Friday, November 10, 2006

Calling Scatterlings

Finding an old friend again after time has gone by, can be joyous, resetting the world in a softer fashion. The relief of a welcome embrace can erase almost any self-doubting question. Yet I hear, I feel, the slight fear, the small hesitation. Am I really here? Is it really you? Will you be glad that you came? Will you recognize me?

Seeing a friend again is like a first date with someone I’ve admired from far away, wishing to share a meal or a drink and conversation. I've already wondered what we would talk about if that ever happened. When I meet a dear friend again, the joy is fragile with echoes of talk of what we haven't been sharing.

Passing time has a way of making a silence, a void, an open space unexplained, eventsunshared; ideas spent elsewhere; people met; faces, smiles, and history without the words included. Does that mean something -- a change; or nothing -- the same? Finally knowing that truth will be an easy thing. Finding out is a monster of imagination.

How do we locate the bridge to the old conversation? I worry that you're afraid I will be wanting, needing, wishing for things gone by, things no longer, a "we" that used to exist. How do we get to new things based on the beauty of old history?

Surely the bond of connection, the stories of scatterlings that made the bell sing, the music that made it okay to share secrets is still forged and truly there. Every link held out danger in the night when needed to meet, holding tears and thoughts safe in the cabin up the path under the trees. Together was powerfully moving, life changing, remarkable, unforgettable, and unique. How do we move forward? How do we find the new road? How do I tell you I see the same things you see?

Here I am again needing to be brave and vulnerable. Yet it's a new version of me meeting a new version of you.

I hear the bell at the cabin ringing, singing. Calling to scatterlings, recalling memories.

Finding an old friend is worth every scary second of saying hello again.
−me strauss Letting me be


Anonymous said...

How do we get to new things based on the beauty of old history?

Ahhh. That is the beauty and the mystery of dear, old friends.

The solid foundation of the past creates trust and care and bonds that almost magically shift from then to now, from me to you, from you to us. Then the cabin door opens wide and you step inside together, ready to make new memories.

"ME" Liz Strauss said...

You are a wise woman. Thank you for that comment.

DTclarinet said...

Hey Liz- I feel the same way, though I have less to say than I used to. Know I am here, and also there, the same but different.

I think as we grow we become more distinct in ourselves yet less different than others; more vulnerable and more corageous, as you put it.

Perhaps friendship is the same. It can become like a tree in the garden. As it grows, it becomes more reliable. You know its beauty when you look at it, but you also know you can rely on it to be there, so you don't have to admire or notice it all the time.

"ME" Liz Strauss said...

Ah David,
What a lovely history we have. You are truly a gift, a flowering tree that needs no wind chimes, because your leaves sing their own song.

I'm grateful to know you.

Trée said...

Liz, I think we are all rivers and as the old saying goes, you never step into the same river twice--or something like that. That's why I always carry a raft with me. If I don't like the river, I just float away. :-D

"ME" Liz Strauss said...

You are a philosopher as well as a friend. I wonder sometimes what's the wisdom in those cookies you're eating. Maybe I should carry a raft with me too, but I hate carrying anything I don't absolutely have to. :)

Tell No One said...

I would post a comment, but I can't. I'm much to absorbed in the wonderful comments that followed a wonderful post :)


"ME" Liz Strauss said...

You might be interested in this:
Scatterlings and Seers