and coconut curry stew. Outside, the downpour would not let up. It seemed like it would rain all night.

Annoyed with her self-pity, Alli closed the laptop. She put on her black trench coat and paid her tab at the counter, before opening the glass door and stepping out into the deluge. Flagging down a taxi on her first try, Alli directed the yellow cab to her apartment.

Back home, Alli put on a dress shirt and some jeans. She put on her Rolex and a dot of cologne. Inside her closet, she checked her hairline in the mirror and then went back out, catching another cab, headed downtown.

She was back at Labyrinth, Dallas and her old stomping grounds. On the first floor was the bar, in the basement was the dance floor. Down in the club was dark as usual. Downstairs also had its own bar. A white-haired woman approached Alli from beyond her left elbow. The woman extended an arm, “Hi, I’m Xen.”

Alli enjoyed dancing with her. She was as buoyant and light, as Alli was circumscribed and stiff. “Let me buy you a drink,” Alli said, over the din emitted from the DJ’s box.

At nearly 1 AM, they walked to a local pizza joint, that served drunk food all night. Sitting at the white-and-red checkered table, Xen asked, “So, what do you do?”

“I’m an accountant,” Alli answered. She struggled to find a way to eat the greasy slice in a delicate way.

It was still raining when they snuggled together on the couch, in front of the fire, at Alli’s place. Rivulets ran down the glass. “You know,” Xen said, “I have a cabin in upstate New York – if you ever want to stop by during the weekend.”

“That would be nice,” Alli answered.

The wind shook the windows. They scrunched deeper under the afghan and watched the fire roar. The log broke and crumbled in the fireplace, with a series of loud snaps.

Alli wanted to believe that there was a cleansing, redemptive power in the rain, even when her hamstring hurt. That somewhere out there, there was a fresher, purer self, waiting to be born.

acceptance

Songs:

コンシャスTHOUGHTS:

ＭＩＤＮＩＧＨＴ

ネオン涙

Cruising

Laminated Heart

February 12, 2018April 5, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

introspection

Waves lapped against the ferry. Alli stood at the railing, taking in the spray, watching the silver ocean. The island in the distance, loomed like a turtle’s shell, materializing out of the mist.

The ferry was unusually packed this Sunday. Most people were inside the cabin, enduring the swaying boat. The boat reached the docks of the island. Main Street stretched into the distance, but most of the land was shrouded in thick, black forest, ancient pines.

Alli stepped off the boat and headed down the metal ramp. It was a cloudy day in Maine. Around the Main Street was the usual assortment of shops: ice cream parlor, Starbucks, arts and crafts cubby hole, record store. Alli walked down the sidewalk, toward the woods and the mountains.

Once on the trail, she could breathe in the scent of the trees. Early morning frost still hung in the air. Fog still circled the peaks. Mushrooms were everywhere in the soggy soil.

Alli hiked the path. Pine needles dusted the dirt. Squirrels ran through the nettles. She finally looked up and saw where she was headed: a nondescript cabin, with a wisp of smoke rising from the chimney.

Climbing the stone steps, Alli found herself at the oaken door. She lifted the iron knocker, only to let go of it as Kaan yanked open the door. Kaan wore a cashmere sweater and jeans; she ushered Alli in.

Kaan had made scrambled eggs and toast. She took Alli’s coat. They sat at the table, replete with spindly legs, in the breakfast nook facing the valley. Everything was still; even the birds were quiet.

They sipped the coffee, inhaling the flowery scent of fresh logs burning in the wood stove.

“Will you ever move back?” Alli asked.

“No,” Kaan said.

Alli looked out the bay window, “You could find a lot of inspiration out here.”

“I’ve tried to write a novel many times,” Kaan said, “I keep rewriting it.”

“It’s OK to revise. I imagine the scene here is pretty small though, right?”

“It is,” Kaan answered, “They do some poetry readings at the arts and crafts store. There is a community college a couple of miles inland.”

They put on heavy overalls and rubber boots. Kaan drove them out to the small lake, not far from the log cabin. They stood in the water, fly fishing. The clouds hung over the treetops. There were no bites.

“Do you miss Aspen?” Alli wondered.

“Do you miss Dallas?” Kaan responded.

They lapsed back into silence. Kaan reeled in a trout, glimmering in the pale daylight.

Kaan pulled out a cast-iron pan and a grill from her truck. They made a fire and sat around it, watching the fish roast, nudging it silently with sticks. Beyond the clouds, the sun began its journey to the other side of the earth.

“One day, you’re going to have to go back,” Alli said.

Kaan said nothing. They sat there, into the night, watching the dance of the flames.

healing