Far Away for Far Too Long
Have you ever experienced that dread of facing something you’ve long-neglected?
Welcome to my life on the blog. I’ve been terribly remiss in posting, and the longer I wait, the blanker my brain seems to get. The only thing I can equate my recent brain fog to happened on a long walk last year at college: I was alone, and desperately in need of respite from the hectic college life I knew (all of my recently graduated friends can commiserate!). I did what any sane person would do and left everything behind to go on a ramble through the woods.
There is a certain magical place near my school where the woods bunch up and block out the world, creating an oasis of their own in the middle of suburbia.
What I found on that walk, when I got to the heart of the woods, was mossy, rich silence. It was as if the air was so lush I couldn’t move – it became embedded in me as I sat in this dewy utopia.
Time got away from me, because I didn’t remember to mark it as it passed.
I felt completely wrapped in this peaceful void where nothing happened, where my usual cacophony of thoughts quieted to match the stillness around me.
This heaviness of thought revisits from time to time, but often in a less peaceful, more insipidly dull way. Whenever I feel like I’m slogging through each day, I try to remember this time, when the hush of my brain was a welcome thing, when I was tranquil.
It brings to mind a quote from one of my favorite “salt-of-the-earth” novels:
“The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers…I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.”― Willa Cather, My Ántonia