Tuesday, February 16, 2010

the twinkle in a moth’s eye

It began at 3 am-ish. A knock on the door. Now, most of you may not think this odd, but I live in the middle of 2 1/2 wooded acres, in a community of like properties, out in a bumpkinfied sketch frequented by deer, cow and coyote. My property is wrapped in wire, fence locked, animals on the alert 24/7 (well, except when they're asleep, but that's another story, hehe). Yet a knocking awoke. Not a loud banging, but one that ended with a shuddering scratch. It took a minute to remember that one of my adopted dogs, one that spent his time haphazardly faithful between me and his previous home, had failed to come in last night. I have tried in vain to plug up every available hole in the fencing with chicken wire (he is a Houdini, able to squeeze through the standard 4x6 ranch fence square, and he's not a small dog….gawd!!), but I look away for a flash, or come home from a trip, and he is outside the property….again.

Well, he decided 3 am-ish was time for bed I guess, and was demanding entrance to his nightly cookie and soft bed. Cheeky devil. Ordinarily I would be in a foul mood after having been woken in such a demanding fashion, but this morning the disconnection I spoke of made itself known from this first crack of the mindlid.

Routines were met, coffee was drunk, departure was planned and executed. I walked outside, high intensity flashlight trained on the driveway I had to walk up each morning. I'm not too worried about being ravished and what-not on this dark jaunt up the gauntlet (shadowy recesses flickering and writhing with the wind, disembodied sounds, spider webs) five days out of the week, not with the pack on the prowl and alert. So when something the size of an orange is seemingly tossed across the light's arc, to travel just outside its boundary, I was taken aback and slowly pondered to a stop.

I crept up, swinging the light's beam from left to right. There, on the ground up ahead about 3 feet. What the heck? It appeared to be moths in coitus, ha. Never seen that one, and here I thought I was a nature lover. Hehe. I started to walk around, when something caught my eye. A small light, in the vicinity of said moths. Oh good lord, I need to investigate. I edged closer, closer still, till I was standing right above them, a hazy apparition behind a light from up on high, like some mythical being. And there it was again. A twinkle. Perhaps from one of the moth's eye? Then they both swung their hairy little heads forward, and I spied two sets of feral beams……odd. Had I taken a step into Don Juan's nonordinary reality? I can remember another episode with the moths, a dance to the parabola, but that I'll leave for another eve's review. In any event, the remainder of the day would be the telling.

I continued on to work, the rest of the journey uneventful. I felt odd (there's that word again, but I know no other adjective that comes close) throughout the morning. I would be in the company of co-workers and friends, standing or sitting in usual proximity, camaraderie and connection disjointed. And all through-out the morning, I would get these little orgasmic rushes, the duration but of 15 to 20 seconds. I don't know how else to describe them. It was a heightened hyper sense, euphoric and at times embarrassing. Did they, my fellow bees, guess the guilty secret behind my blanked façade? God, I hope not, haha.

At any rate, I attempted many remedies to alleviate the sensations – a lap around the building, a trip to the outdoors, a meeting with friends that should have been animated, but which fell flat due to my non-participation and other-where-ness. The ever deadening routine of numbers and e-mails. I even tried a soda, thinking it was some type of ordinary-like gaseous episode. I finally admitted defeat and let the boss know I was out for the day. Maybe a trip around the city to run errands would succeed where nothing else could.

Now, I spend a fair amount of time riding the concrete ribbons around my corner of 'paradise'. Monotonous times, broken up by the seasonal flora, squashed and prayed at critters, wrecks and the ever present rape of the landscape by construction crews. In my part of the tri-county a new highway is being lain across the mural, snaking its way through the by-ways and forgotten lanes of which I roam, with the anticipatory compounds of useless enterprise that popup when there is a glee in the imaginary consumer's eye encroaching on my corner. But most times my eyes are drawn to the grasses fluttering in the breeze of passing vehicles by the sides of the rode. It can be hypnotic, and many a time choreographed by whatever music I happen to be listening to.

But today, something odd….yes, there, I said it again…..Odd. In most cases, when you are flying down the road at ungodly speeds, the real estate rushes TOWARDS you. In other words, you are traveling THROUGH it. A matter of perspective I know, but one which we humans cherish, if only for the semblance of normality. But today, the landscape traveled along WITH me. I thought perhaps I was sleep driving. I'm on the roads so often as I've said, I've seen some strange things through my numbed eyes. But no, this happened numerous times throughout the circuit. The ground, grasses, the ever present advertising billboards and rottage on the side of the road were traveling in the same direction as I. Is it only a matter of perspective? Or had I slipped beneath, around, behind the view held by the general populace?

I decided to look closely at this screen door held open for my perusal instead of flinching aside in shock. I would be brave and SEE that which I would normally flee from in fear, that fear of the unknown we as a species have grown old with. So I attended. I saw the terrain, hard and focused. Every blade of grass, its warpage and weft, the rise and fall of each stone. The contour of a setting that was unorthodoxically stationary. The feeling was of being escorted, path smoothed, the ride but a sit for an instant. But escorted to where? I went with the flow, let myself twist with the distortion. A lapse then occurred, one of miles, across arenas often viewed, through vistas wearily traversed. A lapse of a seeming wink….but of when did I go? The truck on auto-pilot, I tripped the light of the moth's eye, arriving home in one whole, albeit stuttered piece.
That little trip bares repeating.....

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