Dreams for a Broken World by Julie C. Day

Author:Julie C. Day
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Essential Dreams Press

Highwire Act

BY JOEANN HART

The lilting voice that fell like water from the loudspeaker every morning predicted an almost perfect day. “A sky as blue as my right eye,” she called it. They have a way of letting us see the world through the odd detail. No matter. It’s a blue sky, and I’m an industrious soul, so my thoughts turned to laundry. I’d done the wash days before when it first started to rain, then waited for a dry spell to hang it. And waited. The dome was supposed to be weather resistant but the drains are always clogged, so the weather has nowhere to go but through the wonky seams, and if untreated water touches my clothes, well then, I’ll be in worse shape than when I started. The laundry was beginning to smell like a mushroom log but a few hours in the open rotunda would soon cure that.

I grabbed my basket and slid open the glass to the deck. The plexidome capping the rotunda was tinted pinkish-yellow from the sun and it felt good to stand under its glow. I took a cleansing breath in through my nose, then held it for a long moment before slowly letting it out through my mouth. The dome seemed to breathe along with me, expanding and compressing like lungs, as it regulated the oxygen of our living center. The deep vibration of the plexi was a perfect bass note to the piped-in tinkling of chimes. I took one more deep breath and set the basket down before pulling on my gloves. To protect against—what? And there my brain stalled as my healthy-mind kicked in, my years of training falling in step with my breath. Why worry about such things? Worry was a misuse of imagination, as a host once told me. It was best to forget why I should exercise caution when handling laundry, without ever forgetting that I should. We value mindfulness and positivity here at the center. Yes, laundry has to be done, but enjoy the moment. Live in the light, even in darkness. Find joy in your surroundings. Look out over the rotunda, but do not look down. Down is the past. Acknowledge other residents across the wide pit, standing on their decks, assessing the day, testing the air. Nod, smile. Take a breath. Give gratitude for the low volume of particulates in the air. Be thankful the power grid was working, without which we could not view our enlightened master in hologram form twice a day for meditation, but more important, power kept a floor of light suspended over the pit. If the grid went down, the floor disappeared, and the sight was horrific. There is no other word for it. If a blackout was expected to last more than a few hours, a giant canvas tarp has to be manually cranked over the dome to block out any natural light. Turning the rusty gears is not easy, but I crank with all the rest when need be.

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