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Rated: E | Prose | Personal | #1795977
I wrote this so you might understand Meandering.
Dear You,

I wrote this just for you. Perhaps you are one of the few who will understand the word Meandering.

I have spent most of the last month wandering in circles through the wreckage of my life.  I am frantically trying to scrape all the fragments together into a pattern that I can live with.  I am 70, next birthday, one would think that in that amount of time, a motivated person, could, if he worked at it, at least get the pieces together in a pile. But truthfully I cannot say that any order exists at all, in the scattered mosaic that is my life.  With no order, the pieces can’t form a picture at all, however abstract.  Random abstraction, perhaps  such a thing exists.  If so, I think that would begin to describe the picture of my life. 

There are outstanding good things that sparkle like gemstones. And pebbles so dark that they yawn like gates to infinity; Black holes that draw in passersby and elicit remarks like, “Something about this picture, captivates me. It strikes a resonant chord in the chorus of my soul.”

I still paint, but now it is with words, that draw a picture on the slate of the mind of anyone who reads them.  I know that the pictures seen in each mind are slightly different, than its nearest neighbor. I hope I can make you understand the picture that is my life.  Each thing I write is but a momentary glimpse of what I see through the windows of my soul.

Words definitely mean different things to different people.  Words like Love and God are abstract constructs which have much different definitions in each of our lives. 

How then can we, mere humans, hope to communicate with the God of knowledge, In a way that will give us a lasting understanding of words like happy?  There are only fleeting moments after all.  Milli-second flashes, however bright, do not satisy a soul crying out for sustenance from the light. 

They only allow us the opportunity of knowing what might have been.  Problem is we keep finding out that there is no way of preserving anything in a steady state.  Like drying herbs, that lose much of their essence; thus, we never are allowed to experience their aromatic flavor for more than a few wonderful minutes.  It is an eccentric twist to the mathematics of life that everything must keep moving or it falls apart into subatomic particles glittering in the void.

I keep searching, for another flash, but since I am old, I do not have opportunity to enjoy a flash the same way I did long ago. Now I have people that I owe, people to whom I have made commitments. And time takes its toll.We all wear the marks of our moments of quiet desperation.  Each of us has experienced them in one form or another.  They provide the filter through which we all experience our lives.  Thus with each past as similar and different as it is possible to be; no one is really able to understand anything outside their own sphere of awareness.

So I make this attempt to let you understand by allowing our spheres to overlap for a moment in time.  It is a force electric, which snaps, and crackles, glows brightly, and then disappears leaving the scent of ozone in the air, and a resonant chord singing in the depths of our souls.  It takes awhile to catch one’s breath.

Some do not hear the ringing of the spheres, they are as deaf people, and unable to comprehend resonance, or understand what touching each other’s lives can mean in terms of strength. They are ignorant of all that is to be gained by all. What a moment in time, when molecules vibrate in synchronicity!  It is the spice of our lives.  I pity those that cannot understand.

Is a moment, the limit to which we can experience it?  Does it fall to rest haphazardly, into its place in the mosaic of our lives?  Are there some who will never be able to even experience one tiny moment, with their ability to enjoy, as shrunken as a sun dried prune?

If  anyone can give me their answer, I know it will differ from all others,  as part of life seems to be building our own answers from the fragments of our lives.

I am yours,
Respectfully,

D Moarzjasac

742 words
© Copyright 2011 Moarzjasac (UN: drstatic at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Moarzjasac has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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