Saturday, April 17, 2010

for the blind

a young blind man married a young blind woman.

later the couple settled onto the parcel field on the bluff which overlooked an eternally storming, treacherous, perilous sea 200 hundred feet below.

the two crafted a home from what the land offered. rock from shore, wood from the dark forest encircling the empty field, cement of sand, gypsum, adobe of the field. earth, mud, grass.

the house was made of love, care, the same feeling the two had for one another and was large enough to accommodate the 10 children they subsequently created all of whom were born with the same malady the two were born with resulting in total blindness.

i discovered this home on the quiet north coast for myself while running from a life overloaded, burdened with all i had seen.

the family took me in for several years. nurtured me to health. let me write and work in quiet peace.

i will never forget my first day at the house on the bluff perched over that sea of war.

the elder blind man walked me out onto a small bridge shaped deck jutting 30 feet out over the cliff edge like a plank on a grand wooden sailed ship.

i stood. stunned, amazed, unnerved at the end of the deck where the wind whipped so violently.

i feared a fear i had always feared i'd fear.

"there are no railings" i shouted over the wind and lashing sea. "i know" said the "elder" as i called him.

"the children" i murmured.

"yes the children" he leaned over.

"they too live a life of feeling, a life of unseen faith"

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