topped

It took a few months since moving in before I discovered the rooftop of the  building where I now live. Tonight, after bringing out the trash, I boarded the lift all the way to the topmost floor, went out the fire exit, and took a few flights of stairs to the open-air rooftop.

The cold December wind greeted me. I acknowledged her welcome with a smile. Now thirty-two stories above smoggy EDSA, it seemed safe and sensible to take deep breaths and let the cool air wash over me. The relentless cold wind tousled my hair and dried my lips. I felt my face tingle as it started to grow numb, a good kind of numb.

Looking down, things transformed. Highways and streets became winding veins and arteries traversed by a two-way stream of blood. But instead of red, this blood was golden, created by the yellow headlights. If you squinted just right, the traffic below blurred into a yellow worm that seemed to be going somewhere and nowhere at the same time.

It’s amazing what vertical distance can do. I could shout and not care about being heard. I could sing at the top of my lungs without fear of troubling anyone. I could look up and see stars. I could look within and see myself, away from the cares of life below. I could remind myself that no distance — height, depth, nor breadth — can ever separate me from the One whose love for me knows no space.

Obviously, even at this height, the heavens are still infinitely higher.

Wherever I run, wherever I go,
You will be there, never to let me go.
(No Mount Too High)