hatred

People say that hatred always begins in fear, and I believe this to be true. I’m sitting here in this apartment, just writing and thinking. I just listened to a song with the lyrics:

i search for peace
i search for hope
i search for love
and one day for release

Good things to be looking for. The afternoon is early although already fading. Winter’s like that—at noon the sun is bright and sometimes it warms your skin but then just a few hours later the sun is falling down, getting low and far away and the light is a little muted and the warmth is leaving.

Soon it’s going to be evening and dark. It’s a clear sky but over in the west clouds are moving in. Maybe they’ll cover up the stars tonight.

We stayed up late last night, talking. It was a beautiful night and I really feel close. Sometimes this means the most and it’s enough, it’s so much.

It’s moments like this that I am aware of time in a good way. The future is the present and everything is open. All the shadows are possibilities; it only depends on which you look into. Nights and days unfold and there is snow and summer and spring and falling leaves. Hills ripple into the distance and we can walk anywhere. It’s like looking out the back window of the house I grew up in, looking out to those distant hills that I could see, wanting to walk to them. There is dry grass and rusty colored willows in the riverbottoms.

Now there is change in the wind. I can feel it. I feel like a whole person. Looking out from a high cliff, you can see the land stretched out below, where the deer come to sleep and in the other direction you can look out across the vast grasslands, over to where the sun will someday set. Right now, wind moves the grasses.

I’m still listening to some music. Actually, I keep listening to one song over and over. I’m sort of inside it. But I’m outside, too. Looking in and out, forward and backward through my own self. Everything seems part of the same moment, the same instant. The past and this moment and whatever is to come. All these landscapes and faces and feeling merge together, leaving the open sands you see at low tide. They all coalesce, together with everything that is me, into some sort of vision that expands to fill me up and spreads out into the fields and through the snow and grass, climbing trees into the sky. It’s all the same and the colors are those you find in winter.