November Sky

Scene outside the window:

Sweeping winds of desolate daydreams,

Rattle knobbly branches;

Care-worn leaves limply lie.

It’s here that:

Memories of rosy summer,

Like rows of toppling toy soldiers,

Can’t stand against late-autumn’s breath.

Canvas of grey on grey:

Rolling cloud’s face revealed

Brings rain upon the windowpane,

Drops of November sky.

Memory's Forgotten Burden

The blue-grey of the overcast sky provides an appropriate backdrop for the somber ceremony. Everywhere people are flocking to the town cenotaph, bundled up in winter coats to shield against the late-autumn chill. Children are laughing and bounding through leaves as their parents hurry after them, keeping track of dropped hats and mittens while trying to prevent dog leashes from becoming tangled in the crowd, not wanting to lose sight of their children in the crush of individuals. The morning air rings with laughter, shouting and barking. It is the 11^th of November and the eleventh hour is quickly approaching.

As I’m standing still, trying to take it all in, my eyes fall upon an assembly of veterans gathering for the service. It’s a patch-work group; some are leaning on canes and walkers, others holding tightly to the arms of younger companions. Across the street from them, another group is forming. This time however, it is many rows of young men and women in uniform, and they are marching straight and tall. While to most both groups could not be more different, I am quick to note that each individual was similar in one way; they were all walking with their heads held high and determination in their gait. It was a pride of sorts for their country and as I looked on from my inconspicuous place in the crowd, I think I can feel it too.

The ceremony begins as it does every year, with speeches and readings and prayers. Everyone dutifully inclines their heads and remains still for the moment of silence, but whether this was out of respect or habit is difficult to discern. After the last wistful note of the bagpipe echoes over the river, the service proceeds with the laying of the wreaths.  By this time, restlessness in setting in and I can see people in front of me shifting their feet and looking around. Names are read aloud and as each wreath is placed around the centre monument, a cannon is fired.

At the first crack of the cannon, everyone jumps. I hear gasps, nervous laughter and hushed whispers, a child behind me utters an excited “Cool!”.  As the next name is read, I prepare myself for the next thundering boom, thinking to myself what hell it must have been for the soldiers to endure the sound everyday never mind running towards the bombardment. More names are called, more wreaths are laid and it is made evident that many around me do not share in my ponderings. In fact, some are downright disrespectful. People are chatting about the weather, the elections that had just ended in the States and the price of gas. It seems they care about everything except what is right in front of them.

Another cannon shatters the hushed murmurings and I look upward. A skein of Canada geese is flying overhead, their V formation never wavering despite the cannon’s resounding clap. I follow them with my eyes as they fly diligently on, freedom and stalwart dedication encompassed in their very presence. The ceremony begins to draw to a close and the crowd starts to disperse, hoping to make their escape before the heavy traffic develops.

My eyes turn once more to the gathering of veterans. They remain still, watching what is taking place in front of them, for all the world oblivious to the restlessness that surrounds them. To them, this day is something completely different. And though it’s beyond my ability to comprehend, I remain standing, with my feet apart and eyes ahead, trying to remember.

Courage on the Line

They marched; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

Pride in their eyes, this generation called to order.

Heads held high, readied to face the foe.

Soldiers all, standing row on row.

They fought; side by side, hand meets hand.

Hell reflected in their eyes, but the soul must withstand.

Advancing through horror, guns’ blazing, constant roar

Brothers all, fighting someone else’s war.

They died; side by side, one thought shared by all.

Eyes full of pain, the cries before the fall.

When it comes to the end, it’s not the power or the might,

But as humans all, small stars in war’s night.

Today we stand; side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

What do we see in our eyes as the years grow older?

We need to know it is not is vain that they fight.

Remembrance: our key to hope and dawn’s light.

Fragments

I think everyone has this deep-seeded fear of falling to pieces, as if by letting go we lose control of everything we have worked for. I also believe that many of the things we clench so tightly only hinder our abilities to move on in life. This terror of tumbling apart can be paralyzing at times. But what we must do is drop these pieces. For it is only through letting go of the shards of a past life that the mold into which we have tried to fit will shatter and we can be reformed. In fact, you may find that the pieces will “fall” together as if they were guided by unseen hands.

I've discovered it to be like this: If you've never experienced the process of picking up the pieces, you’ll never know the joy of being found. 

Never Alone

I think we often trap ourselves into believing that we are alone. We want to solve our problems by ourselves because we think it will make us “strong” and “independent”.  Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but it can get pretty lonely in this mindset. It’s as if we’re trying to leave our pit of despair by constructing a staircase out of wayward pebbles while waving away the rope someone is dangling in front of our faces. Needless to say, this has the potential to become a futile effort.

