Monday, January 26, 2015

Dance of Dawn

 I call it the dance of dawn as the sun rises teasingly in the east each and every morning.  When it sets they say, It nestles in the west.  They never mention its position between the two polarities, other than to say, The scorching noon day sun, at times, but only if they find themselves in need of shade. 
We dance and nestle, dance and nestle, frequently.  But the noonday doesn't scorch, it only warms.  It doesn’t really scorch until about one or two o’clock in the afternoon.  The mid-range doesn't offend.  It has no impact other than to go unnoticed.  We love the short and the long, the high and the low, the big and the small, the broad and the narrow.  But we don't really want to live with it.  We prefer the status quo. We love the unique character of the rising and the setting.  We cannot remain too terribly long in its company.  It challenges the senses.  It demands too much emotional response.  We love for life to go unnoticed.  It's comfortable and reassuring.  It allows us each to not be challenged.  We can count on having a break in the stimulation.  For me, although it brings relief, it also brings a sense of disassociation.
But, forget the sun.  When the rains come we all get wet together, whether on the fringes of life, or caught in the middle.  The rains bring a certain equality to us all.  Just a brief equality, but just enough to know we're not too terribly different from each other.  But again, I have to ask the question, Why do some get drenched, while others barely get their feet wet?  Plays itself out in class division, but not necessarily in the field of mental fitness.  We are fittingly mental, but we continue to think we’re mentally fit.  I know the subjective nature of mental fitness - a reality that ultimately defines one's station in life.  But there’s an enormous disparity between one’s perception, and how one comes to be defined by that perception. 
As can be expected, the supposedly mentally fit are usually all too pleased to acknowledge the difference for you.  Unless, of course, they are your friend, in which case they don't go near the subject for fear they'll find themselves on your side of the measurement, the fittingly mental side from their perspective.  When someone wants to be your friend it tells you there's a part of you in them.  They might recognize it long before you do, but your perspective may allow them to feel just a little bit better about their own condition.  It's possible your presence in their world answers their most feared and unacknowledged questions about themselves.  It's also possible they simply live that part of themselves through you, never really needing to make the hard inquiry, or shake hands compliantly with the subtle visitor who wakes up every morning on their couch.
I call it the Dance of Dawn.