i send my SOS to the world- this is my message in a bottle. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vignettes of Life in Progress I feel compelled to write. More so than I have in awhile, even though I make it a point to write every day. There are so many things swimming about me, little vignettes of my life here and little snatches and pieces of my life in San Diego. I feel like writing about sitting at Ocean Beach and watching the sun set, wetness dripping down and staining the front of my shirt, silent tears at a sight I have missed with a longing that I didn't know I had. Watching the golden orb sink down into the silver and blue water. The ocean is so different here than it is in San Diego. In San Francisco it's wilder, less inviting, the waves stretching the distance of the sand, instead of the inviting bath water blues and greens of my hometown shores. But it's still gorgeous in that unhinged way, that limitless, stretching horizon. It was almost the lightest shades of silver and softest blue, the whitecaps thrown over the waves like thick yards of Chantilly lace. It was directly in front of me, almost as if I had the best seat in the house, sinking into the front row of sand and grit on a little embankment. Several other spectators shared the sight with me, watching the descent of the sun as it streaked across the apricot and gold tinted sky. The colors of a vivid sunset are always colors I can never find the right words to describe, almost as if these colors came from a different box of crayons than any other color found in nature. I feel like writing about church, the first time I had been compelled to go in a long time. There was comfort in the age old rituals, the familiar responses that haven't changed even though I have. In the dim lighting, it was hard to deny His presence, though I have been hard pressed to find him in my life lately. There is a communion there, past the one that you ingest, a silent force that when I put my knees down on the fabric, my hands fidgeting but my head bowed in the pew, there is something there. There is anger and pain, there is the cursing and the asking for help that comes in the same breath. There ceases at initial moments the inability to pray, but instead, all I hear are a few choice words that bubble to the top of my conciousness. "It's not fair" alternated with "I need your help". I couldn't help but find tears again, first slow and silent, quiet and as natural as breath. And then he pulled me in without a word, and we stood there for a long time while I cried, my arms gripping him more tightly than all our years of friendship had given him, silently thankful that for a few moments I had an anchor. And now, in hindsight, maybe that was the help I was praying so desperately for. 3:14 p.m. - Monday, Mar. 07, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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