Down the Middle

Down the Middle at Midnight

A Recollection Before Sleeping

I walked right down the middle of Commercial Avenue. Not one moving car could be seen for the entire length of the main street. Red and yellow lights blinked at the intersections. The rhythm of a bongo and a bass guitar rose from the coffee house. A throaty hum rose from the boat pushing her barge out on the straight. I gathered myself within my scarf through bursts of wind. A thousand halyards were chiming on their masts in the dark. A neon sign thick with Pizza and Take Out swung heavily. A flash of the silvery Salish Sea still floated green in my eyes when I hung my head back to view the ceiling of clouds and stars. I spun slowly on my heels at the intersection of Seventh and Commercial. The recollection of this fine day resounded in the wind there on the double line drawn through the middle of town.

One day can be a mirror of a whole life.

In this one day I:

Drew feathers.

Ate blueberry pancakes.

Slept on an ocean ferry.

Said a prayer on a mountain top.

Watched a movie about lightning.

Gave a shining crystal to the shining tides.

Collected three rocks and two ferns from the forest.

Wrote sadness right out of myself.

Smiled beneath the fluttering eye of the sun.

Walked 10,256 steps.

Felt peace and anxiety.

Knitted raw wool of fears into the shape of my heart.

Talked to the sea about my uncle and my brother.

Heard the whoosh of an eagle’s wings.

Tasted the salt of the ocean.

For three days I waited for depression to flow out of me.

And suddenly I am right here among the living, surrounded by beauty and loss at midnight.

Surrounded, but not inundated.

I am free again, after walking down the mid line of a sleeping fishing town.

Everything changes, even the moods of the heart.

How quickly life fills, and then empties.

How dense the delights of a single day can be.

How thick the fog.

How bright the sun.

I close my eyes and smile softly. I close my eyes to sleep.

"I felt the need of a great pilgrimage.
So I sat still for three days
and God came to me."
Kabir

Blessings to You,
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(r) Rick Sievers, February 2010, All Rights Reserved