gravity

The raindrops fell hard against the flat rooftop and then peacefully leapt over the ledge, twisting through the air before shattering into a million pieces on the cold, hard dirt stories below. This is my truth: I carefully watched them in their plummet. I found it ironic that the graceful fall of the drops were the enamoring element in this self-induced destruction. I wasn’t fixated on the tiny explosion of water molecules down the side of the building – in fact, that was only theoretical. The fog, which had lazily drifted over the city throughout the course of the day, obscured my view of the raindrops’ suicide. If I had thought long enough – far enough in advance – I would come upon the thought that the graceful, calm fall from twelve stories up was ultimately a path to personal destruction.

But then again, it really wasn’t self-induced, was it? It was simply a physical display of the inescapability of gravity. That forever-force, pulling strongly on anything foolish enough to come within pulling-distance. It wasn’t the raindrops’ fault they had wound up suspended high in the sky. It wasn’t the raindrops’ fault they had, by the laws created by God, grown more massive than the lighter-than-air clouds which had faithfully held them, in seeming contradiction to the laws which now caused their death. And so was it now seen as the raindrops’ fault that they fell far; that they landed hard; that they would never again be raindrops?

They fell so poetically. So testimonially. It certainly didn’t escape my notice at the time – and I’m sure it hasn’t escaped yours – that my very thoughts of personal suicide were strangely reflected in the raindrops’ plummet. But I write this today, and that means that ultimately, I stepped away from that ledge, so high above the earth, and returned to reality the proper way: by taking the stairs down.

So often, both then and now, I find myself removed from the God-given firmament created to steady our feet and strengthen our stance. I find myself standing on a tower or building somewhere, with a fog muddying my view of the solid earth. It is so solid; a blessing on which to stand, but a curse on which to fall.

And as I looked down that day, I caught myself lying and saying that it was gravity which had caused my feet to climb the stairs which led away from safety. Here, I find myself on my very own tower of Babel, whichever height I chose to ascend. It’s only one small step after another. But every step I take leads me deeper into delusion. I feel as if it’s gravity – that inexorable force of nature – which causes me the desire to climb closer to God and to whichever right he feels he has to dictate my sometimes pitiful life. I feel as if it’s gravity which causes me to leave the plane of life and turn safety to danger. I feel it’s gravity, then, which pulls my heart so far down that I must climb up.

But it is not gravity. Gravity is a strange, perennial thing and yes, gravity always pulls. But it is never gravity which ends us. Gravity is that which holds us close to the safety of the earth. But fog rolls in, and we earn that itch – that right – to climb high. And as we climb, we lose sight of that safe terra. It becomes dangerous.

And gravity. Well, gravity still pulls. It still desires to hold us close. But too often, we leave reality the wrong way: by taking the stairs up.