| View Blog
|
|
|
|
Wow the train is my new favorite thing. What a cool way of getting from place to place. I guess it helps that there are plugs for the lap top and that the sun is shinning and it is fall. And the trees are brightly coloured! Nonetheless there is something about trains that command you to return to a time when this was the only way to commute from one place to the next at a pace a bit faster than your horse and buggy at home.
At that time plugs for laptops and cell phone users weren’t so much the interruption and I’m sure many of our classic novels were written on some of the longer train rides.
As I finished up with work related things, I found myself drawn to continue writing. Not sure exactly why but there is something about this train ride that has kept me focused on the scenery outside and my hands typing away at this keyboard.
Maybe there is a calling for me to board a train somewhere and keep riding it until the last stop in hopes of draining my mind of all the things it seems to be congested with. Not sure if that would provide the grieving needed in this situation, but three paragraphs later it seems there is something to be said from my point of view.
Ayn Rand was once asked if everyone should try to write a book and her answer more or less was if you have something important to say to the world that hasn’t been said before than absolutely. I always feel I have important things to say to the world but never cohesive enough to get in all in a book. Really who wants to read 200 some odd pages of this, a never ending blog entry? I’m sure I could put some interesting stories within the chapters or provide some life lessons but at the end of the day and the end of the book it essentially will be me. And my thoughts. Left for you.
There is something however extremely profound in grief that creates this urge to dig deeper than you have ever dug. I find myself wanting to know more about my father and at the same time maybe knowing more than I really wanted. If you made sense of that sentence than you probably have faced a similar situation.
I’m finding myself struggling with the entire concept of death in of itself. My father was so alive and now he is no longer. How does that happen? Regardless of how many times I thought I was prepared, how many times I myself have lost other family members; it now at this time has become this misunderstanding between me and life.
And life, I’m so mad at it right now. It seems as though it is trying to make amends by making other things in life work out. But really life, do you think that is going to work? It is going to take a long time before I trust you again.
These are all the thoughts that have become my daily thoughts. There is a commercial on tv right now about Verizon celluar phone companies and the catch is that Verizon always provides a network of resources at your disposal. They follow you around every where becoming your entourage. These thoughts are my network. They are no longer “new” thoughts but they seem to linger. And I seem to wrestle with them at some point everyday.
However the one thing that is following me around as dark as my shadow are the tears. The tears that I refuse to let out. The tears that I continually hide and try to keep away. The tears as described to a friend that are hanging over a bucket in a doorway awaiting someone to walk in and trigger the dumping of tears all over the place. That someone walking in is me and that trigger can happen at any time. Despite my trying to avoid that door, there is always something that comes about and makes me go in. and then the flood happens.
The flood of tears is a place I hate so much. It is a place I feel weak and afraid and so very sad. It’s the place I know I’m most affected of my dads’ passing. It’s the time I knew there was love because the pain hurts so bad. That flood is one that I’m not sure 40 days with all my animals on board would bring me to dry land.
It is amazing to think that maybe one day these words on this laptop have become the beginning of a book. The beginning of something to tell the world. The beginning of my story.
|
|
Posted by thinkingurl on 2008-07-18 15:53:19 | Rating: | Views: 30
|
|
| |
|
|
Email This to a Friend 
