Waking up in Shadow
Date Friday, March 29, 2024 - 03:46 AM PST
Topic Beauty


Have you ever noticed how the light in the sky never changes in larger cities? My room is a dusky shadow that will not dissipate even with artificial light. Somehow, it has managed to be darker here in the morning than at night; it is difficult to sleep when the streetlights pierce through the windows into an otherwise dark room.
Somehow, the order of night and day has been reversed here. The buildings around me sprout from the cement as trees in a forest, the seedlings only on the outskirts of town. Near me a building less than six stories tall does not survive: even churches tower over the streets to rise up against the sun. Mass transit units crawl like worms under the ground since the streets are filled with people; people walking in shadow, indifferent to their environment and indifferent to themselves. Colors have faded to the modest blacks and browns during the daylight hours only to blossom into the deep reds and blues of night flowers as intoxicated couples walk down my street from the bar two blocks away. Then again, that is when the light shines: the sun has been replaced by streetlights.

Maybe it does have to do with the light: in naturally sunny places color and life blooms all over the place, although it may not be the type of life that you want. Houses spring forth in hues of coral and teal while the children dance through hoses and streaming toilet paper, only to jeer at you as you walk by. Life becomes hostile, you survive for your family and all those around are there to make sure you fail. Life blooms, but so does death: once you stop being your own individual sun you become a shadow and therefore scorned.

I think people become dependent on that light to produce their joy, and in the absence of something typical their light has been drained and they feel bitter. In a sense life becomes both hard and soft. For those who love that light they become addicted, and night flowers are despised because they shy from the sun.

Somehow, it has become an offense to shun that light, and when that light is drained the flowers and children who thrive on it become bitter and mean. The shunning of their light is an insult, and the offending night flower must be destroyed. Those without bright colors, without their own sun, become their own shadows as well as the shades over everyone else.

Here in the city is different: there is no color, no life, unless you make it. People outside think only of their business, so somehow they seem like something less: they are organic sculptures, obstacles around which to walk. There is something about living in a place full of shadow that makes the little life here seem more important.

Trees in small potted plants seem more alive than anywhere, and the smell of a garden amidst the smoke smells all the more sweet. And as far as people, there are still smiles, but of a different sort. Art finds its way over the austere sides of office complexes; the walk to anywhere is accompanied by the various graffiti's of bored art students. Even the beggars and the homeless learn their trade and the subways are filled with the notes of hopeful musicians.

Sometimes the sounds drift up through the vents to your ears when waiting to cross the street, and I have yet to see a person resist to smile. When you fail to become a shadow you emit your own light, and joy can still be known.


This article comes from Shmeng
http://www.shmeng.com/

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