As I write this, it has just begun to snow. Not sort of snow, or lightly flurry, but the kind that drifts in at an angle in big flat flakes, and evenly and rapidly blankets the tops of literally everything. A whimsy snow. It should be said that for the past 28 hours or so, a cold and even rain has fallen prior – one that chills through raincoats and sharply draws in breath that will turn to swear words momentarily.

Whimsy is a word with a rather complex meaning, but never one that I would never apply to rain. There is an immediately apparent and vast dichotomy between the nature of these two phenomenon characteristically that wouldn’t even need spelling out for children. One is clearly wet, quickly falling, the other exactly the opposite. More than that, they have imbued within them unique charges, emotional pressure points that are deeply inherent, despite their inanimate nature as weather phenomena.

To explain this, it should be known that in observing this, my location did not change. Who I was with did not change, my age, intelligence, personality, stress level did not change. What changed was that the kind of water falling from the sky changed to a solid – and somewhere in the neural pathways of the brain, the way I observed and understood that allowed for an feeling internally that I could not have had prior. The physical sight of the snow, its accumulation, the knowledge of its texture and speed of its flutter changed everything about the way I felt. Gone was the sense that I was beneath an oppressive meteorological weight that had all day underlined the stress of the moment before the end of the semester. Instead, in its place was a feeling that the very harshness and the reality of all of life was too buried under the languid drift of a snow that touched the interior of me, more than perhaps the exterior. Rain that had been knives before was made innocuous with a shift south in temperature by several degrees. Memories surfaced of childhood, of a world still enchanted, made beautiful. A whimsy snow.

It perhaps goes without saying, but as people we remain I believe, highly violatile entities who are subject to a complex network of factors that constitute our environment. These factors, at any given time,  culminate into a surrounding, immersive envelope that has direct ties to our hearts and minds. Our moods, very emotional states of being are all too often dependent on the condition of circumstance that is the product of this network. That network is, I now realize, a very fragile one simultaneously. It is often outside of our control and has a violatile power that reaches to the very depth of our immediate existence. So much so, that I wonder if the emotional states in which we find ourselves can be controlled any more than a driftwood borne on a wave.

We eternally though, wish to have control over our lives in this way. We discipline ourselves in a modern world to carefully prepare for, resist heartbreak, or take drugs tweaked to fight depression, etc. -But how much bigger does the world get, how much more primal, when our condition, inside and out, becomes one entirely subject to the happenstance of our envelope? How in not trying to condition ourselves against it do we get closer to what it means to experience a world surrounding us more acutely- and how in the process we find more of union between  the core of us inherently, and the presence of everything acting upon it?


~ by crossmd on December 7, 2011.

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