»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
Houses
| Passions in Prose |
|
Houses |
|
|
amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
Houses. So many houses. I remember my life through rooms that echo like ancient caverns, filled with paintings of a time and place that seems foreign, yet still remains my history. Each house, each room holds a piece of me, yet like me, they hold divisions. Walls with windows and doors, emblems of freedom and protection from other rooms, the world, and all it contains. In my memory these houses and rooms are connected through short passageways, although I couldn’t visit all of them in one day, maybe not even in one week. They exist in six states. As I walk amongst the living (I know that must sound funny to you, but I am separate and maybe I can explain why), I see people who look but don’t see me. The world is full of judges. My mother’s voice rings in my ears at moments like these, reminding me how egotistical I am… how I am not the center of the universe, and my value and purpose is so minuscule that it is doubtful anyone would care to ‘see’ me as they pass by, so there is no point whining about how much of a victim I am of those judges. So, I am not a victim. I am separate and simply walk amongst the living. I observe. I silently acknowledge truth. For most, houses are homes or at least a metaphor for one at some level. When I think of the concept of home, I visualize what a fly can see through prism eyes. Instead of just one image there are a multitude bombarding the senses in the same instance. I can empathize with the fly in his exhaustion, trying all day long to decipher all that data for the simple, innate purpose of survival. Nearly everything for me is a prism. I live in a kaleidoscope. It used to be a land of confusion, not knowing which image was truth, driving myself batty in the incessant need to find and figure out the absolutes in the equation of life. My father is a mathematician, and perhaps I inherited from him this belief that all problems have a fundamental root and solution. If they do, I don’t have the smarts to figure it out, so I settle for the blurred, colorful, self-induced kaleidoscope insanity. Yep. I am one of those who can appreciate the beauty of the desert and am proud of it. Without much explanation I can say I came from a broken home (sweeps hand dramatically upwards and smacks self in the eye with the back of hand…blinks a few times and then is grateful this is a print medium), but who isn’t. Show me a normal, well adjusted family, and I’ll grab two shovels we’ll head to the back yard and start digging. (BYOB). That reminds me, I have two ‘digging’ stories. I suspect that I have a bit of that ‘afraid to leave your house’ disorder that I can never remember its name. Perhaps my maternal grandparents were right, maybe I am just lazy and have no ambition to do anything, but then again, I think maybe not. Bright light has always bothered me and I have had quite a bit of anxiety from being away from my designated doors and windows. Prism alert! I need to remember not to get caught up in truth. Who cares if I have or don’t have a phobia. It is a quirk, leave it at that and move on. Don’t get bogged down in trying to fix every little thing that is wrong, or you will go mad! Oh yeah, the digging story…sorry about that, internal noise… when I was a little girl, around seven, my parents were the proud owners of their first home. By this time, I had been moved around a bit and had already lived in two states and in about seven or eight towns. I picked up a sibling along the way…a little sister, from Utah, she was two. Anyway, to truncate the scene, the folks split up and mom became very interesting. As a newly single person, she would have girl friends over and allegedly have wine parties in the basement. They would each have a digging instrument and go to town searching for buried treasure in the crawl space. Before you laugh, consider that the house was very old, mom tended to be psychic, and the town we lived in was built on Placer mining… ‘there was gold in them there hills!’ End of digging story number one. You will have to wait for the drama of story number two. It happened in my first ‘owned’ home. |
||
| © Copyright 2003 kat fer - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
amusemi I enjoyed this thoroughly...the idea of a life told with change in living space is very interesting...I look forward to the next! |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
