(no subject)
It's raining for the first time in ages. Happiness.
Life has been complicated lately.
Life has been complicated lately.
2008-10-07
LJ Idol, Week 3: A Moment of Bliss
and finding time so hard I pray
let this moment last forever
and will the world stay standing still
at least for me
- VNV Nation, "Standing"
Years ago, a woman I admired gave me a novel and told me to come with her for the summer. She said it would make everything alright, even though she didn't know how. Hana was my Czech professor, and the novel was I Served The King of England by Bohumil Hrabal. I read it alone, sitting in the bath tub of my apartment during the Thanksgiving break from classes. In the summer of 2001 Prague saved my life, though it is hard to explain exactly how and when except for the train.
I studied during the summer at Charles university, taking Czech classes and a film class. Late in June, we took a weekend trip through southern Bohemia. Quite by accident in our travels, we ended up on a train that only ran once a month down to the Austrian border. The locomotive was more close to 150 years old, and the train cars from 1902 had been lovingly restored. The tracks were laid in 1875, old narrow gauge rails. It was the sort of thing I love, old history and memory in strange places. We drank plastic cups of hot rum and water early in the morning.
Between the cars and their creaking connections were narrow stoops with slender iron railings. I spent most of the trip out there, holding on to the rail with both hands and swinging to the rhythm of the wheels. Trains didn't use to be seamless rides, and there was a glorious sense of motion as we spend down through the forest, over streams and stone. Early in the day, the light has that translucent, sparkling quality and the linden trees were spicy and fragrant. My hair, cut short for the first time in years, whipped against my face as I leaned out from the car. I remember wearing a black t-shirt and how the skin on my arms was chilled from the rushing air but my cheeks burned like fever. From time to time other people joined me outside but for most of the trip I was alone.
All at once, something in me switched from monochrome gray to full color. Things were beautiful, after being ashen so long and I could feel them. Everything else didn't matter. All of the chaos waiting on the other side of the ocean didn't matter. I was myself again. I was alive, and it wasn't a mistake. I was alive and it was the happiest day of my life.
It was not one of life's serious ceremonies. It was just a train ride. Perhaps it might seem less meaningful, but I remember the feeling and the taste of that day more clearly than I remember the two different times I got married, my first lover or childhood summers. It was a gift. For an hour on a June morning years ago, the world stood still and that blissful moment lasted forever.
let this moment last forever
and will the world stay standing still
at least for me
- VNV Nation, "Standing"
Years ago, a woman I admired gave me a novel and told me to come with her for the summer. She said it would make everything alright, even though she didn't know how. Hana was my Czech professor, and the novel was I Served The King of England by Bohumil Hrabal. I read it alone, sitting in the bath tub of my apartment during the Thanksgiving break from classes. In the summer of 2001 Prague saved my life, though it is hard to explain exactly how and when except for the train.
I studied during the summer at Charles university, taking Czech classes and a film class. Late in June, we took a weekend trip through southern Bohemia. Quite by accident in our travels, we ended up on a train that only ran once a month down to the Austrian border. The locomotive was more close to 150 years old, and the train cars from 1902 had been lovingly restored. The tracks were laid in 1875, old narrow gauge rails. It was the sort of thing I love, old history and memory in strange places. We drank plastic cups of hot rum and water early in the morning.
Between the cars and their creaking connections were narrow stoops with slender iron railings. I spent most of the trip out there, holding on to the rail with both hands and swinging to the rhythm of the wheels. Trains didn't use to be seamless rides, and there was a glorious sense of motion as we spend down through the forest, over streams and stone. Early in the day, the light has that translucent, sparkling quality and the linden trees were spicy and fragrant. My hair, cut short for the first time in years, whipped against my face as I leaned out from the car. I remember wearing a black t-shirt and how the skin on my arms was chilled from the rushing air but my cheeks burned like fever. From time to time other people joined me outside but for most of the trip I was alone.
All at once, something in me switched from monochrome gray to full color. Things were beautiful, after being ashen so long and I could feel them. Everything else didn't matter. All of the chaos waiting on the other side of the ocean didn't matter. I was myself again. I was alive, and it wasn't a mistake. I was alive and it was the happiest day of my life.
It was not one of life's serious ceremonies. It was just a train ride. Perhaps it might seem less meaningful, but I remember the feeling and the taste of that day more clearly than I remember the two different times I got married, my first lover or childhood summers. It was a gift. For an hour on a June morning years ago, the world stood still and that blissful moment lasted forever.