On the freeway home. I am a passenger, not in control... trusting. Observing, not participating. My body is being geographically transferred - not of my own accord yet not quite against my will. My mind, however, remains in the same old place. It does not move, yet its posture changes. The black tar road is white with wet streetlight reflections: evidence of rain. This hostile road can be heard to hiss displeasure at the intrusion of a multitude of wheels, cutting careless paths into its glistening skin. Bright white dots race by in pairs, save for the occasional loner bereft of mate or single by choice. In the dark of the night, things have fallen out of context. The track is flanked to either side by grandstands, crammed with rows of spectators: streetlights eagerly observing the athletes' progress as they run their frantic marathon. It all seems rather absurd. An acute awareness makes the car's contents seem close... a little too close. I'm in a place I don't quite wish to be. For some reason, I feel the need to be distant. Outside the feverish activities of the stadium, beyond the blaring of bulbs egging contestants on, there is a silence... a darkness. I'm drawn to it, drawn to hide. Between dull-lit trees, where light recedes, dark arched portals lead into a sanctuary where the blinding glare of human focus does not fall: a rich forest, dense with growth and proud with lofty members. At daybreak, a pollution of picnickers and hikers shall infiltrate its pristine serenity but, for the moment, at least, it has an almost impossible majesty. This night forest, unfrequented place in the mind. I find myself safe in this sanctuary of the night. Warm inside a beautiful darkness. |