Echoing

I find myself increasingly seeing the world in a different light. I spill a glass of water and think of rain, or I turn on the faucet to wash dishes and watch the water rise in the sink, only to think of floods.

It’s kind of like nothing is new, or unique, just another form of what is and has been since time began. As if the world is only a set of echoes reverberating across consciousness again and again.

The love of a mother for her offspring. The need for a father to impart his skills to a son. The desire to belong, to win, to withdraw.

The breath that flows from my body in a sigh and the wind that goes soughing through the trees on a soft summer’s day.

The pain of seeing the injustice in this world and the cataclysmic response of the earth to shifting tectonic plates. Somehow it all seems connected.

My world becomes increasingly hard and soft with fewer and fewer spaces in between. I find myself caring beyond bearing and wanting to turn away from a weight that feels almost hopeless. I am reminded of the earth shedding her summer softness in preparation for winter’s hardness, a necessary part of survival.

Perhaps all of it is really only the fleeting pondering of a woman who is nearing the end of a journey and wondering what it was all about. And perhaps it is only life echoing through the silence like it always has.