Wednesday, July 20, 2011

How do I say this?

Have you ever wanted to say something, but weren't sure what it was you wanted to say? A vague idea came to you, but you didn't know how to put it into words. Or, have you ever felt like you need to feel a certain way - been on the edge of feeling that way - but then the feeling never materializes? It's like feeling the need to sneeze, and then not being able to do it.

I have a small, 11x20 foot, room. I have it all to myself - other than the snake in the corner cage - and it feels wonderful. It's my quiet escape, my personal hideaway, my den. It's where I go when I absolutely need to get something done, or when I'm trying to figure something out. My dreams paint the walls, and cherished good books litter the floor. Hours fly by in my room like the blink of an eye.

Right now I want to say something. What that something is I can't quite say. There's an indistinct murmur in the back of my mind; something about tears and sighs and life. If it would come into focus, even for an instant, I'd say it. I'd swoop upon it as a hawk on prey, crying, "Ah ha!" And that would probably make me feel better. For, I feel like I ought to be sad. Like I ought to be lost somewhat in a mournful, melancholy reflection on the way my life is tending. But it seems I just can't get up the gumption to feel it. Maybe I'm too worn out. Maybe my heart is tired of feeling this way…

Sometimes my room isn't enough, though. Sometimes I'll sit here, in the sauna like heat, and feel stifled instead of safe. As if the problems in my life are pressing down upon me, demanding my full attention. It's times like these that I run off to the woods. Or simply turn to the wall. Yes, I have a wall. You might be thinking, 'most people do…' but my wall is different. It's under my bed. That might throw you, but you'll understand when I say I have a loft bed.

My dreams on the walls… I look at this wall and I see the snow white paint; scuffed, chipped, and stained in several places. It's a short section of wall, and dust rests on the loft bed support by its side. Quite suddenly, as I watch the wall, it falls away like a pile of leaves in a breath of wind. Behind is a passageway - a hallway of lightly stained beech. A rug carpets the center of the floor, doors disappear off to the left and right, and light flickers from gas fixtures on the walls. It runs on and on; away from my room, my world, what I can taste and see.
Behind each door is a mystery. There, adventure lurks around the corners and excitement buzzes through the air. I see dark trains traveling by moonlight. I see a happy little dragon, concentrating as he sketches into the wee hours of the morn. I see beautiful sunsets, fabulous rainbows, ships cutting the water, and ships cutting the air. A cat who's thoughts can be heard, and a boy riding a bike over a plain; soon to be caught up in a fire storm. There's a lovely young woman who loves a certain park by the river, teaching her charge the rules of grammar. A flying coatrack, a night demon, a curious little boy, a loving old woman, and my King on a white horse; they all populate this passageway in my mind. Sorrow and Joy, meaning and meaninglessness, deep discussions and silly debates, good and evil, and the right word in the right season all whisper along the floorboards.

It's not simply where I can hide. It's not just a place of escape. It's somewhere where I can really be. Where I know what it is that I've been wanting to say, and where I call it out with confidence. Where I know exactly what to feel and when to feel it. Where I can dwell safely in the arms of Love.


  1. I love your writing. It's just really so amazingly good. But reading your blogs makes me realize just how little I've known of you and that makes me sad.

  2. I always wondered why you didn't have anything up on that wall =)