I've come home to Muskego for the weekend, and I am on the verge of another "Proustian" epiphany. I feel something akin to happiness inside of me, but I won't allow myself to recognize it as such... Or, more accurately, the logical half of my brain won't allow me to recognize it as such. It wants to rehash and recount all the things that are indelibly wrong with my life. My self-consciousness, my uncertain future, the thoughts of my peers, society's endless flaws, the depravity of mankind... but for a moment, I forget it.
It is lost in the scent of spring, in the beautiful onset of summer. Yesterday I was walking down the sidewalk near my high school, just as it began to rain. and all around me life smelled so beautiful... I probably looked insane, taking in huge gulps of air through my mouth and my nostrils, trying to absorb the fragrance as much as possible. The smell of the rain, the smell of spring...
and here at home, scents of a spring gone past greet me everywhere; hiding in corners, in window sills, in liquid soaps on the bathroom counter top. I actually brought my hands to my face after washing them, just to savor the smell of the soap... because this soap reminds me of last summer, of writing folk songs in my room, and performing them at Potbelly... because this gust of wind reminds me of the freedom of last summer... because this juice in the fridge reminds me of some other ancient memory... and more and more my involuntary memory envelops me in waves and waves of epochs gone by.
again, I look out the window, and take in another huge gulp of air. and still, I feel something akin to happiness within me... the sounds of my family, my mother's infinite selflessness, the sun, the suburban streets...
I think I really need to read Remembrance of Things Past in its entirety.
No comments:
Post a Comment