Monday, October 6, 2014
Word of the Week - 31
It is larger than a puddle, not as large as a lake and is thought, by consensus, to be a small body of still water. On a good day, it could be my mind.
"A capacity for stillness" was not an attribute I could have named until I came to know my son and saw in him what I might never have seen in myself. For all my twitches and human shortcomings, I have for my whole life been able to become quiet and spend time in my own company without screaming.
A pond, a pondering pool, unruffled water beside which one might sit in dreamy idleness. Spirits and faeries would gather on its banks. Their just-missed presence could be detected by the prints of their leaf-shaped slippers where the ground was moist. Fall asleep there and faerie mischief might weave vines and trumpet-shaped flowers in your hair. They might take your best silver ring, either to guarantee your return to look for it or as fair barter for the bits of magic they tuck into your pocket, pin to your lapel.
We move beyond time when near a pond. The deeper the shade, the thicker the moss, the farther we have wandered from what is ordinary, burdensome and dulling about everyday life. Unlike the hypnotic, stirring motion of the sea, a pond abides. The ocean waits, it can wait forever, yet it paces and prowls, roams and returns. A pond is undemanding, certain we will arrive exactly where we are meant to be without its prodding. A calm presence, it trusts our wisdom. What it reflects turns us back to ourselves, our secret chambers of longing, our wishes, our dreams.
"I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." - Henry David Thoreau
"However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names." - Henry David Thoreau,