One Hundred and Six
April 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
I like the bubbles up to my ears; the pink edge of my vintage scarf getting damp. I take an hour. While the water slowly cools I give in. No crazy talk or religious rant, no thoughts of love lost or gained, and my dreams are paused. By the time I am draping a hot washcloth over my face I have all but forgotten my name.
In the middle of my heart I sit. The smell of eucalyptus rises from the warm water, and it is in the absence of everything else that I am reminded I have nothing to prove. Inspired, I take a look around to capture the feeling. Alone but for God, I soaked with my soggy tattoos and pruned fingertips debating what was left.
I swallowed the last drop of fervently steeped green tea while I contemplated a life lived from a bathtub. Apart from this thought, it seems that much speculation has voted me a recluse. The negative connotation made with this assumption is clearly being said by those who have never experienced (or possibly just long forgotten) the complete serenity that comes from being alone in the woods. It can also be wondered if my spectators ever spend much time in their bathtubs.
Recluses have more fun than people know. If what I am is a recluse then I can say with much assuredness that we are not all of a bad nature. But that is all I will say. Today in the middle of my heart, in the middle of a bathtub, in the middle of a house, in the middle of the woods I did not feel lonely. And that I will never be able to prove but instead will enjoy with the unusually quiet peace that comes from knowing who I am.