"From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me."
Walt Whitman (1819-92)
"When I look back now over my life and call to mind what I might have had simply for taking and did not take, my heart is like to break."
Akhenaton (d. c.1354 BC)
And now, the current weather, from some random person we pulled off the street:
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Pulling Aside the Velvet Curtain
peek Function: intransitive verb
Etymology: Middle English piken
Date: 14th century
1 a : to look furtively b : to peer through a crack or hole or from a place of concealment -- often used with in or out
2 : to take a brief look : GLANCE
3 : what you are doing to my life, right this moment.
Welcome, stranger.
Or perhaps friend, I can't tell from here.
When I write in here, and you read it there, does my heart speak as it wants to speak, or does the separation of space and time dull the images like so many dusty photographs of places long forgotten?
When my now becomes your now, right now, can you see into my eyes, hear in my ears, think in my mind?
I have so much to share.
I am glad you are visiting.
Here, pull up a seat. No, use that one, its the most comfortable in the room. There's coffee and cookies, can I get you some? Cream? Sugar?
I'll put some slow saxaphone jazz on, just to keep the mood private between us. Yes, that sounds nice.
I'll tell you my stories. Stories full of joy and remorse, full of struggle and opportunity, full of choices made and unmade. I've lived stories of sunshine and lightning, of desert and ocean, of valleys and mountains. And given time, I'll tell them all.
If you will but listen.
I have so much to share.
Here, look at these photos. I used to hate looking at pictures, but now that I am older I am starting to appreciate them more.
Here's my aunt from Florida, she's dead now, she told me the most amazing things.
And here is my cousin from North Carolina, he's dead too, and he fought till the last moment of his life. And here is my best friend, and I haven't seen him in years.
Life can sometimes be so disconnected, can't it? It slips through our fingers like water and it is too late to catch it when we realize it is gone. It wounds, it heals, it drives us crazy and restores our sanity. It makes us love and hate and laugh and cry and scream and stuns us into silence.
I have seen the veil the Virgin Mary wore. I have watched an ice dam break under Niagara and stood in her spray. I have wrestled with sharks. I have stood before thousands and sang to them. I have saved more than a few lives. I have flirted with death. I have left memories on three continents. I have seen Inca ruins and Druid stones and Eqyptian monoliths. I have touched demons and kissed angels.
I have so much to share.
If you will let me tell you.
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate now knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
Henri Nouwen, Out of Solitude
