Black sweatshirt hood gathered around my face, I walk through the streets at sunrise, when "the Holy Ghost over the bent world broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings." The sun is emerging from the horizon, though I only see its light touching the tops of taller houses. The full white moon still shines overhead in the cold blue sky. The still neighborhood begins to stir--lights glowing in the windows as coffee is made and children get ready for school.
Who are these people? What secrets are they keeping--fears and dreams? Who am I to them or they to me? Ah! The discovery. These questions bring or forbid the dawn, because across town there are homeless families stirring in their car-homes, prostitutes striding home with false pride stretched over numbed shame, junkies lying in deathly bliss having silenced the secrets--fears and dreams. And we're back in my neighborhood.
House or car, school or street, coffee or crack, is it a fine line? It may not seem so from suburbia, but for the homeless and the whore and the junkie it is all an unholy ghost--a life just on the edge of sunrise. And this is true of our love as well, of our relationships--the things that go on forever. If only we would allow the sun to rise, night may never come again.
Help Me: What keeps us from truly relating to each other?
Friday, November 14, 2008
Sunrise Secrets--Coffee or Crack
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