a parking lot reflection.

written during my lunch break, Aug. 10:

1::
I hug the earth, and the pressure of the ground returns my weight with the natural force of four billion years. I clutch this mound of grass and contemplate its place here in the parking lot, its role, along with those of the trees, diminshed almost entirely to aescetics, stripped of its natural tendency toward autonomy and candor. I savor the grass because its the closest thing I have to everything I crave, and I embrace it, dig deep into it, cling to it as though it might somehow disappear from my life entirely if I don't treasure every encounter... and as I lay here, I see that I am sharing my existence with a ladybug - otherwise overlooked by passersby. It tests its wings against the gray breeze but does not fly, instead clinging to its place in much the same way that I am clinging to mine. Its small body, though, allows for it to claim nothing more than a blade of grass as its own. And I commend that, silently, as I contemplate our mutual consciousness together in the grass... and there is another ladybug suddenly, only a few inches from the first, and yet they are entirely unaware of one another's existence on separate blades of grass.
I suddenly realize that even the mundane is extraordinary.

2::
And it begins to rain, slowly at first - a gentle, subtle softening of the air around me. As it builds, though, the drops become more assertive, each one a precise touch against my body. And I continue to hold my place in the grass, relishing the moment to discern between an artificial existence and this one. I feel the rain, and it makes me increasingly aware of my body, bringing it, bit by bit, into my conscious thought. I am suddenly startled by the internal question of whether or not I'm allowed to be in the rain, and I wonder to myself if I'll get in trouble for returning to work wet. It then occurs to me that it is this exact trained intuition that I am trying to escape by leaving this job. Nobody should be made to think that they can't feel the rain.
Even so, a few concerned coworkers stop by, asking if I'm alright. I have to justify my seemingly odd choice of pasttime and so I do it in words they'll best understand, explaining that I'm only "chilling out".

p.s. I quit my job. I've never felt so free.