Paper Mountains

Dusk is a fascinating time. When the warm glow of the sun is only reflected in the night sky and the world is covered in a thin veil of darkness, I see my surroundings change. The mountains, peaks and knifes that cut the sky, slowly become two dimensional as they disrobe from their third dimensional appearance. They appear as black paper cutouts placed and glued upon a multicoloured board. They jut out harshly, no longer dulled by the smoothing actions of erosion and nature. One can imagine a large flat wall resting against the sky; a horizon crafted with child like enthusiasm and diligence. 

It is moments like those when I picture God being a child of no more than six. God of course is a smart child, with nibble fingers and infinite imagination, but still a simple entity, playing and creating. The flat appearance of the mountains contrast and meld with the depth, length, and width of the road, which still appear as it should before my unsteady and unreliable eyes. The Traffic lights hint and betray the depth of the world, destroying any hope for a realm built on width and length alone. 

The ephemeral cars move with unjust speed, reflecting the light from their headlights off the hood of passing cars. Inside the steel cages of our own making people listen to man made sounds, and consider man made problems, ideas, and truths. Eyes see without considering, as minds consider without seeing. In many ways the timely catalyst of a deed is unimportant, the only importance is that the deed is itself done. With each action enacted a smile and a frown is born. The voice that protrudes from the car breaks concentration as certain words invoke images of remembrance. The wheel of my car turns a few degrees to compensate for the slight turn of the highway. As the wheels turn, and the traffic lights shudder, contemplation occurs. Driving, being a menial and mindless task at times, allows for a great amount of introspection, if one chooses to allow themselves to learn about what is within oneself. 

It is a maze. There is no way to navigate within the walls unless there is time. Time is a vital component, as well as luck and subtle stubbornness. A thread left behind is inevitably lost, and is never recovered. Images which induce distraught reactions meld with memories that inspire joyful responses all in which fall under the silent heading of "Sentimentality" and "regret." I find these two concepts share overlapping traits, and that the definitional difference occurs on our attachment of positive and negative qualities to the two. Sentimentality, as is regret, is a journey through the past. Instead of pangs of pain based on our actions, we feel pain for our lost happiness. For regret, we feel pain for what we did to ruin our long lost joys. Both are pointless voyages. 

I am thankful for the qualities of darkness. When I feel it envelope me in its cold embrace, I allow my heart to detach itself from my soul, and I sink into a peaceful oblivion that allows me to rest, if for a little while.