A hyacinth for her soul. . .

When I first started blogging,  8 years ago in 3 months, I was given a voice.  I had just had my 80^th birthday and hoped to crowd the ethers with a particular view.  I was told I was ‘many dimensional in kaleidoscopic perspective.’  Come again?

In the vernacular the complaint was ‘ not everybody sees what you see.’  But a grandnephew, in clarity and wisdom, with a many dimensional demeanor says, ‘everybody sees but not everyone is clearly focused.’  Thank you, Benjamin.

This attempt is to answer what I see when I sit in silence.   I endow my world, simply with what I say and see.

I am the girl in the mid east all boys’ school whose father thought she would be a smart lady and I am the monk carrying the cross on my back up the cinder street in the French Revolution.  I am also the girl sitting on her haunches with the clay pot in front of her and reaching for the Pewabic tile to the back of her.

I am also a carpenter with tools of my trade who sands and saws and bleaches the woods to a faretheewell.  I am the farmer who plows the field to feed the bodies of bloated children with grain I literally pull from the parched earth.

These things I know and endow my world and have written about them with dates from carefully kept journals.  From the farm woman looking through the window to see her love with swinging pails coming to her because he has been too long hours away.

I step over boundaries separating worlds stumbling over one another and  with worry that thoughts contaminate and are contagious.

Some are of my choosing and some choose me, penetrating my world of sight, smell and touch.  I have seen other hands over mine on the steering wheel of the vehicle I drove when conditions proved hazardous.

There are starving children sleeping too much and too ill to stay awake.  There are broken windows , broken spirits and broken bodies.  I would like blue skies and green grass and happy children.

There are sharp edged people arguing their argues, slicing hearts yet whose eyes with tears fastened on the horizon do not see the pictures they are painting and pushing into the memory vaults.

We bring to the world who we are and what we see.  All of us do with disclaimers to be sure.  And we say not mine, not mine.  But we say your name is on them.  Not me, not me.  We endow our world with who we are, what we say and do but do not see our input.

So today I photographed a hyacinth.  It has been dormant and because cleared away was debris, it breathed and blossomed.  Today I endow my weary world with a hyacinth for her soul.  Do likewise.