On occasion he will happen to take a turn and find a park, a few trees, even a small stream; yet the mountain vistas and earlier adrenaline of steep climbs and whizzing descents will remain forever allusive, these wispy simulacra giving brief reprieve but also pangs of unfulfilled desire. Soon he will stop peering high above the buildings; his neck hurts and his soul can't afford another "almost." So soon, very soon hopefully, he will readjust his focus, averting the impossible vistas, returning instead to the two feet forever, one at a time, moving forward...or at least moving somewhere comfortably past the same familiar, peeling sign each day.
Imitation is...reality and now I will extend my arms in front of me, palms upward, wrists together. Please God, plug me back in.
5 comments:
Wow. Nicely said. More posts like this, please.
It makes me think of some of the stories of Flannery O'Connor, a writer I ignored for years because of her association with Catholicism. Now I really like her. She seems to deliver on that final plea you put forth in your post--she plugs her characters back in, usually through some grotesque form of violence and suffering. So be careful what you wish for!!!
@Radagast: After reading your comment I thought, "wow, that's one of the best comments I've ever had on my blog--engaging, literary." So seeing it deleted made me quite disappointed.
@Shane: Thanks. Wish I thought I could come up with more posts like this but life seems to--as this post indicates--smash such ruminations out of me. As you know we must all stay plugged in so we can get everything done.
Seeing your comment, I realize that I misread the last line of your post, the "plugged in" reference, in particular.
With that in mind, the grotesque violence and suffering that O'Connor inflicts on her characters works to "unplug" them (and at times produces moments of creative lucidity that breed posts like this one).
Sorry, CI. It just seemed silly, to me, sitting next to your fine post.
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