Waxing Poetically

the rain is refreshingly somber. it brings a quite meditative part of me that i'm so familiar with, that i've lost from time to time. part of me wants to just listen to the rain and the wind. meditate. drift. dream.

but i have to be a student now, the quite meditative girl that i went back to over break has got to release her hold on me. i love that part of me, that part who is never bored. who can sit alone , reading a book and be content with the world as it is. yet she is so timid, afraid of saying the wrong thing, of not giving an honest presentation of what she wants to say. this girl wants to believes in love and truth. who wants to speak with real words. words that touch the heart before being flitered by the mind. this girl is so fragile. she takes life so seriously, that the smallest things hurt and fade into mortal wounds. for so long this girl was all that i knew. i stayed with her because it made it easier, it didn't matter about being strange, or dealing with the rest of the world. she had family, she had dreams, and yes a few friends. that was all she needed in the world. i fear losing her, the woman that i'm becoming is much stronger, yes. but she is so hard. she can live with lies and suffering. i fear this woman will become, her shape and form are so unclear. a figure in the mist, that i slowly form to.

[the section above was originally written on 1/29/2003]


i find myself in a contemplative mood. where all my thoughts run smoothly like autumn waterfalls across the stone slopes. there is no real direction to them, no real force to move them. they simple just glide across my consciousness. one moment i thinking about school work, about how tracing the concept of religion gives me glimpses into the personal cosmology of some of the greatest philosophers, hegel, schleiermacher, spinoza, kant...old dead men who contemplated their worlds around wrote down their conclusions..

isn't that what i'm doing? sometime i feel that the reason i don't write my stories down is because the time simple is not right. this is a training time, a step i must go through. this bothers me in moments of quite, why my words, my visions, my ideas remain hidden. if feel like sometimes i hold back, like i'm waiting for the moment where poetry will flow across my lips, when the water shall surge and i shall be the writer, the artist, the poet i feel inside me.

or are this just visions of grandeur.. is my life going to be just simple, plan. never bringing any real beauty to the world. for that what i really want, i want to bring beauty. no, not bring, for there is some much beauty already. how i can i really add to it. i want to bring the experience of beauty, the moment of awe, of splendor at a sight that pauses thought and invokes feeling.

what shall become of the artist? what words shall the poet sing? what thoughts shall the writer invoke? what shall become of reanne when her time is done, what mark shall she leave on this world?