hideaway

once life has a rhythm and color and taste you realize the true depth of despair that you had been in. that does not mean the despair had no value to you, had no life. it had subtlety, endurance, resilience, craftiness, craft, evocation. it had beauty. if you were not connected to other human beings- and you were not- you were connected to the natural world in a way that bordered on animalistic. you played inside of bushes, emerging briar filled and with the drops of rain from leaves on your lips. you played in canyons, brushing against coyotes and snakes, worshiping the sky, dirt, venomous and snappish hermits that lived there, emerging with sticks and reeking of sage. you undulated in the great Pacific, stung by a jellyfish on the shore, rubbed raw by sea salt. you understood that you were alone/not alone. you survived with your mouth full of dirt and hands full of bees, stingers embedded in your fat little palm. you spent years like this. you were not in a cave with only shadows, you were in a shadow with many caves. 'i don't understand this life. and i don't want to leave it.' olive kitteridge says, following the motion of birds above the great ocean outside her window. that's right. yes, that's it.