Today, an uneasiness.
Probably something biological, like lack of sleep.
But I felt (as we braved the heat to see the wild horses at the Salt River) that a real-life disaster was lurking, ready to ravage the white picket blandness of my life. Maybe a disease, a death, a murder. I shut my eyes to burn the images from my brain.
Why so many images? Like a river they flow, my brain barely conscious of the shifting currents of animal fear, animal lust, animal anger in the nether regions of my white-picket body.
If I were enlightened, I would say something about the images. Say something about calming the animal brain and resting in the mind of God. The mind of un-rippled waters, of painless breath and unscorched bodies, bodies that move with ease through a world which shutters its reiterant welcome from outside repulsion.
I feel a bit repulsed, I suppose. With myself. I eat whatever I find lying around the house, no time to work out. No space. I am anxious for my world to feel Spartan, disciplined, and aspiring. How I feel (at my best) at home.
We walked among the wild horses, and my baby’s head was soaked in sweat. We walked by the river and went back to the car, to cold water in clean canteens and the icy blast of air conditioning. 110 degrees, read the digital dashboard of the truck.
We drove home, and there I surrendered to a nap as my baby slept, waking up to her coughs- allergies, we think, which she gets only in this house which is not ours.
But at night, the stars rise up in the standing blue of desert heat. My siblings and I sip mugs of roasted barley tea.
Surrounded by loved ones, the Unease begins to loosen, begins its burrowing back into the corpses of memory. In three days, I will be away from the dark rooms of my childhood, away from the place which keeps the keys.