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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
This morning, the conversation over "SMALL TALK "  is about dreams. Well, it's also about cheese but that's not going to come up in this blog post so we'll just concentrate on dreams. My last blog was about dreams, too. Over at Small Talk, Solace.Bring  asks about three topics that come up in your dreams from time to time. My answer: " Three topics that come up into my dreams from time to time are my childhood home, people who have passed on, and hiding from some unknown danger."And strangely, just after I posted that, I opened an old poetry file at random which appears to have been created at this same time of year a few years back (Google docs says it was April 2023), and found this little poem tucked into the scramble of ramblings -- The weight of the blanket comforts, it’s a warm arm draped across my shoulders, even though the chill of a spring morning leaks through the window casement. The birds sing the songs of my youth ancient trills that convey their secrets they will sing long after I am gone and call to others who lie abed but for this moment, I am lost in reverie with no desire to greet a new day satisfied with drowsy memories my eyes unopened. I am beginning to wonder if this yearning to enter into an unchanged past through dreams and the resistance to reality is a sign of senility or if it is just the natural reaction to a world that has changed in so many ways and brought so many losses. I am not sure nostalgia is a disease, even when one prefers to stay in the warm embrace of memories and linger in the presence of those who no longer inhabit the physical world. I think it may be emotional defense, a way to preserve sanity rather than give in to unspeakable grief. |
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