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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/744471-An-Uncharactersitic-Moment
by Marie
Rated: E · Article · Writing.Com · #744471
A tribute to those special souls who have touched my heart.
Those of you who know me know I'm not dependent on anyone or anything. I personify the independent, capable, modern woman of the 21st century. I am a loner. I thrive off of tenuous situations and single-handedly heading off disaster often caused by myself. I live to see people squirm in deference to my crass nature and open and tactlessly bold airs. As a rule, I could care less about the feelings or reactions of those around me in response to the things I say and do.

Every once in a while, though, someone puts you in your place. Every so often you have cause to sit down and learn the manners force fed to you by the morals and principles of society and the many cultures therein. And every blue moon you enjoy the regimentation and dictation to which you allow yourself to be molded.

I know this sounds drastic, but more often than not these bouts of caustic impressionism are far less extreme than it seems. Usually it is only one person or one day or one set of activities that imbed themself in your mind to be pulled to the forefront at a later date as a means of balance and patience. Being far less open to the views and individualisms of those around me on a day to day basis, I am much more inclined to be moved by these same points when exposed.

And whether I admit it or not, I have chanced to be exposed more times than one would think - with far more appealing results than I'd like to dwell upon. But what does this have to with anything besides rambling on about myself? Well, like all good pieces, one must take a prompt and relate it to their emotions to share with the reader [whether these emotions be real or induced]. One must find a clever way of introducing the topic in such a way that the reader can make a connection with the direction in which the author has come from. And then at long last, the author must do something witty with their piece [whether subtly or directly] in which to impose the reading into the individual's mind for some time for to be considered worth the labor.


As I am not incredibly witty or clever, I will continue with the hopes you will realize the strained attempts as what they are - overtures of my increasing fondness for that which I speak. And what is it that I am so fond of? Intervention, my dear. Sweet, innocent, unrealised intervention.

And who in their right mind would think to become meddlesome? That's the glory of it all. It's unrealised - by both parties. Of course looking back you see it for what it is, but hindsight has always been 20/20.

For example: People stepping beyond the boundaries of anonymity to include you in their in-your-face yet sweetly subtle opinions, lives, reviews, crtitiques, flaws, strengths, support, agitations, love and hate. ultimately assuming that either you wanted to be included or it would be far better for your health if you were. They never expect the same of you, which of course makes their actions seem all the more noble and humanly perfect, which in turn has you finding yourself following suit in the uncharacteristic display - never one to be upstaged in a moment of mesmorizing vulnerability.

These same people have been known to lift you up in moments of fear, despair, and self-doubt so that you feel as though you sit among the clouds surrounded by angels of peace, angels without a face who know you intimately in your lack of description that thusly spotlights the soul within. How utterly amazing to unknowingly entrust something as fragile and potent as your soul with nameless beauties and find it still intact and often more sacred upon its return.

These people have intervened in my life when most unexpected and unwanted. I suppose they get the merit of true friends [though don't say a word as a loner has few friends]. There is nothing they shy away from - nothing they won't throw themselves into when it comes to my life. They are usually knee deep in the muck of my goals, ambitions, failures, loves, fears, fights, weaknesses, strengths, anger, reclusiveness, bitterness, cycnicsm, naivety, innocence, etc. The list could go on for miles.

Sounds like a bunch of meddlesome gossipmongers huh? Friends are never really far from that label. The only difference being whether what they say and do causes harm or good.
But I digress.

Because I find myself clinging to the moments when my nature is thrown aside and I imitate the love of those who stretch my limits, I have written this piece. It is a tribute. It is a love letter. It is an invitation.

You all know who you are. You all find yourselves in the same predicament as myself from time to time. We all made the mistake of assuming that the internet would allow for meaningless frolics through landscapes we created with people we could dispense of. We all realised our mistake, if not sooner, then no later then becoming a part of this website.

We opened ourselves up in our works only to be brought out by those who read them - thus beginning one of the more intimate relationships of our lives. Any friendship based off of the core of a being - and nothing less - can only be defined as the most intimate of affairs. Somewhere along the way we lost our annonymity and gained an aura. Our aura. The very core referred to by many different names. In the presence of cyberspace this is all that we have. In the land of written words and codes this is all we can use - our words. And in a world where words prevail we find ourselves most exposed, each of us who call ourself a writer finds that our tool is our own demise.

But this particular downfall is not my undoing. It strengthens me in a way I would never admit. A way you would never guess. My loner instincts and cautionary tactics are thrown to the wind when surrounded by internet cohorts and my true colors blossom in a way they never could.

I was lucky enough to attend an affair where I met some of the faces behind the names and it was an amazing event if for one reason alone. The auras were all we saw - not the faces, not the statistics, not the barriers or labels of everyday, common life. We were so use to interacting in such a way with each other that no less would do. And when I glanced around the ballroom, I saw a hundred shining souls suspended in the graces of each person's heart. And I thought to myself ...


Utopia at last.


So this, my dear annonymously vulnerable friends, is my tribute to you. That I may clearly express how I see these things. That I may show my true affections. That I may dwell in yet another uncharacteristic moment surrounded by surprising seraphims knowing you would never let me fall. You are my grace as I am yours.

© Copyright 2003 Marie (tessababie at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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