Learning to Read

me. I think it’s fair to assume that we all would like to think that if there is anybody who knows us as well as ourselves, then we haven’t met them…and that would be really awkward. In fact, whether we realize it or not, we all tend to think of ourselves as a tiny Atlas holding our world. This is probably because it is (by and large) a fairly well regulated truth that it all comes back to the “I”—survive and reproduce is all that comes standard. All that being said, it is rather unsettling when we shift the weight of our world from the back, set it on the ground, and take a long hard look at it. As it turns out, we have to learn to read our world (especially if we haven’t seen it in a while).

I can see a little bit of beauty in it. Walnut trees are growing up big and strong. The scent of massive fields of grass fills my lungs with the delicious flavor of dirt. The pungent sound of music fills the atmosphere with a measured beat. And if I hold it just right, it spins so nicely.

But there is pain. Ocean-like bodies of tears cover the surface. Deep crags criss-cross its surface tearing trails of uncomfortable time across the land. In true pathetic fallacy fashion, thunderheads crop up at the head of cold fronts and send life scampering for cover from the coming storm.

Scarier than the pain, and more blissful than the pleasure, is the fact that I have only recently seen these things and accepted them for what they are. You see, when you carry your world on your back, you wind up making it a burden and it starts to weigh you down. When you place your world in front of you and learn to read in Braille, you learn to read you. Right now I’m trying to touch the whole surface and read in every language I have.

When I say things, they mean two things: what I meant and what is conveyed. Sometimes I mean more than one thing, and what comes of the significance of adding a third layer?

I am reading between the lines of my world that I am a somewhat confusing character. Not overly complicated, you understand, but somewhat confusing nonetheless. Confusing because, perhaps, I am confused, and one of the most confusing things on the face of my planet is the nature of love. I have pondered and cogitated and wandered into fields of memory in pursuit of the idea of love, and as I delve deeper into its unexplored regions, I find the more I learn the more confused I get—sometimes I feel dyslexic.

Adore.

In the last four weeks I’ve added bulk to my oceans, taken cover from the storms, and ripped the surface of my planet apart. But I’ve seen the sun, climbed the walnut trees, filled my lungs with the flavor of dirt, and listened to the music on the winds. My world is going through a massive shift. A changeover. They now say ice ages can come on strong and fast, and violent atmospheric shifts can happen overnight.