Dandelions
It’s such a pretty sheath. It covers and beautifies in a graceful sweep of the wrist. Like magic. That’s what we are. Magic. But I’ve dipped a finger in vinegar and prodded a hole in the thin tissue of the sheath. As the hole gradually becomes a crack and an eventual tear, growing from gravity alone without assistance from either, the sheath falls apart almost as if it had never been there. And we’re faced with the raw, churning issues, some swept there, some dormant from the start.
I wipe my eyes with my finger, and instantly begin tearing. Is it from the acid or my simmering emotions finally boiling over?
The sting gives way to an uncontrollable shuddering, as our breaths catch in our throats. What can be done, what can be said now? The sheath has fallen away, crumpled in a heap on the floor. The questions come, and they come hard.
For the first time, I don’t have many of the answers. I have half-answers, like the sort you lamely fill in at school in a pathetic attempt to gain favour and avoid further questioning. A half-baked way of hiding your sudden ineptitude, perhaps.
I’m stunned at myself; so close to what I asked for, and yet feeling intense regret upon getting there, I frantically try to backpeddle, to stall for time so that I can think. I move forward again with the game plan, just as I psyched myself for all this while. And then, predictably, I retreat. Soon, I’m wedged deep in the icy landscape, a result of my constant flailing. I pause for a moment as the cold sets in, and even the tears fall solidly, heavily hitting my hands.
My father once said, hope for the best but plan for the worst. I’ve planned. And I’ve hoped. But you don’t want hope, you want solid promises—promises I don’t know how to guarantee in good conscience nor rational logic, not without lying, not without dragging out our hearts, raw in the snow.
As I leave, tear-stained eyes barely making out the lights on the highway from the cars passing, I think for a moment about how pretty they look against the night sky. Like dandelions, some orange, some yellow, some red. And as I bathe in their beauty, I do all I can not to close my eyes, fall back and let the car take me away.
Many of us have visited the Lake in winter. Beautiful, serene and yet cold, as if this is not the natural state of being. To look out on the Lake, one can see oneself reflected there, a mirror to a soul, equally beautiful, seemingly calm and yet still frozen in a state possibility fleeting.
To witness more of this reflection, to meet it, one has to venture outward, further onto the Lake. But to do so brings forth the reality of What lies beneath, the churing chaos of emotion so carefully hidden.
Being on the Lake, living in the frozen state, cracks will appear in where the ice is thin, due to pressure put on it. And if one falls in, it is easy to be engulfed in the cold, in the chaos, where there is no more reflection to show what one wants or hopes to see. Only the stark reality; one does not simply Walk on Water.
Visit the Lake in summer and suddenly everything is different. There is no more a sense of witnessing a frozen scene. No more a stoic reflection but a fluid, flowing sense of self, glowing from the glitering light. What once was cold and forbiding, now becomes warm and welcoming; Swim in the Water, free and liberated.
Find your Summer Vicki, walk in Winter no more…
for what it’s worth, this is a beatiful expression of pain. of course, that’s a) obvious (you’re a writer), and b) not much consolation.
for some reason, the trapeze swinger (wow - back to that, huh?) always gives me some comfort when i feel like this. or, at least it gives me a sense of shared pain, while i explore the dimensions of the tear.
p.s. i still think you should name the gecko bill.
I love you:) You know you love me back.
Will call you my tomorrow - your later today:)
i clicked on the comments to say something nice… but uhm, remembering the image you showed me last night on your mobile… i can’t anymore.
*snigger-i-am-going-to-burn-in-hell-snigger*
but seriously, i know you know my number by heart. call me anytime. *bighug*
haha somehow i’m glad i wasn’t there to see the image … ignorance tis bliss. =)
yes me too. call, anytime. i’m there.
like clockwork.
catcha ladies soon
XOXO