Powerless
I love and loathe power outages. The thing I love the most about them is the quietness. Everything goes quiet, everything goes dark, (why do they mostly happen at night?) dark that is, except for the snow. That’s the other thing that usually comes with power outages although around here that isn’t necessarily so. We get the big storms during the winter months…with big winds and big rains; sometimes they come with huge snowfalls. I always feel very small during these times, small and vulnerable. I’ve spent most of my life alone and been quite comfortable with it. I have even sought out solitude from living alone. I have chosen to be alone and be without creature comforts, hiking into the mountains with nothing but what a backpack can bring, and even then being ascetic about it…little food, no pillow, just the absolute essentials. I have loved it.
I have loved getting up in the middle of the night, daring to bounce into bears and found moonlight: big, beautiful moonlight shining overhead so bright it casts shadows in the open spaces; shadows of me, alive and protected by that moon and some God I don’t understand. Knowing that I am top of the food chain and I am blessed, knowing that the bears and cougars are near and may even be my audience and so I perform for them. I dance and move in big arcs just to see my shadow dance, just because I am completely free. I don’t have to worry about being attacked, or being judged or being anything but what I am. What I am is a free girl living in the Grace of God, all alone, in the middle of the night on top of the mountains.
It’s where the elders live, on top of mountains and sometimes you can hear them meeting and talking, on sunny afternoons with white clouds spread in thin strips over the sky, like banners on top of turrets announcing a very important gathering within castle walls. You can hear them whispering and talking in hushed tones. Their voices carry on the winds and I sit small underneath them, crouched over with my knees under my chin and my feet naked and resting on the cool, smooth granite beside the lake at the base of the cliffs where the elders meet.
Hugging my knees I look into the green glacial waters and look for life, look for my reflection, look for the clouds overhead and see nothing but green water so I look deeper into the silt, into the ancient dust that’s accumulated there and look to see the faces, the secrets of the mountains, of the elders, of the glaciers; and it is all hidden to me. It is green and white, it has an edge where it meets the shore and that is all I know about it. I cannot see the depth of it, or little minnows skittering within it, among pebbles and weeds. There are no crabs or crayfish, even when I turn over a stone there is no one home there. They are deeper, bigger and hidden behind veils living within the icy water, just like they are whispers over my head among the crags and cliffs on the shoulder of the mountain. I am an intruder here, I want to go higher to the other edge of the glacier that is a creamy knitted scarf made from unfinished, unprocessed wool, wrapping around the neck of the mountain. I want to walk to it, I want to be close to the ear of the old colonel and whisper, I am Here too, but it isn’t right. It isn’t my time. It isn’t my place. I am small. I am just visiting. I am allowed to rest.
My feet ache, I put them into the edge of the water. No big arm lurches out to grab me, no soft ground tries to swallow me. I have passage here. The icy water burns my feet. Again, I want to stay, my brain tells me it is good to cool them off, ice the muscles, and deflate them. It tells me to stick with it, stay the course, which is what I am supposed to do but my feet, my body screams back that this isn’t the place; this isn’t where it should happen. I still have miles and miles to go. I will have other places to cool my feet I tell myself. I rationalize that getting this cold half way through the day could lead to danger, hypothermia. What if I can’t recover from the shock of the cold, what if I can’t warm up? My brain has recovered its pride; it allows me to leave the water where I don’t belong.
All of this is with me when I get up to greet the moon in the middle of the night. I have descended from those particular heights. I am back among the trees but the elders on the mountain have not forgotten their guest, they have not neglected the celebration of the meetings, the gathering they have had, and so they send the moon to create party lights for dancers in clearings and disco balls of light for runners in trees. And because I have eaten, pasta and beans in tomato paste, garlic and water, because I have slept for a few hours and rested, I dance and pray to the elders and to God who looks out for me, who brought me here, to all who have given me safe passage in the mountains this September season. I rejoice and thank them; I am alive and I love my life. This is what it feels like to have no power when the weather is good, when I have embraced my humility and when there is no one there to prescribe to me how to be or what to be. When there is no one there to hurt me.
When the weather isn’t good, when it is angry and turbulent, when the winds rip at the trees -- I cower. I am a little girl again hiding behind her closet doors, only now I don’t cry and I don’t scream…these were the only attempts I made at stopping them. Stop the beating, the sound of fist against flesh, of crashing, tables collapsing, dishes smashing, the snorting of the boxer as he delivers his blows, the groans of his wife sucking them up. Now I just feel powerless and alone. I don’t shake, and tremble. I don’t gasp for air like I did then, but I feel like I felt then. To me when the power is out everyone elsewhere is home and together. They have candles lit; they are talking and playing games. In the shadows and the flickering light they are playing ‘I spy’ and telling ghost stories. I try to ignore that there is no light. I use the hot water that is just sitting in the tank getting cool. I draw myself a bath, a bath by candlelight where I am soothed and enveloped in a warm, caressing hug. Then I go to bed and sleep because it doesn’t matter that you have no power when you are asleep. I take cover in the oblivion of sleep and try not to think of the roof and the integrity of the tiles, try not to think of the poor trees, especially the ones nearby. Will they hold their ground or will they come crashing down, maybe on top of me? I tell myself all of this could happen, and if it does, I will deal with it then, for now I am taking cover in the den of sleep and hoping for a new day tomorrow.
