I've never felt claustrophobic. I am not sure I ever will. I can understand the fear of small places though; a fear of walls and barriers keeping you from stretching. Much of my first week felt that way. Until yesterday, when I discovered something while sitting on my balcony connecting to my third-floor bedroom. I wrote this down:
The light of the sun slowly fades behind the buildings, leaving the colors outdoors softer, gentler than the twelve hours prior. The moon slowly pulls itself above the dust ridden mountains seemingly just beyond the edge of the city.
Tonight the taste of dirt lingers in the air, almost as if this arid city were a harbor town to a gritty, dense, chalky ocean.
In october, the brief moments of sunset are this city's most captivating. the sun and the moon sit parallel on the horizon and enough light lingers to see the mountains hedging the city, protecting three of its sides. Brief moments of beauty in this harsh landscape measured by the same unit of time it takes to smoke a single bowl of pipe tobacco.Amidst the toughness of adjusting during a move, I was reminded of the beauty of the Creator. His work is never far, mostly its right where you stand. Especially when you don't know it.
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You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust.
You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us.Gungor
