vituperation: (n.) bitter and abusive language
I had to start there, because words are fun, and that one was not in my current collection.
Finally, the bus arrives there. Because the Grey Town exists as a place of perpetual dusk, it stands to reason that the destination would be a place of perpetual dawn. The details and distinction are immediately clear. The fresh stillness of a songbird. Light and cool. Colors. Clouds (or are they mountains?), valleys, cities. Majesty. Grass, trees, and flowers. Life. Yet with the revelation of this place of beauty came the revelation of their inability to fully enjoy or partake of such goodness.
There was no change and no progression as the hours passed. The promise – or the threat – of sunrise rested immovably up there. (the Writer)
As the bus ride continues, I have to say I enjoy more and more the contrast between the writer and everyone else. I am reminded that, though we all have certain things in common by way of our humanity, everyone experiences the same moment with different perspective, different baggage. Everyone on the bus, we’ve discovered, is a phantom, a ghost. Yet each carries a different set of expectations, fears, even hopes. This place is real, there is a solid situation before them, yet their varied interpretations leave us desiring to know exactly what is truly true.
The clearest gap comes in the writer’s ability to slow down and begin to recognize the goodness of the experience, even if he can’t fully grasp the goodness. He seems to react like a child, with vigor and excitement. In the previous chapter, as he opened the window, he spoke of freshness with energy (even if the other downers toss a giant wet blanket on all the sweetness!). Now, as he exits the bus, again the experience is fresh, light, and cool, larger than life. Freedom met with danger, while the others express discontent.
I also was a phantom. Who will give me words to express the terror of that discovery? (the Writer)
The writer speaks with a certain vulnerability that the others can’t seem to appreciate. He is aware that this setting is large beyond measurement, beautiful beyond compare, and so very real that it is dangerous. Yet he presses on. He reaches out to experience the reality of this world. Others stay by the bus while he experiments with immovable daisies.
But even the writer joins the huddle when the people approached, but that’s getting a bit ahead.
Most surprising is the driver’s statement that the passengers need never return to the Grey Town should they want to stay. Why would anyone prefer the threat of darkness to the promise of light? Why choose empty streets over fields of grass? Yet some run with haste to the bus. Indeed, the prison of the human heart is not easily escaped.
Taking the book slowly means the approach of these people of light now creates a wonderful cliffhanger. Must. Resist. The urge. To read. Ahead. Haha. I hope you’re enjoying the story. I hope you are enjoying the comments. I hope you have brought someone else along for the ride.
I spent two hours on my front porch last night. I watched dusk give way to the night. I woke up early and spent two hours on my front porch this morning. I watched dawn give way to the morning. As I read this chapter, I was considering which one I enjoy more. Both have a distinction. The dawn brings with it the potential of a new day, the uncertainty and adventure of a fresh start. The evening brings with it the affirmation of surviving another day, the chance to reflect on successes and failures of the hours gone by.
Though I do enjoy both, I believe my enjoyment of the dusk is actually rooted in my enjoyment of the dawn. To have the knowledge and experience of another day would be quite maddening if not for the opportunity to apply and to grow as the sun rises again. As I consider this place of perpetual sunrise, I have to say I’d rather spend time with my morning coffee and the possibility of possibility. There is new mercy each and every morning.
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