Postcard From The Edge

Two weeks away and it felt like the whole world should have changed; my mind almost refusing to accept that everything had stayed the same. I sat in my small apartment and stared at what was familiar and yet altogether foreign: my mail was still piled up on the bar, my bed was still unmade from my mad dash out the door, and the comfortable scent of sandalwood incense hung faintly in the air, yet I smelled only the jungle.

I sat back on my green velvet sofa and closed my eyes, running my hands over the soft fabric and imagining it was soil, dark and rich and slipping through my fingers as though through an hourglass. The cars moving past my windows sounded like the rush and pull of distant waves as they kissed and caressed the shore, calm and peaceful.

I had planned the trip for the sole purpose of escaping from my family, my friends, my job and everything else familiar; what I hadn’t recognized was that I was actually trying to escape from myself. I was bored with everything and everyone; the food held no taste, the sunshine no warmth and the world no joy for me. I’d travelled halfway around the world, but nowhere was far enough to get away from my own jaded heart.

For the first three days I hiked into the jungle, losing myself within the humidity and dark coolness of an alien world I’d never before imagined. Each day I walked further than the last until on the fourth day I emerged from the trees and found myself standing at the edge of a monolithic cliff.

Vines crept from the jungle and cascaded down the cliff face, the rich green leaves contrasting beautifully with the dark, almost black, stone. The vista my eyes beheld staggered me, and before my knees gave out under me I lowered myself to carefully sit on the edge of the cliff, my muddy boots dangling thousands of feet in the air.

Before me was a vast sea of green, foliage swelling with the rise and fall of the hills under their feet, the turquoise of the ocean sparkling just beyond and the azure of the mid-day sky crowning what was at that moment, the whole world to me. I was only faintly aware of the tears that slipped down my cheeks, I was wholeheartedly focused on what was being shared with me, and my apathy began to slip away in the wake of such splendor.

A large rough tongue suddenly licked my tears away and I turned my head to stare into the green eyes of a jaguar, but I couldn’t find my fear, instead I cocked my head to one side and smiled.

“Hi there.” My voice sounded strange amidst the jungle sounds around me, as did my laugh when the huge cat sat down beside me and cocked his head to one side. After sizing me up for a moment he laid down beside me, resting his head in my lap and allowing me to pet his ears.

I stayed all day, not moving from the precipice of my newfound joy until the sun began to sink into the ocean. My feline companion stayed with me all day and whimpered when I explained that I had to go but would be back.

I spent the rest of my stay at the cliff’s edge sitting, reading, napping or simply gazing and always my companion was with me, often just staring at me. As the sun set on us for the final time I penned a brief note on the back of a Wish You Were Here postcard I’d picked up at the airport. All I had been gifted with was expressed in one simple statement: “You are responsible for your own joy.” I addressed it to myself, my postcard from the edge, and with a kiss tossed it into the air for the universe to send whenever it felt like it, watching with a wide smile as it disappeared into the chasm below me.

At dawn I was awoken by the weight of a gaze; heavy and green and staring at me from the olive skinned face of a stranger who was perched on the edge of my cot. I didn’t move despite the sudden hammering of my heart in my chest, remaining as still as I could and simply staring back.

His black hair was shot through with tawny gold and hung to his waist like a satin curtain, beautifully showcasing the width of his smooth shoulders and expanse of his sculpted chest. My eyes couldn’t help but wander and I admired the rest of his angles before lifting my gaze again to stare into his eyes, strangely familiar eyes.

Wordlessly he bent down and brushed his lips across mine, soft as a rose petal, and I was overwhelmed with the need to be filled and enflamed by him. Hours later I awoke, blissfully sore and softly languid, feeling like water and light had simply been poured into my skin. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know he was gone; I sensed his absence and with a sigh tried to push aside my disappointment.

The journey home was long and noisy: cars, airports, airplanes, people, crying babies and machinery assaulted my ears and was almost painful. When I reached my door I had rushed inside, seeking refuge from the city sounds I’d been so oblivious to not two weeks before, and even the muted sounds that filtered through my walls were almost unbearable.

The soft knock on my door dragged me from my memories of the ocean, the jungle and my unknown lover. The familiar musky scent of his skin greeted me before my eyes could even verify it was indeed him, and with tears in my eyes I stood paralyzed with joy in the doorway. He smiled at me, his green eyes shining as he held up my postcard, “If I am responsible for my own joy, why then can I not find it without you?”