Part II. The Iceberg Technique
I couldn’t help but think it was my fault. It was like a bad headache that wouldn’t go away. At this point, I had unarguably convinced myself that it was indeed my responsibility. Justifying the certainty that it was indeed my doing, I sat there on the hill sketching tally marks into the soft dirt that surrounded my feet.
If I would have just packed the night before, first tally mark. If I had packed, I would have made it downstairs to the car on time, second tally mark. I was fifteen minutes late, that’s why we were in such a rush. It’s my fault. Drilling the frail stick into the dirt as I tallied my justifications, I quickly became frustrated and angry and covered the few indents in the dirt.
Silence is never a desired environment for these types of conditions. Thank the lord for the sound of the water. I had never noticed it before, but I could separate the sound of the water as it crashed and dissolved in its routine motion against the bank. Routine, that’s funny. It’s routine of me to run late, though in this case, it’s not funny at all. I just wanted to be alone. I couldn’t help but wish bad things upon the bird that wouldn’t shut up in the tree above me. Looking up, I saw the collection of black birds that sat awaiting. Dumb birds they were. Ugly birds.
Trying my absolute hardest, I still could not completely filter out the sounds coming from the street. Everything was so vivid. Just as I was able to so intensely hear the sound of the water hitting the bank, I could differentiate each sound rolling off that street. I tried to block it all out. Ah that horn! I can’t think about it.
Why is the sound of the water so soothing yet the movement and pattern of the water itself is so violent and angry? Looking a bit upstream, calm waters defined the movements of the clear waters. Gliding over the rocks that lay beneath, only slight ripples appeared on the surface level. Under the glasslike surface however was a rush of fierce and persuasive waters responsible for stirring up a mess from the floor. What appeared to be so silent at eye level was only hiding its corrupt and angry emotions underneath.
Sitting here, I never before realized the power water has. As a three-foot tree branch fell victim to its aggressive nature, the river ordered the branch as it pleased. Tossing the pathetic branch back and forth, insecurity and uncertainty crept up from behind. The river redrew all the visions I was trying so hard to forget. I sat there trying hard to understand why the river was so violent. Why life was so violent.
I know it doesn’t even make sense, but somehow in circumstances like these you are able to twist and shape everything to fit your reflections. I sat there, squinting as I looked over the reflection of the sun on the water, thinking about how the log had just as much of a shot as he did. Thinking to myself how insane I sounded, it didn’t matter. I just needed something to grab onto that demonstrated the unfairness the world defined itself as.
Returning to the reflection of the sun off the water, my eyes tried to adjust to its strength. I nearly had to close my eyes to rid the discomfort staring into the bright light caused, but in an effort to seek that discomfort, I kept my eyes open. Taking in my surroundings and blocking out all my thoughts, I silenced my mind and sat in a complete stare at the sight of the sun reflecting off of the river. It felt good. To just aimlessly and unconsciously stare at the river. The flow of the water, the strong maple trees that complimented its beauty, the leaves that so carelessly waved in the wind. The wind itself was weak and inconsistent, however it reflected harsh movements on its victims.
While I explored every nook as I strictly stared at the scene that lay in front of me, he kept finding his way to the front of my mind. Just as a leaf fell from the towering birch above me, I thought about the impossibility of erasing it all from my memory. Fall is one of my favorite times of the year. I hope it holds true after this all blows over. The beauty that fall bestows on the landscape is remarkable. The river itself seems to change colors as the fallen leaves collect on its surface. Working to spot that one bright red leaf that matures this time of year, I noted the dirty yellow and cool red color the ground adapts.
The chill air is always refreshing and the smell it collects from the water is unmatchable. Its funny how the vegetation grows as close to the river as it possibly can. Right up to the water itself, the vegetation seems to flourish. Once it reaches the divining line between the water and land, the cutoff is marked. Then its just mud. Ugly, brown, standard mud.
No one really appreciates nature these days. I’m the only one sitting here enjoying the beauty of the river, or trying to at least. To say its not appreciated is an understatement. The massive unmovable rocks, the cliff so precisely carved by the movement of the river, and the healthy vegetation that makes up its borders. It’s like the river doesn’t even matter. No importance is given to its beauty or to its contribution to nature. It’s as if it’s not even there – nonexistent.
There are always those feelings that surface as a result of lasting reflection. The calming expression of the river had duel effects on my emotions. Relaxed by the perfectly painted landscape, I felt the river provided the escape I needed from such a harsh reality. The river continued to flow and proceed in its normal existence. Reality however, had been altered and an unknown existence awaited.
Distancing myself from the river, its beauty began to seem unimportant and unimpressive. The emotions I felt sitting on its territory vanished as I fled the scene. Oddly enough however, the river had offered the distraction I was so deeply searching for. A distraction that proved to last only while in the boundaries of the continuous flowing river. A distraction that was short lived.
David Belpedio
