moments

from time to time, instances seem to capture me as though i am seeing my own life for the first time. these are vague, disconnected feelings, that slip out of nowhere. i liken them to the buddhist description of enlightenment - being as though, for a moment you see past the clouds and glimpse the sky.

this one, i was at my lover's house. he was elsewhere, off getting ingredients to make soup for dinner. i was on the couch, reading a magazine; his housemates sat in front of the large screen television playing donkey kong. i am lying back, resting awkwardly as i try and read, the stuff i have bought with me is under the couch. it is hot, post new year, lazy - none of us have anywhere to go, and none of us are going anywhere, really. i am older than the rest of them by a couple of years, as least- between 2 and 5. i don't feel wiser. i am reading poetry.

the vision pans out, and i see it. i see it, these moments, this touch, my mind softly but firmly pushing past, and i feel it. i feel it wonderously, that boring simplicity of new years day, sitting on the couch, that ennui for once relatively comforting, that existence of slowness, of normal things like television and video games and soup for dinner and reading a magazine, and languorous afternoon heat, and the crab apples in the slightly abandoned looking front yard, and their housemates lovingly kept plants, and my lover's collection of guitars, of the bitemarks on my body, on the memory of sex, of the chocolate i am eating, of everything, just becomes so clear.

there's no way to properly articulate it, because it is simple. it is a slow pan around a room in a movie, monumentally basic, only punctuated with appropriate music, and made monumental by size. all of our quiet, insignificant lives, we are acting them out, we are taking photos of our day to day movement, we are updating our facebooks, we are sneaking upstairs for quick shags, we are dozing on the couch, we are moving, we are moving. there are few plans, quiet dreams, little disappointments, little earthquakes, and we keep going. and by god, it is beautiful.

i fall in love with the world in these moments. a part of me needs to break to become bigger, to fit all this feeling inside of it. oh yes, it breaks. oh yes, it grows. and yet, nothing is really happening.

because, really, nothing really happens.