Where the Heart Is
This is my home too you know.
Perhaps even moreso than yours, afterall- you’re not connected like I am. For you home is what you do to fill in the spaces between what you’re actually doing. You clean because of what others might think, not out of any compulsion for the sanctity of this blessed space. Deep down… you don’t really care. Most of you don’t.
I can hear the walls sing.
A deeply resonating bravado, traveling through the splinters and concrete particles of the roof, down to the fearlessly resilient durability of the floor. The walls bear the tales of the world within their fabric, an interwoven tapestry of fantastic mystery that you never caught wind of because you never thought to stop and listen. And the walls are too polite to shout. They speak with the solemn diction of kings and the enigmatic vigor of jesters. It is the walls who remind us that gods still walk the earth. It is the walls who laugh at the arrogance of American culture, assuring us that the world by and large does think as we do. It is the walls who make us swear to never forget that the presence of superfluity in one space always means excessive lack in another.
Don’t you know not everybody stands tall?
Don’t you know not everybody has walls?
Of course we didn’t.
How could we?
Do you know that? Do you know there are places where people don’t have walls… imagine how that must feel. Not just to have your walls ripped away- but to never have had them to begin with.
I can hear the walls sing.
And I hear the carpet laugh.
I know you walk over the carpet, with your crusty bare feet, your dusty work shoes; you drag furniture to and fro, in perpetual search of the ever elusive nirvana released by feng shui. I am your first assault in the morning and at night, but the carpet is your first joy.
And you probably never even noticed it.
The sheer joy that overtakes your senses upon sinking into its plush recesses; toes morphed into delighted spelunkers browsing the soft caverns blanketing your otherwise punishing floors. Never too cold, never too warm, always exactly the laugh you need in order to feel- if only for a moment- better about yourself and your day.
A free gift of joy, that you choose to step away from, as if your duels against “real life” fare better without joy. IT’S A FREE GIFT!
Have you ever said thank you? Even once?
Or is your expression of gratitude limited by whether someone might think it is silly or not?
I don’t mean to be hard on you, I just wish you would love our home as much as I do. I wish you would walk into the kitchen and see unrivaled beauty in the glorious heap of dirty dishes, shyly lurking in the sink.
But you don’t do you? You don’t see beauty in potential… in existence. You only see beauty in the clean, the purified, the flawless. Those dirty dishes are just one big ol’ mess in your eyes; another problem, another lip curling disgust that you must endure until you can make your way to real beauty.
With standards like that, it’s a wonder you can see beauty at all. It’s why I’m not offended that you don’t even see me. I am the casual binary flip, always occupying less than the smallest measureable percentage of your attention, barely registering in your visual consciousness and certainly blind to the lens of your soul. I am the source of light and darkness in your home, in our home, and you can’t even see me. You care nothing for me.
What does that tell you? Probably nothing, because we all know you can’t be bothered. Well I’ll tell you what it tells ME.
Not seeing beauty… is the same as not to see.
This is my home too.
Give this sacred space the love it deserves.
Joshua Evans is a prolific writer and sci-fi/fantasy enthusiast who believes story is central to everything and that mythology can change the world. He currently hosts two youtube shows- The Truth About Superheroes and Comic of the Week. If you would like to further be a part of his cosmic psyche, you can join him on Twitter and Instagram (@comicsinspire) or simply subscribe to this story reel… and remember- sharing is caring! Cheers!