Last night it rained. It rained hard; the rhythm of the rain lulled me to a peaceful sleep. Before I dozed off, I witnessed the power of the precipitation firsthand. I walked out on my balcony, complete with overhead protection. I soaked in the humid air, crisp with the scent new linen, as the flashes of lightning stuck fear into my heart. The razor edges of the lightning strikes separated the darkness from the sublime. The thunder clasped my aorta and retracted, allowing for the release of the endorphins that are associated with my personal fear. I was reminded of the sounds of tanks, firing main gun rounds, point blank, into the eyes of a man fighting for his love of death, armed only with a dull bayonet. The air was saline moist, tear-like in essence. I licked my lips.
When I woke the next morning, the warm front had rolled in; the rain had passed. The sun was shining down upon early seasonal spring daybreak. I needed the sun. I need the radiance of heaven to shine upon my soul, reminding me that love still exists when the darkness of night retreats. I needed the warmth of love to sooth the burning desire to inflict myself in the indulgences of the dark side… I needed to punish myself for enjoying the darkness of the night whilst I slept. I laced up the sneakers, grabbed the mp3 player and I ran.
I took a path that was littered with a strange but familiar site. There were night crawler worms all about the rain drenched pavement that I pounded in fury with each stride. I adjusted my steps as to not smash the creatures of the dark. The worms were seeking the same radiance of the sunshine that I sought. I was in no mood to intervene. They too deserved punishment for enjoying the darkness of life…
I remember being a kid and hunting for these juicy worms to go catfish hunting in the morn on the banks of the Delaware River. I thought of my fisherman friend up the street. Why had he not gathered all these worms and fished this morning. No. These worms deserved the sunshine. Love shall be their fate.
These worms were stretched out as far as their segmented bodies would reach. The night crawlers were vulnerable to every element of the spring morning environment; they basked in an attempt to soak in the love radiated by the sun. They opened themselves up; the love of the sun may smite them. I related to the worm’s pain as I stretched my stride open, becoming vulnerable to love of the sun myself. I may be smitten yet.
In this “life o’mine”, I had been the worm for too long. I had dwelled in the darkness for what seemed to be a lifespan. I embraced the cold, rain soaked ground and never-ending dark tunnels of my environment. I felt most comfortable taking the shit that life distributed, digesting it and returning it to the world as a fundamental element of life. I had burrowed deeply into my surroundings and myself. I didn’t realize that if I rose to greet the sunshine, there would be many like myself trying to soak in the magnificence as well. A night crawler digs alone; he basks among many. Sadly, a night crawler basking in the sun will undoubtedly meet a timely death. This morning, there was a solo black bird perched on a wire, stuffed from glutton. He couldn’t every worm and remained in the distance, satiated, ominous as death itself. The real enemy of the worm is not the reaper of the crow. The real enemy of the night crawler is the love of the sun. Night crawlers don’t recognize that opening yourself to the magnificence of the sun will leave you open to the opportunity to be dried up and blown away by the afternoon breeze. Perhaps some worms will be lucky enough to survive the sun and avoid the crow. These worms remain the luckiest of all. They opened themselves to the vulnerability of love, despite its possible disastrous nature; surviving the elements will leave them forever changed. I am the worm. Perhaps I could get struck by lightning? Nah. Who would be so lucky? Not I said the worm.
