Monday, February 9, 2009

hey, i've got commentary without much to say

so as i left campus this afternoon at approximately 3:37 in the p.m. i was struck but the amazing scene of a storm rolling in. campus sits at the base of some little mountains (read little rocky style mountains, so real mountains, not hills) and the grey ominous clouds dropped down over the mountain tops and began to fill the space in between the foothills and the university grounds rather quickly. soon the taller buildings started to disappear underneath the cobalt grey mass and the breeze started pushing harder against my exposed cheeks. i stood at the light and found that i didn't care so much about crossing anymore. the living, breathing, feeding monster rushed overhead and the cloud covered blue disappeared into a devouring mass of dark. the frozen rain started hitting me in the face, and i still couldn't move, or at least i didn't want to. with the snow my field of vision was reduced to the small circumference that my aura projected around me. it is beauty and organically colorful moments like this that make it hard for me to remember the daunting and looming power of a storm and the risks inherent in it to the exposed individual. everyone seemed to run around me while the clouds slowed down just for me. i love being outside, i remember a storm in the uinta mountains with members of my bloodline when i was younger where the lightning was so close you could feel the electrical charge and smell the thunder. I often look for these moments and opportunities to bond with, never confront, a storm and they form the greater part of my positive memories in my outdoor life. for a few minutes today i remembered who i am, what i believe, why i believe, and who i want to be and what i want to believe. my mom is in the hospital, they want to give her someone elses lungs, she doesn't know if she wants them, and it doesn't matter what i want. since i was about ten years old they have been telling me that my mom was going to die, three years would be a miracle, lets give you some new medicine, but this doesn't change anything, there is no cure, the same things that make the storms so beautiful make us all unique, and they decided to make my mom different. i don't like this storm nearly as much as the one i saw this afternoon, and don't think that i can handle it when it really hits.


Happy Hubby, JJ, Bugs, Nenie and Sadie Jo said...

Thank you for this post. It was soulful, reflective with vivid imagery. Your words are beautiful.

I am sorry to hear about your mom. I wish there was something I could do or say to help ease you and your families pain. Know that you and your mom will be in our family prayers.

skylark said...


I don't know what else to say, but if you want me to listen, I will.

Hugs for you & the fam.

Mac said...

Chris. I miss the crisp clear space between me and the mountain. It always comforted me to know that, no matter how close I would get to it, the mountain wouldn't fall on me. I miss arriving at school right as the sun would like the wick of Timpanogos - me standing as you did to try and feel the experience as everyone else shuffled off to class.

We pray for you and yours.

Jared Blanco said...

That is perhaps the closest description of the sublime (cf. Romanticism) that I have ever read. I certainly hope that things turn out for the best and echo the words of both Emily and Mac--I will be here (both cyberspace and Irvine) when you need me.

Ben said...

I did the opposite. I was in Springville and I got home as fast as I could. The hail started just as we pulled into the parking lot and the girls were scared. Evelyn got disoriented and ran in the wrong direction, I hurried Jillian into the house. Shaunie grabbed Evelyn and we got in and opened the blinds so we could see the storm. Those were the darkest and lowest clouds I've seen in a long time, it scared me.

For some reason I'm prompted to say something that only you will understand: "A storm is coming, our storm. Father! Father, the sleeper has awakened!"

rantipoler said...

You and your family are in our prayers. Fair's fair since we were in yours, eh? ;)

I know that things are not going the way they should right now. Having passed through some crap lately and just barely starting to come out the other end, I have to say that I don't know why we went through that, but I do know that I've become more grateful, and probably a little more humble, too. It made me lean a little more on Dios, too. It seems there might be an easier way to learn this lesson, but even when it looks like all is lost, I promise that there is a light at the end, even if you can't see it. Siempre adelante.

Sally said...

Can't sleep. I hope you understand how freakin fantastic you are. You never sees to amaze me. Your writing are beautiful your intentions always good. You're just a good person. Right down to the creme center. I like being around you. You always put a smile on my face. I learn from you. I am a better person for knowing you. To me you are perfect. When this storm hits it's gonna hit hard and the winds won't be kind. You can handle it. You are stronger than you believe. A solid man I look up to.

Kalie said...

Don't feel like a writer huh? That was simply awesome. I often wish for a place to go out and enjoy the storms as they come, forgetting that I can do it where I stand. One of the neatest things though is that "it doesn't matter how much the wind howls because the mountain cannot bow to it..."

Denette said...

You are pretty amazing.