Monday, May 13, 2013

I said, remember this feeling


"The greatest gift we can give God is to live joyfully because of his love"
--Julian of Norwich

My mother has a gift for prophecy.
And so I've learned (the hard way. Two titanium wills co-habitating under one roof for eighteen years is an adventure, as you may imagine.) to listen to the woman who indubitably ends up always being right.
Another person who will sometimes grab my attention is the old me.
Younger me, I mean.
Not that we are all prophets or seers.
In fact, I don't even know if I could even say my mother is, in the strict sense of the word.
But, if, like my mother, we simply pay attention to the world, and listen to what we're trying to be told, sometimes we find that we're more right than we'd ever dare to believe.
We just have to listen.

 The world's most beautiful trick is that it is always telling the same story, eternally made new.
And so, I think that it's only fitting to give voice to the sonnet that little Miss Sophomore Renée spilled tears, blood, and ink over the course of a year to create.
"We have a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend it, than any other person can be," says Jane Austen.
We are all fools, but wise fools nonetheless.

The whirling circle of the sacred year,
Returns me to the place where we began;
Our dim and faded laughs ring in my ear,
Road markers on a path I did not plan.
Sweet shades and shadows linger in each nook,
And corner crannies house once luminous laughs
That pierced through gloom, that forged with just one look
Indelible joy. A record of us:
Two day-journers, for but a moment met,
Whose lights entwined, and brightened dim twilight—
But split and faded with sunset’s onset,
Their separate paths snaked silver into night.
      Our lights within expunged, effaced—but then
     In darkness we have found our home again.

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