I get more emotional at night. I don’t become some weepy, needy PMS by any means, but I become aware of my feelings coming to the surface, feelings from the past come visit me.I think on friends who valued me. Their words falling gently, always making more of me. I fill with gratitude and wishes to tell them of the garden that grows inside my heart with memories bearing their names. What a lifetime that would be, just telling everyone what a gift they’ve given. How nice it is to know that in some life you’ve been a treasure, a thing of beauty or mystery. I never cease to wonder what it was they saw in me. How do I imagine what it means to make another person proud?
Thoughts come too of folks who claimed undying loyalty. Then they left when winds turned cold or when I turned out to be less, less than what I’ll never know. They never stayed to tell me what it was that made them go. One day I was a treasure, and the next I was on the curb. One day we walked together, sharing secrets. Then the whispers were never heard. Those thoughts haunt me like debris inside my brain I can’t clean out. Night oil on the mind when I’m lonely is not nice. So I go back to thinking of those who held me up.
I know enough to stare up at the night sky. I feel whole and get perspective on these things that I don’t even think about when the sun shines and trees branch wide around me. I wonder at the beauty of the full moon and the stars. I know that space debris has gorgeous colors and it’s own bright light. Just look at the wispy, windy patterns and reflections that it makes like filmy fibers in the night. Who could call that trash? It’s a sight I’d keep forever.
One man’s trash is another’s treasure.
It’s true about stars and people too.
—me strauss Letting me be
24 comments:
One man’s trash is another’s treasure.
It’s true about stars and people too
Liz, you are amazing, you nourish the garden in my heart daily, thank you (hugs)
Hi mergrl,
I'm so glad you came to read this. You are part of the garden in my heart too.
smiles,
Lix
The way I like to think of it is we're all television programs. Some people watch us only for the first couple of seasons, but grow bored after that. Other people only catch on to what a great program we are late in our run. And then there are the few others who were there from the very beginning and become diehard fans who stay with us for our entire run.
Hi Patrick,
What a great analogy! Yeah. People do react to other people that way. Thanks I'll be thinking about that one for years.
smiles,
Liz
Such poetry here. And a very cool nebula picture. Which one is it?
I'm Fish, by the way.
Hi Doug,
Thank you for calling this poetry.
It's not a nebula at all. It's what NIX calls space debris.
What do you mean Fish?
smiles,
Liz
Fish was a one-season spin-off of Barney Miller starring Abe Vigoda. I thought if anyone remembered that show it would be an amusing follow-up on Moho's comment. It was funny to me, anyway.
Ah Doug,
I just wasn't reading in context. Too much multi-tasking in my life. You are Fish and I am Pollyanna.
smiles,
Liz
A thought provoking post, and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, stargazer,
I think about stars and people a lot. We're made of the same stuff, but be don't shine the same way.
smiles,
Liz
We are made of star-stuff, it's true. Carl Sagan wrote that I think. He was a great thinker.
We are all different though, like the number of stars their are in the universe, and we can't all blend together as one as we sometimes like. Sometimes if two of us come together, there's a violent reaction that results in a supernova, keeping out distance from those who might cause this reaction is prudent. Other times, it might result in an endless dance where our star stuff is mingled and shared for what might seem like an eternity.
But there's one thing we can all do together; we can cast light upon each other, no matter what chemicals make up our inner fires, or how far apart we might drift.
Hello, Toadmaster,
But there's one thing we can all do together; we can cast light upon each other, no matter what chemicals make up our inner fires, or how far apart we might drift.
That's such a beautiful statement. It's like prose poetry.
Liz
"Then the whispers were never heard."
*Big Sigh*
I'm experiencing some of those whispers as we speak. I'll never hear them except in the silence of a look, in the space between the words not said.
Much pain in those places, like a silent storm that comes in the dead of night and threatens our very life, our home, our peace when we least expect it.
More pain has been inflicted by the tongue than all the weapons used in all the battles throughout all of time.
Wish I was there to exchange hugs. One for you, one for me, one for you, two for me. :-)
Oh Tree,
You are such a special one. You can have a million hugs plus one whenever you need them from now until forever.
Liz
the past haunts all who reach that point in life, wherever that point is determined - who does not wish they could change past goodbyes? (said or unsaid) Have we all not wished for a second chance to make amends? Like your writing.
Hello anonymous,
Thank you for your wise words.
I don't really wish to change things only to record them.
I know that every little thing that's happened to me has added up to who I am.
I thank you, too, for your word about my writing.
Liz
And some would like to change the recorded. Perhaps my response would be a silence. Or perhaps a distracted positive response. Yours would be ?
We let these relationships die by their weight in our daily lives, and regretfully resurrect in our nightly revue. So sad in many ways, but a fact of life.
Yes, anonymous,
Some would like to change the recorded; some would not.
They do come up in nightly review you are right about that.
I wonder about such things and always will.
Liz
i always open those old files with trepidation - the truth may or may not set ye free. One may wonder about past influences with a jaundiced eye. Who has clear memory of 30 years ago? For some those memories diffused by lenses yellow - others clouded by cataracts and wishful thinking. We who still count the details remember all, words and phrases left unspoken and deftly waved. Selective memory is still best.
Anonymous,
What are you trying to say?
I am happy with my life and my way.
Are you trying to teach me something?
Liz
"Teach" is a very strong word. Don't think i am capable or qualified. Only pausing to think about the past and how we all have a tendency to look upon those times as better now than in present. Maybe we listened to our parents, maybe not. One always wonders when the right time comes to "make amends" and phone all of the lost ones to express our heartfelt love in an alcohol induced ( or other) state and reflect upon the response. Dangerous, no? We may not like what we hear??
I'm sorry. I don't know what you are talking about. The conversation has become too abstract for me to follow.
It's interesting, Liz, that in a piece like this one, one person will identify with the sentiment and another will read an unintended sentiment? Not a bad thing -- just evocative writing. Of course my comment refers to anonymous's abstract conversation.
It was good catching up with your posts this morning over coffee, Liz. It's been a little nutty over here so your reflections were a welcome shade of smooth.
Zilla,
it's wonderful to have you around again. Your thoughts keep my thoining grounded. I need to hear how my words fall on your ears.
Thank you for taking the time to read me with your coffee. I know your life is crazy right now.
Liz
Post a Comment