Sunday, January 6, 2013

dare to dance the tide

"I’ve been looking out of the window for eighteen years, dreaming about what I might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?"
--Tangled

Some things, my sister told me, are terrifying in a good way. Things that we care about so deeply scare us. Because they take a bit of ourselves with them, they get all wrapped up in the hodge-podge portrait of who we are and who we're becoming. Our dreams, our hopes are such tender, vulnerable parts of ourselves, because they are more indicative of who we are at that deep, secret core of ourselves, than our exterior self. They are where our inner core meets the outer world.

Embarking on an adventure is a daunting prospect.
As I sat on the sofa filled with pillows and blankets and just two girls drinking tea, I couldn't forget how terrifying transitions are. Key changes are all well and good, but once the key has been changed, the music will never sound quite the same again. And that's quite an awful, daunting prospect to be on the verge of arriving at: permanent chance is, well, permanent. And that's a strange sort of beauty. And by strange I mean terrifying. (Have I mentioned that change is terrifying?)

“People forgot; it was in the nature of people to forget, to blur boundaries, 
to retell stories to come out the way they wanted them to come out, to remember things as how they ought to be instead of how they were.” 
 ― Robin McKinley, Spindle's End

That's the tricky thing about stories: they're very easy to forget or get wrong.
But they ground us.
Who we were grounds us in the present, and gives us the strength to propel us into the future.
We can only remember who we were by telling our stories.
As we sat, sharing hopes, fears, small joys, little, aching sadnesses, loves sought, and dreams achieved and still un-won, I forgot about the leap into the future that's on the horizon.

As I listened to the words of my story form on, then roll off my tongue, I forgot that I was afraid of transition.
I only could remember the delicate rush of excitement at finding yourself on the shores of a new world, which continually calls for you to follow.

A new world which awaits my reply.
No words can serve that purpose.
Just a hand, confidently placed in another hand, treading forth into the unknown.

That shall be to you better than a light//and safer than the known way
--M.L. Haskins

1 comment:

  1. "And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. But many of the priests and Levites and heads of fathers' houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted aloud for joy; so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people's weeping," Ezra 3:11-13

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