Look at it this way, it takes real strength to grab onto that rope and hold on for the whole climb. And true freedom comes in knowing we are never alone.

Diving Deep

Have you ever felt like you are trying to keep everyone else afloat while you yourself are drowning but nobody notices? How often are we paralyzed by the  fear of the next overwhelming wave that is coming, believing that it will be the one that finally consumes us? I know that I have found myself in this mindset at times and it shames me to admit it; for such thoughts only impede us and make things as simple as breathing an impossibility. But struggling on the surface isn't truly living.

Sometimes in order to stop drowning in life, you need to let go and dive deep within it.

Following Your Senses

What gets you further in life: common sense or a sense of adventure?

This is the type of question that sends me running around in circles within my mind. (Actually, I’m usually pacing a room muttering to myself, but that’s just weird.) Some may say that common sense only holds you back and prevents you from trying new and exciting things; that only with a sense of adventure will one stumble upon discovery. So while a sense of adventure might compel you to BASE jump off a cliff, common sense may keep your feet from going over the edge. But what discoveries lie in wait on an alternate route down? Maybe the real fear we need to overcome is that of turning back.

A sense of adventure will take you to all ends of the Earth, but common sense will keep you alive throughout the journey, and possibly even slow you down just enough to enjoy the sights along the way. So perhaps it is not one or the other: In order to live life to the fullest, maybe you need a little of both.

Learning to Sing

Sometimes I wonder why I think that waking up at 5:30 in the morning will somehow help me be more prepared for the day. As if any amount of worrying I can fit into the hour before I get up will benefit me in any way. Today, as I’m about to embark on something new, I'm asking myself similar questions. But I believe that it’s moments like these where it’s normal to stop and ask myself what I’m getting into. Or at least that’s where I found myself a few minutes ago.

“Oh my gosh, Emma. What are you doing?”

And I looked back on all the times that thought had crossed my mind. Some of those answers I’m not really proud of, other instances I wish I’d stopped a second to question further. But I’ve already lived those regrets.

So I ask myself another question. If that last part of my life, with all its mistakes, regrets, memories, and accomplishments, was finding my voice; where am I now? Where do I find myself at this start of something new, with the million little thoughts running through my mind, hands shaking, eyes looking ahead, brain always questioning, ears always listening? As I take this all in, I think I feel more than hear the answer: In this moment of doubt and worry and weakness, that’s where the next part begins. And that is where I am at this moment: quavering and uncertain, but learning to sing.

One Last Rose

“

Dreams may fade and wilt but  Hope springs eternal.                        ~ Alexander Pope

”

                                                                                               

One Last Rose

White petals,

like softly falling snow:

shroud summer's blossoming dreams.

A Stroke of Lightning

Wow. Every now and then you really need to marvel at the awe-inspiring phenomena that abound in this world. And sometimes it’s the incredible minutest of details, bringing them about, that cause me to wonder. Take lightning for example. I am sure many would agree that their power and intensity are something to be appreciated… or even feared. We find ourselves many-a-time amazed at their spectacle when, in fact, the true miracle is that they even strike at all. For, despite their high voltages, “a bolt of lightning is not nearly strong enough to overcome the insulating properties of air.”¹ Another factor needs to come into play- something that is not based on the lightning’s power alone; and for all the high-speed cameras that are continuously being improved, its cause remains elusive.  

This one missing piece: the spark that starts it all. It is an unknown beyond one’s comprehension- something we cannot see nor fully grasp. And that’s where the light shines greatest in lightning. For if these tiny, unseen details are already taken care of in this world, I wonder what changes are possible in me.

¹Johnson, George. "Chasing Lightning." National Geographic. August 2012: 106. 

The Normal Conundrum

I hate the word “normal”.  It can’t be defined and I think we just waste our time trying to reach its elusive and treacherous ideal. The desire to be ordinary is perhaps one of humanity’s greatest puzzles. And maybe “fitting” the pieces together isn’t the way to solve it.

Normal is what we think everyone else thinks is normal; there is no static definition of the word and, for that reason, it is an unattainable standard to wish to achieve. But we all strive for a sense of normalcy and, unfortunately, use it as a driving force in our lives. In our race to be like “everybody else”, we leave our true selves trampled behind us. It seems impossible to break free of this mindset because society impresses upon everyone at an early age a desire to please others at all cost. It’s as if we have been set up for failure.

