The clouds move rapidly across the sky. It is dark and it is past my bedtime. I cannot find sleep so I find myself staring out my window. Once such a sight would have brought me satisfaction, elevated me to a state of sublimity and rapture. I recall that boy that I befriended and our travels up and down 280. This highway, or freeway for I have yet to make the distinction, was something more than this. It was a heavenly path that revealed to me, each and every time, the mysteries to life. By traveling its length, I was initiated into its cult like a priest initiated into the mysteries of Ceres. Here too there was darkness and time, the necessities for the initiate. Also an alacrity to be initiated was required, and in me, my body and soul were both more than willing.
From here I viewed unfettered that which is mine and mine alone: my world. When I tell people that I am from San Francisco, my city is something unlike what they know. Mine is not a city but a world that can simply be described in one word: awesome. I am unable to describe my reaction to the onslaught of clouds rolling over the mountains, traversing the hills of rolling fields and forest, crawling ever so quiet over the rooftops of the endless rows of homes. The red and yellow lights emitted by the cars on the road, forming a wonderful spectrum of luminosity that delights the eye, somehow, as if without any effort mixes into the darkness of the sky and the wetness of the road. For, whenever I think of 280, it is drenched with the darkness of water. The sky is cleared, liberating the mind to perceive the heavenly stars that slowly reenact their never-ending drama of traversing the celestial ocean that comforts us. In my thoughts, it is always night time here.
The city sleeps and the fog rolls in, flowing majestically over the cars that make their way home rapidly and with seeming ease that to think that an accident may occur would almost seem unthinkable, for it would ruin the grandeur of this scene.
So, I stare from my window and see the clouds rolling by. I feel a slight discomfort. I am empty. And I am to say that dreadful collection of words that have absolutely no meaning whatsoever on their own, but when I utter them, they take on a whole new meaning: I miss him. I am alive yet nothing feels the same. It is an anxiety that I despise. The sunshine breaks through my window every day and I revel in its wonder. The sky is broken by an orchestra of clouds galloping across. So much glory yet, it is not that I choose to close my eyes, it is more a matter of not being inspired by it. It is lost on me.
I am going through these motions. I crave membrillo. I recall that time when Daniel and I were shopping at a store. I was trying to explain to him what membrillo is. He ate his with bread, I ate mine with cheese. And although our substances sounded quite similar, there was that feeling that we were talking about different things. Then we found some! And we laughed. He said that he loved membrillo and I told him that I too loved it, though I loved it with sheep’s cheese! When I left for St. John’s, this was one of the few things that I missed, one of the few ‘ethnic’ foods that I formed an attachment during my childhood. I craved it and when to certain extremes to obtain it. To my luck, for it seemed that Fortuna was on my side, Jessica’s grandmother sent her a supply of this wonderful substance, to which she gave the name of paste. She told me about this wonderful paste that I needed to have, that it was simply divine. I was not sold on it but when I went to her room and saw it, I broke into laughter screaming “I love this stuff!” And I was in heaven. Jessica was not shocked that I love membrillo, “It’s a Spanish thing” after all.
I feel empty. On one side, my bed is occupied by a pile of clothes, books and watercolors. On the other, I sleep. Unfortunately it is not the same. It simply is not. But I feel no desire to satisfy that desire, I can only divine that I obtain comfort from realizing that it is empty and must be so.
To-day I placed myself in a situation all-too unlike me, thanks to Amber. It was quite painful at the beginning but then I forgot myself. My body tingled and I thought hard and long about Shane and about every aspect that I am able to recall. I lost the feeling of my body, except for the aural sense which was aptly detecting everything around me – the cause of my stupefaction. I hummed and sang as I thought. I rocked a bit for that always makes me feel better. After this awkward but rather amusing and quite interesting I must say event, after all, I did leave the place saying “Only in Santa Fe” while a gigantic smile adorned my otherwise dour face as I proceeded to walk into Wild Oats to purchase some bread. Oh it was silly, this thing, it was very un-me. Yet I have the suspicion that I shall do it more. It made me feel silly and as one would say ‘all fuzzy inside.