Confidence in nonsense is a requirement for the creative process

Posts tagged “solitude

Own


DSC_3814
I raced from work to catch the sunset.. even paid toll and sped through a school zone to make it to the beach on time. I was too late. Sometimes even little disappointments can be magnified.. but chose to stay anyway. I needed to clear my head.. I was standing far away from the water watching the light turn a glowy orange and yellow… the pelicans gliding over.. the water turning just a tad violent and noisy.. filling the valley behind with its rumbling..

and then a big crashing wave decided to cross its boundary and drenched my feet.. I couldn’t help but smile at the universe. Felt like it was trying to reach out. The entire week of excruciating pain melted away in that one tiny gesture ..

.. the rational side took over and it felt silly. But even the cynical me, couldn’t snatch that one peaceful moment. It was my own. To interpret however I wanted..

——————————————————————————————–

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.


I measure every grief I meet..


DSC_1328-1

I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled–
Some thousands–on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,–
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There’s grief of want, and grief of cold,–
A sort they call ‘despair,’
There’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

-Emily Dickinson