Looking into the future

Last night was a fun night with my nannie. A full 7 hours with just her and me. Well and a room full of people waiting for the renouned physic "Sylvia Brown". We have been waiting for this moment for many years hoping to get picked to ask our question - we didn't. Maybe not knowing is better. If I knew that someone I loved was not going to be with me for the rest of my life I think it would alter me to much.

I can however pay her $750.00 and get 1/2 hour of her time on the phone............nahhhh. I think I will just stay where I am in my space of time for I am a collector of souls. Wandering through this wonderland is among my greatest fascinations and purest simple pleasures at the moment. Casually peeking in on the lives of strangers, seeing their innermost thoughts, gleaning those facets of their personalities they are willing to share with the world at large.

I never cease to find myself amazed at finding boundless numbers of feelings that speak to me by baring the souls of their keepers. It all breeds a certain easy familiarity, doesn't it? Sometimes, like a fly on the wall, it seems like eavesdropping on thoughts I have no right to hear. But at other times I am completely drawn in to the feeling that I'm a participant in the lives being spun.I laugh out loud. I cheer for victories, as big as beating cancer and as small as a successful day of potty training. I have been swayed to rethink myself by an eloquent, well thought out argument. I have been moved to rail in protest at rants that go against my grain. I've been touched by the grace with which people face their disappointments. I've been inspired by the will with which people overcome their fears. And I've been left awestruck by gifted, insightful souls.

But sometimes I cry. Sometimes the souls are left unguarded and defenseless, exposing the shockingly jagged shards that are the harrowing frailties of human nature. And when these moments of weakness turn into the words on a page, those sharply drawn edges, whose frightening profiles belie a stark fragility, pierce me with stunning, cunning swiftness, penetrating deeply. I recognize the painful parts of a former self.

The words remind me of familiar gaping wounds that were not so easily healed. Comments beg to pour out of me, words of encouragement or empathy. I want to envelope them in a vast cyber hug, assuring them..."you will find your way...it can get better". I want to offer stories of shared emotion, to make them understand they are not alone. But I know from experience that the only solace, the only peace, the only answers, will come from deep inside themselves. Even then, only when they are ready to find it.

If I could, I would roam the world like Johnny Appleseed, scattering the seeds of hope in every damaged, hurting soul. I would water the plantings with insight drawn from a well of strength. I would painstakingly weed out moments of bitter disappointment and overwhelming exhaustion. I would stand protective watch, guarding the seedlings from storms of despairing doubt and ferocious fear. And soon enough, the hope would begin to sprout and bloom, stretching itself to meet the light of a brand new day full of breathtaking promise.

Instead, all I have are words silent tho they may be.


"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Well done is better than well said.
~ Benjamin Franklin

It is well to remember that the entire population of the universe, with one trifling exception, is composed of others.
~ Andrew J. Holmes