Sunday, June 14, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
The Tempest
She usually loved rainstorms.
When she was little, she would sit at her window and watch the rain streak down the glass. Like snails, she thought. Or watercolors.
Sometimes, she’d be brave and step out onto the front porch. In the open air, the storm would surround her, taking over her senses. She loved the smell of rain, the sound of the colliding branches, the moist air dampening her skin without a drop landing on her. But mostly, she loved the colors. A million shades of gray, rolling across the sky. Trees turning impossibly green. Everything felt more alive and vibrant with the breath of the rainstorm — including her.
Then, suddenly in the distance, a bolt of lightening would strike. She’d lose her nerve and run back inside, only to sit, watching, again from the window.
But tonight, as the rain fell in sheets against her windshield and her hands gripped the steering wheel, with every ounce of her body she hated storms.
She squinted through the tired wiper blades and focused on the blurry red taillights of the car in front of her. She couldn’t see the road—she couldn’t see anything but the water flooding her view. Those glowing dots ahead were her only hope of moving forward.
Moving ahead scared her. Her knuckles were white, and her whole body ached. Despite the shelter of her small car, she felt battered. Beaten by the force of the storm. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t pull over to let it pass over her. If she stopped, she’d lose sight of those red lights and who knows how long it would be, sitting under the storm’s full weight? She was gaining ground, she told herself. Soon, she’d be out of its path and on dry ground. She just had to keep going.
She was tired, but she forced her eyes to stay focused, her mind alert. She needed to keep going. Toward those red lights.
A flash in the distance revealed the bruised landscape ahead. She flinched, startled by the light. Would she even have the strength to make it? Was ahead even the right direction?
Without taking her eyes off her focus, she shook her head, unseating the doubts. Forward was the way she knew. For better or for worse, it was her path.
So, squeezing her fingers around the groove of the steering wheel, she pushed forward — blindly, not knowing if she was driving away from the storm or straight into it.
When she was little, she would sit at her window and watch the rain streak down the glass. Like snails, she thought. Or watercolors.
Sometimes, she’d be brave and step out onto the front porch. In the open air, the storm would surround her, taking over her senses. She loved the smell of rain, the sound of the colliding branches, the moist air dampening her skin without a drop landing on her. But mostly, she loved the colors. A million shades of gray, rolling across the sky. Trees turning impossibly green. Everything felt more alive and vibrant with the breath of the rainstorm — including her.
Then, suddenly in the distance, a bolt of lightening would strike. She’d lose her nerve and run back inside, only to sit, watching, again from the window.
But tonight, as the rain fell in sheets against her windshield and her hands gripped the steering wheel, with every ounce of her body she hated storms.
She squinted through the tired wiper blades and focused on the blurry red taillights of the car in front of her. She couldn’t see the road—she couldn’t see anything but the water flooding her view. Those glowing dots ahead were her only hope of moving forward.
Moving ahead scared her. Her knuckles were white, and her whole body ached. Despite the shelter of her small car, she felt battered. Beaten by the force of the storm. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t pull over to let it pass over her. If she stopped, she’d lose sight of those red lights and who knows how long it would be, sitting under the storm’s full weight? She was gaining ground, she told herself. Soon, she’d be out of its path and on dry ground. She just had to keep going.
She was tired, but she forced her eyes to stay focused, her mind alert. She needed to keep going. Toward those red lights.
A flash in the distance revealed the bruised landscape ahead. She flinched, startled by the light. Would she even have the strength to make it? Was ahead even the right direction?
Without taking her eyes off her focus, she shook her head, unseating the doubts. Forward was the way she knew. For better or for worse, it was her path.
So, squeezing her fingers around the groove of the steering wheel, she pushed forward — blindly, not knowing if she was driving away from the storm or straight into it.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Holla' (Amen)
In Japan, many Buddhist temples have shrines where walls are covered in pegs. People write their prayers, concerns, wishes, hopes and fears, and hang them up. This was one.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
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