“You find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside
you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people
looking at it.”
–A.A. Milne
I am that child that never grew up. By pure obstinacy and a touch of magic. I am that timeworn man who refused to shift when they called out for the changing of the tide, over and over and over. And how I rolled when the waves hit. Every time. I hold to all that is old-fashioned, and preciously unknown to the too-busy people. I am the musician that accepts—I simply cannot play. Beating and strumming with numb fingers that pulse in recognition of falling short. Name me. Heaven knows I cannot.
I am that child that never grew up. By pure obstinacy and a touch of magic. I am that timeworn man who refused to shift when they called out for the changing of the tide, over and over and over. And how I rolled when the waves hit. Every time. I hold to all that is old-fashioned, and preciously unknown to the too-busy people. I am the musician that accepts—I simply cannot play. Beating and strumming with numb fingers that pulse in recognition of falling short. Name me. Heaven knows I cannot.
Where I imagined I excelled, I was often encouraged. I have no blame to hand out here. But there are voices people speak out of without talking. And these I hear most; criticism like bolts slapped onto a peeking-open chest. Dream. Don’t.
When my body flows over my bed and the street lights keep me awake I dive headfirst into my pillow and fill up my thoughts. Such glories and sugar plums are mine in those moments. I explore highlands and truly believe: I am better than myself. But the loudest, unspeaking voice is my own when the dawn tickles me out of sleep. It heads off the attack from an army of more critiques which every day require a sort of maneuvering through. Imagine. Don’t.
Looking at a picture what do you see? Is any corner of it real to you? Do you feel in dimensions or taste when you’re supposed to smell? The crowds begin to praise a notion of simplicity but I cling to ideas of grandiose magnitudes. Condemn me. I will always want to be different than them. Most of you do.
If there are puddles, I still believe in jumping in.
When I asked the man on the bench if he was okay he talked for forty-eight minutes and I knew I could maybe only do one thing on this earth—listen. I hear a whole world of considerings. And I will hear more, more, more. May I keep my unspoken voice quiet by feeling the grace I tend to only say I should feel. May sugar plums blossom into trees that puncture the sky.
May you keep the childish parts unbroken. Reaching into the breathtaking dreams, look down from lofty heights and wave. Unbridled in smiles that say it is alright.
Hope. Do.
I hope you always dream...always listen...and never quite grow up.
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ReplyDeleteTrying to figure out how to really comment on your blog...and that requires two hurdles what to say and how to publish. Your writing is so deep and yet so connective. Thanks for expressing things that my soul has wanted to say for years and did not know how to say nor how to publish. Love the quote - is that Winnie the Pooh? or the Donkey?
DeleteThank you, daddy! :) I aspire to be like you and mom in most everything. And that was Winnie the Pooh. Wisest little bear without a brain that I know. ;)
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