This afternoon I suffered from what was probably the fourth headache I've ever had in my life. Blessed mightily by an excellent immune system, the times when the rogue bodily malfunction slips into my life I am completely lost. The last time I threw up (2 years ago) and was forced to rest my body, I thought Ramen noodles counted as the soup required for sick days. My appalled roommates quickly corrected my naivete. And when my headache came today, Dave had to forcibly tuck me into bed so I could sleep the effects away.
There is a window in our bedroom that, somehow, no matter what hour of daylight is always gilded in yellow sunlight. It makes for waking up on Saturday mornings a warm and gentle process, the shadows from the leafless branches painted onto our cream-colored blinds.
As I was waking cautiously from my nap, gauging whether the vice had been removed from my temples, my eyes were drawn to the blinds by a flicker of movement. The shadow of a sparrow had alighted on the shadow of the branch, and began to groom itself in quick dithery movements; I could barely make out the silhouette of his small round head and flat-edged tail before he sped away from the window like an arrow.
I have heard the world described several times as "a mere shadow of the things to come". Think of the day when in this world, after a lifetime of seeing nothing but mere silhouettes of reality to have the blind's cord pulled to reveal another dazzling world of texture and color and light. It would be like Dorothy walking into Technicolor Oz. Crags in the bark of the branches and snow in the feathers of the sparrow, previously mere 2-dimensional colorless shapes. The sun shining full on your face and your wide eyes suddenly filled with detail and form far more complex than ever seen by eyes before. I'd imagine it would be too overwhelming to look at for too long at first.
And if the world we live in, with rainbows leaping from prisms and parrots cawing from the branches of banana leaves and icy mist rising from the very puffs of air you breathe, if this beautiful world is little more than shadows on a scale of grey...when the blind's cord is pulled at the end of the age I want to be at that window with greedy eyes waiting to be overwhelmed.
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