Dearest Reader... I had passed over this journal unsure of wanting to post it but 5 months later the images of my self bottled up in order to hang onto and protect it came up again. So I thought perhaps I give the whole picture and significance of what throwing bottles off the cliff meant. Here is part one.
...journal entry... June 16/11
It's nice to be free. To not feel the pull of reorganizing a day to suit it's call. The rain is falling heavy on the roof and the sound of it hitting the vent is such a familiar sound now... it's my for sure it's raining sound. Even in the light rain I will hear that higher pitched sound echo down the pipe. Interesting is, that this summer is a whole new season and not one to be compared with the last. I suppose we have a tendency to compare the seasons in our lives with the present ... we are so often comparing and judging it seems. But even in this exercise I can see our error... just how well are we remembering the seasons past? Do we recall days of monotony or regret? Days of selfish absorption? Do we recall even our pain with clarity? I hold onto highlights in my life good and bad but so much is gone... only recalled by a trigger. So I will live in the here and now and I will try to do it the best I can.... on purpose. Jesus I love You so much, if I dwell on it my chest aches with it. I know now this in itself is a blessing upon blessings. I love to feel, really love it... so thank You for letting that be alive.
I think we are still on the edge of that valley.
We get up and walk along the edge until we come to a rocky outcropping. For whatever reason the rocks have taken over and what vegetation hangs on, does so, only in tufts here and there. It's a warm sandstone kind of color here. I recognize what is at our feet. It's rows of colored glass. Bottles of all shapes and sizes. Right out of my poem yesterday...
"and with hushed reverence we line shelf after shelf
with colored glass bottles full of words, hopes and dreams...
strangely even here we hide some behind others. Held prisoner by fear we refuse to even see...
for what if they are doomed, not rooted in Truth...
what if they crumble when touched ...
can we bear what we'll face if we've misunderstood, if all that we're left with is dust?"
Wow, so here we are with it all at our feet. I pick up the first bottle it's a dark murky brown tall and thin yet I see in the shape of the glass how thick it's walls are. I look at You and a thought comes to me... what if some of them don't break? Never thought of that yesterday. So I draw my arm back and hurl the bottle as far as I possibly can... I watch and wait holding my breath straining to not miss a sound. Huh, nothing. I reach down and grab a pretty blue one and hand it to You while I reach for another; the green one. I start laughing in the release of this and this time when we fire the bottles out and over the drop we watch them fall and catch upon huge boulder. The glass doesn't just break, it shatters... sending out it shards of color far and wide. That sound was very satisfying... So I have a crazy amount of thoughts running through my head. I can't seem to shake that first one... what if they don't break? I didn't even hear or see what happened to that first one. And what is released when they break? If they don't break will we find them later on? Or is someone else going to? I know my thoughts run amuck.
... later...
Before I go back out to work I wanna huck some more I look at You with a huge grin and grab two more. I hand You the one that is really big with a handle on the side ... mine is another darker green one we lean back and throw... somehow Your throw has it sailing end over end through the air and our bottles actually collide in the air. The sound of the hit and the shower of glass is brilliant!
... much later....
I am back again and this time we sit down. The pretty purple bottle catches my eye so I grab it and another one close to the same size for You. I don't want to throw it this time I just want to let it go. I extend my arm and release it. The drop to the rocky slope is actually a good distance and as soon as that glass touches it ... it ceases to exist. I cannot see it's color or any recognizable pieces. It's Your turn now, You hold out the bottle and simply let go. Miraculously though when it meets with the rock it resonates out a remarkably loud sound but only bounces then slides out of sight. My eyes are wide and mouth hanging open as I turn to look at You. When our eyes meet it quickly dissolves into amazed laughter. Huh. It's got me thinking about my poem again ... the first part was this...
"It's hard to say the words that are whispered
deep in the depths of your heart
For the words that are spoken seem dangerous somehow
taking on a life and form of their own
And what if they shatter when they fall to the ground
because they weren't what we thought them to be?
So in fear, one by one we bottle them up
placing them just out of reach."
No comments:
Post a Comment