Someone Else's Words

Sea Longing- by Teasdale

A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,--
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,--
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.

History

History is interesting. I have found, though, that History as a subject- not so much. One time I borrowed a highly recommended book on ancient history all eagerness to refresh my stagnating mind. Not even 2 pages into the book I decided the present was a much better time to focus on. It had brought back memories of torturous minutes reading through my history book- minutes, yes, but they felt like hours, memorizing all those dates (of which I can recall only a handful), and trying to decipher one gray character from the next in a monotone text. It isn’t that dates are bad, but what about the wonder, the lessons, all the intriguing people and events that affected our way of life and thought today? History touches every other subject- it can work like a bridge between all of them: discoveries in math, the sciences, arts, politics…and yet it often gets allotted it’s own stark corner. The subject gets treated with bland detachment maybe because it is dissected from it’s relevancy. I don’t get it, and what’s more- I highly suspect it doesn’t work. I knew of an American adult whom had graduated with at least her bachelor’s who could not remember what the 4th of July was meant to celebrate. And, how many times have those visiting from other countries proven they know more about our history than we do? Okay, I could go on about this for hours and upbraid the entire education system, but I won’t. There are great books out there and there are great teacher’s, there are people who love and appreciate history…I just wish we had more of them.

I remember, I remember

I miss simplicity. I remember when my greatest worry was if I would really get a spanking for walking passed the deep ditches near our drive even though Mom couldn’t know. She did. I did. There was almost relief even in the pain because it showed that the world made sense, it did what was expected- it followed the rules. Granted, not all people had childhoods like mine, but there was a comforting predictability midst all the changes of growing up. I remember when the world was black and white, and not a myriad of grays; when saying ‘I love you’ didn’t have to be explained or doubted (and never forgotten), just accepted; when I knew my purpose: I was going to be an astronaut, a writer, a lawyer, a missionary to the deep jungles of Africa where I would be martyred at a young age (so I wouldn’t have to live beyond 45- which was old), and…okay, it changed, but in each time I knew what I was going to do or be, I knew my purpose with out doubt in that moment. Like a broken record, like a dog chasing its tail… purpose and me. Round and round we go, over and over again. Then I grew up. Grew up? I’m still doubtful about that, but…wait, see there? I’m doubtful. Aha! Anyway, being classified an adult has shown me how little I know, how little is certain, how few rules are followed, and that the universe does not make sense and can never ever remotely fit in a nutshell. In some ways it is a relief. I lived in a narrow world that was only partially real and as a result judged others by that narrow standard. But there was always hope and trust. Maybe I exchanged too much when I left childhood behind. Perhaps I was meant to hold on to those beautiful things and only set aside the naivety and pre-conceived ideas but instead I let the whole thing go. The good news: it isn’t over yet.