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I was not planning on writing an entry tonight. Tired. Busy. Too much to do. And my writing lately has been frustrating me - yes, as you may or may not have noticed, I am a bit of perfectionist/control freak. Won't bore you with the rest of my laundry list of things to do and personal irritations. Besides that's not why I am writing this post tonight, especially since I'd planned on watching Farscape. But, while watching Joan of Arcadia (which is my comfort show and one of the few shows on TV this fall that has female characters I can identify with), I found myself haunted by an old poem. Don't bother hunting for it - you won't find it. It was a poem written to me by a male friend in college, which was in 1988. (Not a boyfriend or significant other, just a friend. Want to make that clear.)I've long since lost contact with him, but I thought I'd kept the poem. Not the first time I've been haunted by it. But tonight, the feeling was strong enough to motivate me to hunt through all my old journals, photo albums, books, etc. Couldn't locate it. The best I could do was find an old journal entry that referenced it.
Here it is: Dated Jan 3, 1996
"It snows. Finally. It reminds me of Sand Sheff's poem...
Lightly scattered flakes of white
touch the earth
Clouding sky, coloring it
a whitish pink
Silence lies beneath the flakes
dampened sound
as a blanket dampens cold
soft and gentle
lulling me to sleep
(my hastily written words not Sand's unfortunately)
Sand's poem spoke of a secret spirit lying beneath the snowfall, nose pressed against the glass, watching the flakes cavort and blend together romantically outside without being aloud to join in the dance. Feeling apart. Craving that dance. Yet not realizing that the dancers are no less lonely or alone than the secret spirit pressed against the glass watching them. And the dance itself at times is no more than a pantomime."
The few lines I remember? "Secret spirit lies beneath the snowfall..." watching it, yet cannot take part".. and "We raise our glass and drink to paradise" that lies forever beyond our reach? Nothing worse than being haunted by a poem you can't quite remember the words, just the rhythm and feeling and meaning of them. It's like having a tune stuck inside your head but the exact lyrics outside of reach.
Sand wrote the poem in response to a conversation he and I had had the night before. I was living in a theme house with several other students - all in romantic relationships, except for me, at the time. I remember conveying to him how outside of everything I felt. As if I were the kid not picked for the team. The wallflower, the one left out of the dance. Desperate to join in the play. Desperate to be a part. Years later, I find myself haunted by Sand's words, even though all I can remember of them is a few vague lines and the overall theme. (Now that I ponder it: The thing about snow is each flake is unique, they look the same from a distance maybe, but each is different. But alone they melt - together form a blanket of white. Together they live longer.)
I wonder sometimes if life is a bit like a card game, we are each given a set of cards (except we can't trade them) and each set has its strengths and weaknesses. One person may get a loving husband. Another? A fantastic relationship with their mother. A third - both, but dirt poor. And each set is unique in its own way. Each makes us strong and weak. And like card players, we each covet cards in others hands. And maybe instead of comparing cards or holding them close to our chests - I wonder if we should share them? Assuming we can. Maybe it's not important so much what cards we're dealt, but how we choose to play them or what we do with them? Whether we choose to spend our time worrying over the cards we don't have or enjoy the one's we've got or better yet, find ways to help fill the gaps in each other's sets?
Not sure. Just know that all of that is far easier to write than to practice. Lately, I find myself worrying over the cards I wasn't dealt. A child. A family of my own. Husband. Child. Simple things. With the fall holidays coming, I find myself craving them and wondering why...why am I still on the other side of the glass and do I really want these things or do I feel I *should* want them? Perhaps this in a nutshell is why I kinda hate shows like Desperate Housewives, Wife Swap? (Although I'm sure there are lots of other reasons. (sly grin) ).
*Updated to add at 12:02 am: Weirdest thing - believe it or not, I had not read my friends list at all before creating this post. Interesting coincidence regarding all the posts on poetry (even if those posts are poems, while mine is about a poem I cannot quite recall.) But also oddly comforting and cool.
Here it is: Dated Jan 3, 1996
"It snows. Finally. It reminds me of Sand Sheff's poem...
Lightly scattered flakes of white
touch the earth
Clouding sky, coloring it
a whitish pink
Silence lies beneath the flakes
dampened sound
as a blanket dampens cold
soft and gentle
lulling me to sleep
(my hastily written words not Sand's unfortunately)
Sand's poem spoke of a secret spirit lying beneath the snowfall, nose pressed against the glass, watching the flakes cavort and blend together romantically outside without being aloud to join in the dance. Feeling apart. Craving that dance. Yet not realizing that the dancers are no less lonely or alone than the secret spirit pressed against the glass watching them. And the dance itself at times is no more than a pantomime."
The few lines I remember? "Secret spirit lies beneath the snowfall..." watching it, yet cannot take part".. and "We raise our glass and drink to paradise" that lies forever beyond our reach? Nothing worse than being haunted by a poem you can't quite remember the words, just the rhythm and feeling and meaning of them. It's like having a tune stuck inside your head but the exact lyrics outside of reach.
Sand wrote the poem in response to a conversation he and I had had the night before. I was living in a theme house with several other students - all in romantic relationships, except for me, at the time. I remember conveying to him how outside of everything I felt. As if I were the kid not picked for the team. The wallflower, the one left out of the dance. Desperate to join in the play. Desperate to be a part. Years later, I find myself haunted by Sand's words, even though all I can remember of them is a few vague lines and the overall theme. (Now that I ponder it: The thing about snow is each flake is unique, they look the same from a distance maybe, but each is different. But alone they melt - together form a blanket of white. Together they live longer.)
I wonder sometimes if life is a bit like a card game, we are each given a set of cards (except we can't trade them) and each set has its strengths and weaknesses. One person may get a loving husband. Another? A fantastic relationship with their mother. A third - both, but dirt poor. And each set is unique in its own way. Each makes us strong and weak. And like card players, we each covet cards in others hands. And maybe instead of comparing cards or holding them close to our chests - I wonder if we should share them? Assuming we can. Maybe it's not important so much what cards we're dealt, but how we choose to play them or what we do with them? Whether we choose to spend our time worrying over the cards we don't have or enjoy the one's we've got or better yet, find ways to help fill the gaps in each other's sets?
Not sure. Just know that all of that is far easier to write than to practice. Lately, I find myself worrying over the cards I wasn't dealt. A child. A family of my own. Husband. Child. Simple things. With the fall holidays coming, I find myself craving them and wondering why...why am I still on the other side of the glass and do I really want these things or do I feel I *should* want them? Perhaps this in a nutshell is why I kinda hate shows like Desperate Housewives, Wife Swap? (Although I'm sure there are lots of other reasons. (sly grin) ).
*Updated to add at 12:02 am: Weirdest thing - believe it or not, I had not read my friends list at all before creating this post. Interesting coincidence regarding all the posts on poetry (even if those posts are poems, while mine is about a poem I cannot quite recall.) But also oddly comforting and cool.