I have loved getting up in the middle of the night, daring to bounce into bears and found moonlight: big, beautiful moonlight shining overhead so bright it casts shadows in the open spaces; shadows of me, alive and protected by that moon and some God I don’t understand. Knowing that I am top of the food chain and I am blessed, knowing that the bears and cougars are near and may even be my audience and so I perform for them. I dance and move in big arcs just to see my shadow dance, just because I am completely free. I don’t have to worry about being attacked, or being judged or being anything but what I am. What I am is a free girl living in the Grace of God, all alone, in the middle of the night on top of the mountains.
It’s where the elders live, on top of mountains and sometimes you can hear them meeting and talking, on sunny afternoons with white clouds spread in thin strips over the sky, like banners on top of turrets announcing a very important gathering within castle walls. You can hear them whispering and talking in hushed tones. Their voices carry on the winds and I sit small underneath them, crouched over with my knees under my chin and my feet naked and resting on the cool, smooth granite beside the lake at the base of the cliffs where the elders meet.
Hugging my knees I look into the green glacial waters and look for life, look for my reflection, look for the clouds overhead and see nothing but green water so I look deeper into the silt, into the ancient dust that’s accumulated there and look to see the faces, the secrets of the mountains, of the elders, of the glaciers; and it is all hidden to me. It is green and white, it has an edge where it meets the shore and that is all I know about it. I cannot see the depth of it, or little minnows skittering within it, among pebbles and weeds. There are no crabs or crayfish, even when I turn over a stone there is no one home there. They are deeper, bigger and hidden behind veils living within the icy water, just like they are whispers over my head among the crags and cliffs on the shoulder of the mountain. I am an intruder here, I want to go higher to the other edge of the glacier that is a creamy knitted scarf made from unfinished, unprocessed wool, wrapping around the neck of the mountain. I want to walk to it, I want to be close to the ear of the old colonel and whisper, I am Here too, but it isn’t right. It isn’t my time. It isn’t my place. I am small. I am just visiting. I am allowed to rest.
My feet ache, I put them into the edge of the water. No big arm lurches out to grab me, no soft ground tries to swallow me. I have passage here. The icy water burns my feet. Again, I want to stay, my brain tells me it is good to cool them off, ice the muscles, and deflate them. It tells me to stick with it, stay the course, which is what I am supposed to do but my feet, my body screams back that this isn’t the place; this isn’t where it should happen. I still have miles and miles to go. I will have other places to cool my feet I tell myself. I rationalize that getting this cold half way through the day could lead to danger, hypothermia. What if I can’t recover from the shock of the cold, what if I can’t warm up? My brain has recovered its pride; it allows me to leave the water where I don’t belong.
All of this is with me when I get up to greet the moon in the middle of the night. I have descended from those particular heights. I am back among the trees but the elders on the mountain have not forgotten their guest, they have not neglected the celebration of the meetings, the gathering they have had, and so they send the moon to create party lights for dancers in clearings and disco balls of light for runners in trees. And because I have eaten, pasta and beans in tomato paste, garlic and water, because I have slept for a few hours and rested, I dance and pray to the elders and to God who looks out for me, who brought me here, to all who have given me safe passage in the mountains this September season. I rejoice and thank them; I am alive and I love my life. This is what it feels like to have no power when the weather is good, when I have embraced my humility and when there is no one there to prescribe to me how to be or what to be. When there is no one there to hurt me.
When the weather isn’t good, when it is angry and turbulent, when the winds rip at the trees -- I cower. I am a little girl again hiding behind her closet doors, only now I don’t cry and I don’t scream…these were the only attempts I made at stopping them. Stop the beating, the sound of fist against flesh, of crashing, tables collapsing, dishes smashing, the snorting of the boxer as he delivers his blows, the groans of his wife sucking them up. Now I just feel powerless and alone. I don’t shake, and tremble. I don’t gasp for air like I did then, but I feel like I felt then. To me when the power is out everyone elsewhere is home and together. They have candles lit; they are talking and playing games. In the shadows and the flickering light they are playing ‘I spy’ and telling ghost stories. I try to ignore that there is no light. I use the hot water that is just sitting in the tank getting cool. I draw myself a bath, a bath by candlelight where I am soothed and enveloped in a warm, caressing hug. Then I go to bed and sleep because it doesn’t matter that you have no power when you are asleep. I take cover in the oblivion of sleep and try not to think of the roof and the integrity of the tiles, try not to think of the poor trees, especially the ones nearby. Will they hold their ground or will they come crashing down, maybe on top of me? I tell myself all of this could happen, and if it does, I will deal with it then, for now I am taking cover in the den of sleep and hoping for a new day tomorrow.
posted by Shadow | 3:07 PM
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