homeward bound

Today as I walked home from an egg salad sandwich lunch, I passed by this
house that I always pass by and take notice of when doing so. Most buildings
in New York are built right on the street, there aren't usually front yards or
any barrier between the concrete of the sidewalk to the first of the front
steps. But this building is set so far back in it's lot, it's a whole building inset
between the ones next to it. And filling the space from the front steps to the
sidewalk is this lovely yard. It's unkempt and there are weeds taking over
all sides of it, there's a bathtub sitting lonely in the middle, there's a simple,
straight pathway to the front door, though the weeds obscure the straight
line and make it look more like a magical pathway of some kind.

I've never seen anyone going into this building or leaving it. The paint on
the outside has been neglected for longer than my lifeline. It always seems
so peaceful, this house that no one seems to live in.

As I was passing by it today there was a crisp breeze that overtook the
brooklyn streets. And for no longer than a minute, all of the sticky-fume
ridden air was pushed away, and the streets got so quiet, the world stepped
forward in slow motion, swirling vision, there was quiet, I could hear
stranger's hearts beating and I was engulfed in the breeze that captured
some essence of this life that so seldom has the opportunity (or audacity)
to be savored.

The grass in the yard was slick and vibrant. It swayed so soft, as if it was
the tide upon the infinite sea. Every cloud like blade became this massive
sweeping dream vibration. The most fantastic whole, the sum, something
so much more magical than any one of it's parts. And this is the way of
all things.

These few moments of the greater kind brought me back home. To the
ones that I miss and love even more than I did the last time I left and
thought that my cup was already overflowing. Down in Louisiana where
I usually seem to find alot more breezes just like this one, grass to be
appreciated, and dilapidated homes to be loved for their unwavering
foundations that have withstood the trivial pursuits of time, bad weather,
and modern man's increasing inclinations to make this world perfectly
angled, technologically advanced, and concrete boxed. To the place that
is as ugly as it is beautiful, and that is proud of it's imperfections. The
place that knows imperfections are what define us, that rough edges,
and chipping paint, slurred vowels and preoccupation with domestic
pursuits are the pathways to a life lived richly. The most quiet of all
wisdom's.

I thought about how I so much wish for a little house, just like this little
house, and one day I will have saved up enough nickles and dimes to
buy myself a house like that. Since I was a little kid I have dreamed
about earning myself a home, where no one can tell me what to do and
there is no landlord to answer to. A place where I don't have to rent my
life. A place where I can own it.

And I will fill this house with books from dedicated garage sale hunts.
There will be bookcases from the ceilings to the floors, and by the time
I pass away I will have read them all. Then they will be passed along to
the public library. Outside the windows of this house will likely be the river,
churning strong, a streamlined freight train of life, rolling on down to the
sea. I will plant trees and flowers and fill the window sills with hanging ivies
that will keep watch of the river when I am otherwise occupied. My sweet
dog Cash will be there (he will live forever, of course) with me and he will
nap underneath the ivies in the late-afternoon sun, with his blond coat of
fur smiling in reflections of the light. And he'll look up at me from time to
time with those all-knowing green eyes of the old soul that he is, and we
will see each other clearly, and every time remember how lucky we've
been. How good this has been.

There will be a telephone that collects dust most of the time, but a writing
desk where I regularly contact all the ones who are not nearby. I will write
to them of all the exciting news of my days, which will be limited and not
seem very exciting to them at all. My days to my grandchildren that I will
write about will seem so boring. So passive. But I will know that they are
fuller than when I was young and full of restlessness and ambitions to grab
on to all the transitory pretty things along the way. I will have learned to be
still. And happy. Which is of course, the same end my grandchildren will be
seeking in their bounty of youth filled with their wonderful big dreams, cotton
candy, rainbows of lovers, and insatiable thirst for more. I will smile when
they quickly get bored of my humble small talk of slow days and simplicity.
Because I was once so young and full of that dewy skinned uncertainty, and
I will finally know that eventually man can settle into his own heart and does
not always have to keep running the exhausting circles of being a worldly
creature, and instead can become, of the world. I will smile because I know
they too will find this one day.

There will be a claw foot tub in the bathroom that has been there since the
house was built, long before I was even born. I will wash my clothing myself
in the bathtub, to keep my hands limber and my quiet mind quiet. And from
time to time I will draw myself a bath and sink beneath the water and pretend
that I am still a beautiful young girl and the entire world is before me to
explore. I will think about all the love I've found, and I will think myself to be
quite lucky and quite blessed. I will take notice of my body and my skin, how
it has carried me through so many years, and considering what a harsh hand
the word can give a being, I will be impressed that it is still intact. My hips will
be rounder and my hair will be thinner and I will have sunspots criss crossing
my body from the heart to my palms. I will think of all the places I have
travelled and all the times I have laughed when I see the lines of life softly
engraved upon my well-lived in skin. I will no longer care that my face isn't
as symmetrical as I'd like for it to be, and arms not as thin as I'd like for them
to be, and skin not as tanned as it could be. I will love my form, as much as I
love the rest of the intangible life. I will laugh at myself about all the things I
thought I knew, which experience had proved to be entirely wrong. There will
be plenty to laugh about.

There will be tree's in the front yard that will bear some kind of fruit, so the
neighborhood kids can make a game of sneaking them off the branches
when they think no one is home. Behind translucent lilac curtains I will
peacefully watch them as they enjoy the thrill of what they think is stealing
from my tree, but what is as rightfully theirs as it is mine or anyone's. They
will laugh and play as they eat the fruit, they will revel in it's sweetness.
And I will smile as the seed is carried away to it's destined place upon the
earth. We will all be so happy.

But for today, I am still that restless young woman, glory bound, and saving
up my small change for a sum greater than it's parts and far more beautiful
than I could ever foresee. One day I'll live in my little house down in New Orleans.