”Above all, we are water, mostly. It’s a common fact, more than half. We are drops from silver clouds far, far above, clouds themselves that seem to have coalesced from nothingness. Bit by bit, day by day, through gutters and pipes and downspouts, we are collected in rain barrels to become rippled, stagnant, still, and unpotable. When the vessel ages and decays and its days are gone we will seep forth and seek again the lowest ground, the natural path of our inherent humility. With time, tenacity, and numbers, we will carve canyons and shape worlds through our casual passing. We will flow on, down and down, until the final drops of our egos join the vast and gleaming ocean, leaving us unmourned and unsung. At last.”

William Akin, What A Fool Believes (Blog: Smoke Signals,

There I am, little, chewing my banana.  I am thinking, I wonder if everyone who eats a banana tastes it this way?  Maybe I am the only one?  I would think that the retarded kid in my school (political correctness had not retooled the vocabulary yet) probably tasted it different, and I would feel a little sick imagining what his banana tasted like.  I felt ashamed about it too, like I was forcing bad tasting food into his mouth.

Riding my bike, passing under the boughs of overhanging trees, and the mottled light looking like the light that hits the bottom of the swimming pool at noon, looking like fishes of light swimming on the bottom, only this is on the road and it has a green quality, and it is beautiful.  And I think I am the only kid in the world who gets to see that and the only one who thinks these things.  I feel happy, exhilarated, and alone with the secret wonder of the world.

Great writing or great photography or great art of any kinds brings these fleeting images to us all, so that we don’t feel so alone with the stunning beauty of life and the world.  Being alone with aching beauty is as hard as being alone with the dull pain of sadness.  It is the being alone part that I don’t do well with, no matter what the feeling is.  This is true in spite of my tendency to isolate.  When I read Will’s blog (quoted above:  by the way, you should probably stop reading this immediately and go read every entry on smoke signals. seriously, great), I had that moment of connecting, of knowing that my crazy little moments of ”knowing” something were like his moments.  He writes of our ”inherent humility”.  I know this is truth, because I feel it vibrate all through me the way I feel an open tuning D major on a guitar vibrate through me. Try it.  Read the words above and see if you feel the rightness of our inherent humility, our sameness in our passing and becoming the water that runs through the pipes, creates canyons, goes unnoticed.  If you don’t get what I mean here it is likely the result of my inability to bring the point to light.  Maybe try this…go for a bike ride, look for trees that span the road and clasp their hands over your head.  Look for the light that dances off your spinning spokes like sparklers at noon on the fourth of July.  Hold on to that feeling and come back and write about it or draw it so we all get it and so we have a reprieve from the gray loneliness of living in search of connection and so that we get up and dance and feel alive because we see each other, for real.

This entry was posted in Art, Bend Light, trees and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Add a Facebook Comment

2 Responses to Sliver

  1. Kathleen says:

    Thank you for writing this!

  2. Tasnia says:

    Egokentrikos, xe-egokentrikos, evge, xaderfe! Timi mou na eimai rtaleed by blood me mia diasimotita! Tha to valo sta info mou oti eimai xaderfi sou na anevoun oi metohes mou! Kai poio Esquire? Toy hronou sto TIME!!!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *