I believe that we can find a sanctuary wherever we go.
When I look out the window I’m transported somewhere else.
On long car rides through cornfields and forests and up hills and down valleys I was never one of those children that needed something to do. I could sit in the backseat for hours looking out the window, sometimes daydreaming, sometimes not. When I follow the rows of corn with my eyes, a feeling washes over me.
It’s as if the stillness, peace and beauty I see is being reflected into my heart, my mind, my soul.
When we didn’t live in the city, and I was feeling lonely, I would creep out the back door and just walk around the backyard and listen. I would feel the breeze on my face, hear the coyotes howl and the leaves rustle. After awhile, I wouldn’t feel lonely anymore; I wouldn’t feel anything anymore and I’d go back inside.
Now I don’t have a backyard secluded from eyes, so I’ve found a way to climb onto my roof. In the winter I don’t have time to be lonely, don’t have time to be angry, so it works out.
My favorite time at the lake is in the morning. When I wake up, there is dew on the grass and loons still hooting on the glass. Lake. The morning birds have not risen, and I go back downstairs.
Most people hate the rain. But the sound of the clouds bursting and falling on my roof is soothing and calming in the smallest of rainstorms. I have had the best sleep of my life when it is raining because I am so comforted by the steady cycle of nature.
Whenever I am angry or sad, or unbearably lonely, I am able to find a place to go, a song to listen to, a picture to look at that transports me back to the rows of corn and the soft breeze in my backyard. Maybe it’s because of this that I am so unemotional, so passive in my life. Or maybe it’s because of this that I’m able to not be affected by things in my life, why I’m able to truck on through it all.
Recently I went to a birthday party, and I was so sure I did something wrong. I can’t remember what I thought it was, but I was consumed by it, moodily staring off into the distance as I sat on the couch. When everyone else decided to go to the park, I stayed behind for awhile and sat on the side of the hill and listened to the wind and felt the cool grass on my legs. Two minutes later, I forgot what I was so worried about and was able to go back to laughing and singing Disney songs at the top of my lungs. So I don’t think my peace is a bad thing. I think it’s all perspective.
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