Second Day: The Hard Way
byon 07-16-2010 at 09:45 AM (1735 Views)
Here we are at the precipice of another day.
It was cloudy here. The wind woke me early. It slammed my bedroom door shut with such force. I greeted the brand new day by jumping out of bed screaming.
The slammed door is the metaphor.
In fifty years you gather knowledge. If you listen and watch long enough, if you participate in the truest circle of very deep human relationships, give birth, live and love, you do begin to learn things.
How often do we say things we regret? Why do we say them? Is it to hurt, is there a need for such incessantly painful truth? Only a passing comment made in an utterly banal conversation could otherwise proffer no other significance than to cause the person listening to shudder for a lifetime at one meaningless remark.
What about the recipient of those words? What are they thinking or feeling? Do you know they can live a lifetime in one minute , that you will never ever know about? Why the self importance of littering those moments with detritus from your own psyche, causing pain that for no other reason than to leave a thoughtless, ugly and very permanent stain.
There are words we utter that we wish we could retract until the day we die. The universe seems to have a natural order of taking care of those words. Those words can be remarkable agents of change. Good or bad, once they are uttered, change, you can be sure, will begin.
Many years ago, an astrologer who did a reading for me, spoke to me about love. In a few moments, I learned one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned. "Be careful what you you write across the pages of the book of another person's soul".
If you choose to love, and you do so with care, you must show more care to make sure that you never utter words that will be written on someone's soul so carelessly and cruelly they alter t time and space, time for living.
Walk away first. Utter those words only to yourself, they are after all your words. Write them in your own book, perhaps with an asterisk to a note at the bottom of the page that explains them in more detail, or a reminder that later on, you may not even mean what you said. Be ever sure to take care and never write them in a book other than yours. Even time, the great healer of all things, will never erase the irrevocable weight those words carry.
Recently I had cause to have someone write words in the book of my life. They are a big, bloody, black scrawl of pain and horror. I could rip the page out, crumple it up, and burn it, stick it in a bottle and send it across an ocean, but those words will never be erased from my book. The ripped page, the message in the bottle, they don't just disappear simply from the physical act of trying to remove them. They go back into the universe, like a shot of energy, and are repeated, over and over again. They never pale into insignificance, they become architects of change. There is no eraser, no paint or solution that will ever wipe them away. They are my forever. They hurt.
They will be shared amongst close friends wanting to help. They will be passed around, and discussed, and keep moving with a momentum all their own. One day, some day, those words will arrive at their author's doorstep. In the ignorance and grace of life and death, they will remember their casual. cruel comment. In that moment they will wrestle with the awful and infinite knowledge of the damage inflicted. Words never rest.
The slammed door startled me from the reverie of my early morning sleep. It shook me from the safe place, and threw me into the day. Those words echo in my head. I cannot forget.
It was quiet and still this morning. The humidity was very high. I prayed for rain. Perhaps a soft, gentle and warm summer rain to wash away the dirt of life. A rain will give relief to the hot and dry soil where my roots are trying to stretch and grow. There in the dark moist earth, I can cocoon, in the cool dampness, I remember, and I learn.