In the end, we either have to assimilate and be like what we believe everyone else to be or find contentment in breaking apart and staying true to ourselves. The latter is not easy because we feel pressured by the world to merge with everyone else. However, theoretically speaking, if we truly accept ourselves for who we are, than the acceptance of everyone else shouldn’t matter at all. I don’t know of this is any more possible than reaching “normal’, but at least it’s a constructive concept for which to strive.

Building Walls

Too many people waste their time trying to be someone else. I wonder how many times we have walked into a room of pasted smiles and false laughter; where we find ourselves as mere spectres going about life, each ignorant in our own isolation. Somehow, we feel better when we are busy constructing barriers; thinking we are protecting ourselves by keeping others from catching a glimpse of the real person within. But problems arise from this self-deception.  Not expressing one’s true feelings only results in anger and resentment. Moreover, hiding our true selves is an exhausting undertaking and never really gives a sense of security.

As proven throughout history, walls are seldom able to maintain their purpose indefinitely. The Berlin Wall fell, the Great Wall of China, a symbol of power, still gave way to the Mongols and other invaders. In the same way, we build walls of false images and spend all our energy trying to sustain them. It is a fruitless effort for, in doing so, we miss out on much and forget what’s important; like loving others or having loyal friends and supportive families.

This begs the question of who are we really afraid of? For the walls will eventually fall and then with whom are we left? Surely not those we have blocked out.

These mental strongholds: We try to hide behind them but all we succeed in achieving is hiding from ourselves. For the real threat comes from within and no matter how many outer defenses we mount, they won’t shield us from the true person inside. And peace will only come through acceptance.

Saving Superman

-A short story-

My best memories of childhood always began with a hunt through the linen closet. I would be looking each time for the indispensable superhero necessities: a rag to fashion a cape- an old towel would do perfectly- and a strip of cloth for a mask. A few tucks here, a little adjusting there, a poor attempt at forming a knot and, voila, I became a caped hero, defending the world from the masked marauders of the night.

There was always that anticipation of dressing up, that delicious feeling of being someone else for a short period of time, where my reality would slip away and I could escape from the confines of my small, childhood world. In those fantasy-filled moments, I fully believed I had become one of them and that by defeating my imaginary villains, I was somehow protecting the world from the horrors that plagued it. As if by simply wearing a cape, I could take the burdens of the world upon my childish frame.

But I was young and my sheltered eyes had seen little of those horrors; my imagination unable to truly construct what held the world in bondage. My war was of a fun sort, where the good guys always won and vengeance always dealt without fail. When I look back upon that period of my existence, it is easy to laugh at the ignorance of my childhood innocence. Because to me then, the world was of a monochrome nature; where right and wrong were divided as clearly as day and night. Not at all like the hazy twilight where I find myself pondering such beliefs, now so many years in the future.

And what is it that I believe now? For the difference between adults and children is that we see the world through a different lens, so that we often reject what is right before our eyes: the pure, the innocent, all that is simple and good is lost in the shadows of cynicism. It is our inability to clearly distinguish the difference between night and day that sends us to the stumbling block of nations. Maybe if, for a moment, every leader of every country were to lower himself to the eye level of a five-year-old, the world would be a better place. But these are most likely the mad ramblings of a delusional dreamer.

So is that why today I once again yearn to see things through the over-simplified worldview of youth? It’s morning once more and I’m looking out the window. I hear laughter and soon see a boy appear from behind the house across the street. He is wearing a mask, his eyes peering out from its exaggerated features. I’m trying to discern whose face he is hiding behind, almost frantically now because I think I already know. He is running and jumping, twirling and bouncing through the sun-dappled morning. And suddenly- might it be because of the angle of the sun?- I can see it clearly. For here I am, in a cape once more, but trying to save superman.

In the Peace of Dormant Day

Sunday, July 29, 6:15 am

I thought I was going to get to see the sun rise this morning. There was a brief moment when all was calm and the sky was streaked with red. The whole world was filled with anticipation it seemed; and I was part of it.  But then the clouds came and covered the small, wavering rays of the new day. This happened slowly, the clouds creeping over the horizon so that I didn’t notice it right away. Now two birds are bickering outside. The moment of peace has passed and all is beginning to awaken with a clatter to the hectic realism of life. There’s always tomorrow I suppose. Maybe then I’ll be able to hold on to the ever-seeking sun for a moment longer.

This is what I saw. It is also how I felt.

Inner Beasts

In everyone there is a beast trying to get out.

Like poison;

Paralyzing inner spirit,

it attacks: A roaring, clawing manticore,

composed of lies and anger and pain.

I tried to tame it by myself.

But the only one I was fooling was me.