If I could convince the morning’s pink sky to hang around, I would. When my computer
screen goes to sleep, I can see the silhouette of my head in it, outlined by sky shining
through the window behind me. A pink sky, pink like sorbet would be neato. Instead
it’s just blue with tree limbs waving like they could be sea flora in a churning current.
Is that me? I look normal. I look like nothing is bothering me and this is just another
day. Inside. Outside. Inside. Outside; how different they are. If the normal part of me
could be inside, I might feel better. If I did turn inside out, perhaps all of my then
exposed thoughts and questions would float away on the wind like dandelion seeds,
to who knows where. Good riddance. I could relax for god’s sake. I might play tennis,
or think of Spain.
Yesterday morning, the power was out. I went down to the lobby to see if anyone
knew the reason for the outage. The lobby was empty, but I happened to see
someone sitting on the bench in the vestibule between the outer door and the inner,
locked door. It was the same man who, when the tornado ripped through in May,
was trapped in an elevator with his wife when the power went. I was walking past in
the hallway, heard their voices, and rescued them by manually opening the
elevator door. On this morning, he was sitting patiently, dressed in his pajamas and
bathrobe, hands folded in his lap. He reminded me of Clarence Odbody, the angel in
Capra’s, It's a Wonderful Life. I let him in. The superintendent came through the hall at
that moment, appearing with almost the same timing as when he came on scene
during the elevator rescue. I don’t know why this happened.
I thought of a man who grows kale in vertical, hydroponic columns north of Sudbury.
Later that evening the documentary about him came on TV. There is head-down
studying Jung, and then there is using what you learn in order to live in the world:
synchronicity happens; Sometimes it’s dressed in pajamas. Sometimes it’s salad.
However it shows up, it’s on your side.