The Stillness
beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow
The inevitable conversation.
Except that isn’t fair, because it isn’t unavoidable. It’s only as inevitable as I wish it to be. It’s only that that I am compelled to have it, again and again. That the feeling is best approximated by a methodical extraction of my entrails—well, hey, why should I let that stop me?
I’m just being whiny now, of course. It’s simply so maddening to, again and again, have this same conversation. The faces are different, and so are the words, but the arguments are the same. There never is anything new, and though I can be inspired by what they believe, they never are inspired by what believe. At all. And the more I love them, the harder it is.
It’s a catch-22, really. If you don’t know them well, it’s easy. Hey—why not bare your soul? Their opinion means little to you, after all. On the other hand, what is there of satisfaction in sharing? They don’t care about you. They don’t even know you. But if you love them—ah, if you love them, then you ache to share the things that matter so much to you. You feel distant, frustrated, pained if you remain silent. Yet when you do…
Ouch.
It didn’t even go badly. One might even say it went well. I can’t honestly say if I feel so undone because it didn’t go quite as well as I would like to dream that it would, or if I’m simply out of my comfort zone with vulnerability. I’m reminded of a quote—I’m not sure who said it, but it goes like this:
“To be afraid of being vulnerable is to be afraid of living. To experience life to its fullest one needs to be vulnerable.”
Oh, well, good. How comforting.
Because I sure as heck feel vulnerable.
Of course, there is a bright side. The sky didn’t fall, for example. She’s obviously not going to pull away from me. No one died, even. I’m sure this is good for me. I know it’s what I need to learn to do, and it carries the promise of deeper friendship down the line, when I reap what I have sown. After all, my current friends have shown they won’t abandon me just because we don’t see eye to eye. Really, no matter which way you slice it, I am so blessed. I have so many people who love me. I have my family. I’m getting a good education. I’m in this stage of my life, and I’m happy to be here.
But someday…someday, I swear, I will find someone who hears what I believe and sees something beautiful in it. Someone who doesn’t draw back and wonder—the words swallowed by politeness and affection—if I really can know God, after all. I have only to wait, and to remember that I do deserve more, and that this is not my fault.
So I cling to the promise—and I wait.
It doesn’t quite swallow the sting.
Really just wanting to go home…
And suddenly
I become a part of your past
I’m becoming the part that don’t last
I’m losing you
…and it’s effortless
A friend of mine recently posted the quote: “Love is something you wake up every morning and decide to BE.” It may sound trite, but it hit home. Choose to dwell in love, and everything is else disarmed, because there is room for nothing else within. It is the best—the truest, the strongest—of all weapons. It’s like the analogy of lighting a candle instead of fighting the darkness. Or, as my sister once wrote, becoming the candle. A simple truth, but one so easy to forget…
Words are coming to me tonight through a cloud, so I’ll leave it at that…but I think, on the whole, that I should like to be a candle. Here’s to hoping I don’t sputter too much. ;)
Sounds exciting, and creative, if perhaps too dark…I’ll keep an eye on it, anyway!
Hi everyone, Sarah from fairytalemood here! As you may or may not know, I have a fairy tale novel coming out in April. It’s called Kill Me Softly, it’s a young adult book, and I’m finally posting the cover & description. I hope you like it!
True love’s kiss just may prove deadly….
Mirabelle’s past is shrouded in secrecy, from her parents’ tragic deaths to her guardians’ half-truths about why she can’t return to her birthplace, Beau Rivage. Desperate to see the town, Mira runs away a week before her sixteenth birthday—and discovers a world she never could have imagined.
In Beau Rivage, nothing is what it seems—the strangely pale girl with a morbid interest in apples, the obnoxious playboy who’s a beast to everyone he meets, and the chivalrous guy who has a thing for damsels in distress. Here, fairy tales come to life, curses are awakened, and ancient stories are played out again and again.
But fairy tales aren’t pretty things, and they don’t always end in happily ever after. Mira has a role to play, a fairy-tale destiny to embrace or resist. As she struggles to take control of her fate, Mira is drawn into the lives of two brothers with fairy-tale curses of their own … brothers who share a dark secret. And she’ll find that love, just like fairy tales, can have sharp edges and hidden thorns.
Release date: April 10, 2012.
Oh, dear friend, old friend, happy friend…
You ask how I am now, but what do I say?
That I’m lonely, adrift, but it’s okay—
‘cause (I think) I believe it will change some day?
You ask for my story, but what is the truth?
I should be sad to explain it to you
You’ve never made such valleys to wander through
You tell me of glittering stones, entangled hands
of the perfection of life’s direction, and
I am filled with joy; my heart expands
So, I’ll tell you the external, but not my inside
I’d not mar your joy for a towering price
Still, I wait—
and I wait—
and yet I must wait
oh, long must I wait—
for the day such happiness is mine
Oh, and by the way—I’m going to conquer my world if it kills me. I’m going to be braver, and better, and stronger, and truer. I’m going to experience new things, but I’m going to try to remember that for good and for ill, I am who I am. No matter what that means. I’m still figuring that out myself. But I intend to remember that I am worthy of love—even my own. And I don’t have to remake myself to please a single, solitary soul.
Especially him.
For all of that, I intend to find my way back to the better self I feel lurking in there somewhere. So many faults, but so much beauty, too—if I can learn to open my eyes to it before my blindness changes the reality. Enough bitterness. Enough tears. Enough sadness and grief, anger and longing for what I don’t have. It will come in its own time, and shattering myself in the present won’t do a thing to speed it along.
I’m going to speak my mind. I’m not going to let people walk all over me anymore, no matter how much I hate conflict. I’m going to try to be social even when I’m feeling shy. I’m going to try trust them enough that they have a shot at loving me; and they don’t, I will try to accept that this is their loss, not mine. I’m going to learn to forgive myself if (when) I sometimes (even often) fail at all of these. Above all, I’m going to try to face my fears. The reality is always easier than the spectre. It’s high bloody time I remembered the lesson, I think.
Oh, and 2012?
You are MINE.
And so my heart throbs wistfully
for a glimpse of radiant eternity
for the healing of ancient aches
and the courage to brace
against the new
I hope and I pray
for peace to fill my waking days
for truth to leave its impermeable stain
guide my heart from bitterness and blame
back to love
This is the journey and this is the struggle, and tomorrow the quiet battle starts anew. Joy and love and strength to you as the new dawn breaks.
(The promise beats on in our deepest heart. It will never cease.)
