Wednesday, October 29, 2014
The Window I Am
Reheated coffee, the dog sighing on her carpet nearby, and faint violet of the sky before dawn. The window I am opens. Blue jays at the front yard maple stripped of leaves reference the hunger we are yet learning to abide. I want to use the word testament in a sentence. Witness? Also I am tired of all this lying. All day driving south, map sliding around on the empty passenger seat, remembering back when I drank and that was how the days passed, and still do. A disconnected phone is not a contradiction and drawn blinds made him feel safe who so often went where it was scariest just because. In the morning buffets of warm air put me in the mind of November mainly because they're not. The dog grows old, and I grow old, and the bluets come and go, but something is always there and nobody can refute that. How hard I have tried to find the one who will contradict what I know to be true! So many teachers who learned they could not grade me! Ruined in my bones and mostly shoeless but never not working the pedals. There are no hidden chapels, there are no secret chords. When I was a little boy I believed photographs were the core of God's plan for salvation because in so many instances they were all that remained. Words like dust drifting through sunbeams putting us in the mind of eternal. Go where it is darkest and wait? I mean beyond sheets, I mean beyond shoes. Now.
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"The window I am opens."
ReplyDeleteI think I shall carry that line with me today.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading & sharing Cheryl . . .
ReplyDelete~ Sean
"Ruined in my bones". I find this phrase incredibly moving, and disturbing.
ReplyDelete"The magic of dust in sunbeams", takes me back to a moment in childhood - the wonder, seeing things never usually seen, wondering whether they have always been there, and if they still will be, once the sun goes in.
I am intrigued to know what it is that you "know to be true" but long to hear contradicted.
Thanks for sharing these musings. I find a lot of pleasure, and connection, and help, in reading them. I have been a Course student for about a year, and recently married a Yorkshire poet. He has a different way with words - blunt, coarse, but delightful.
Love,
Hazel.
Sorry, I see I misquoted you with the sunbeams, got carried away!
ReplyDeleteGoing where it is darkest and waiting. Scary. But I have learnt that if I want to feel more peaceful, "I need to do the scary thing." I am reading Nouk Sanchez's The End of Death, and although I didn't think I was afraid of God, certain fears are becoming visible now. I have a mental picture of shining a torch into my dark cellar, and thinking, "well, I had no idea that was there!"
Hazel
Yes! Specks of dust wandering through sunbeams . . . I think it is possible I sat for hours in certain rooms and parts of the barn, just watching the dust - which sometimes even sparkled. It does not take any imagination for a child to enter Heaven . . . I love your deep thinking: have they always been here, where are they next . . . I read Horton Hears A Who! when I was little and it turned my thinking around, made me aware that perhaps we are not alone, that our lives are connected up to other lives . . . It's funny how God slips in, not always in churches or hymnals but anywhere that we are ready to listen . . .
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on marrying a poet! My wife would says it's hard row to hoe - wordy bastards that we can be - but still . . . I am so grateful to have such a lovely and helpful companion.
Sean
Yes . . . we have to look at all that and look at it without rushing to conclusion or judgment . . . letting the darkness be is the hardest of all . . .
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for reading and sharing Hazel . . .
Love,
Sean