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mary mary, quite contrary 6 September, 2006

Posted by silentpyjamas in blather and claptrap.
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when peace like a river attendeth my way

when sorrows like sea billows roll

whatever my lot, you have taught me to say

it is well, it is well with my soul.

i heard that song was written by a man who had lost his wife and children to some kind of tragedy.   his faith was so strong, he was able to say “it is well with my soul.”  wow.

i wish i had the words to describe how my soul feels right now.  of all the words i have been blessed to know, the gift i have for stringing them together in pretty strands of verbal pearls…for now none are adequate.  i have said many times in my life that i believe the human vocal system is inadequate to express our deepest feelings.  they only find a voice in tears and moans.  good or bad, we fail to express the depths of our ness.  there isn’t anything i could say right now to paint the portrait of me inside at this moment.

what i have, what i don’t have.  the things i want and can’t say, or don’t want and can’t say.  no time is ever the right time to be human.  no time is ever appropriate to bask in the garden of the world.  i wish my life were a desert.  nothing grows in the desert save things that will not die.  there are so very few.

the garden, one must tend and worry.  cluck and concern and try not to overwater or cut back too much.  and then for all of that there is the winter which snatches away the roses and the vines.  was verdant, now wilted and withered and naked and very possibly dead.  now i feel i am my home.  i’m in my valley and while i get every bad thing coming over the sides of the mountains, i am protected from the curious and the adventure-seekers.  mountains, walls, who can say?

i have a little flower.  i love my hardy scrub brushes and my thorny cacti but even more, i love my little flower.  without her my desert would be so bereft.  she’s only a tiny little sprout but her, i can nurture.  her i can water and love and not cut back too much.  i want her to grow wild and free and beautiful and unencumbered.  my desert is her fertile ground.  she hasn’t been burned and cut down and had her roots torn up.  she will grow and maybe when i am old, i can tend sometimes to her garden if she will still want me to.  my mom always turns to me to help her save her houseplants.  how ironic.  i can save hers and not mine.  beware the gardener that can only care for someone else’s garden.  maybe they are afraid of their own weeds or their desolation or maybe they don’t even have a garden.

i have a pocket full of seeds that i can’t bring myself to sow.  god knows winter is coming, eh.

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