The skies can’t keep their secret!
They tell it to the hills—
The hills just tell the orchards—
And they the daffodils!
A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bribe the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?
I think I won’t, however,
It’s finer not to know;
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?
So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, if I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do,
In your new-fashioned world!
Emily Dickinson
It comes as no surprise that, along with the shades of the moon, we wax and wane. We find ourselves, at times, eclipsed by the quiescent embrace of the forces that pull us in different directions. We are shaped by the fullness and the newness of the moon. We shine with reflected glory. Yet we are sometimes left alone to be on our own.
It comes as no surprise that we resonate with the stars, that in the distant, cold nights, we seek out these points of brilliance. We seek them out as strangers lost in a dark tunnel searching for the light, for deep within our primeval selves lay the mystery of who and where we came from. Here, caught between the dark and the light, under the ancient trees, as the ageless ocean languidly undulates, we hear it whisper a mystery. And it is this: we awaken in the midst of wonder, and we are awashed in the magical stardust of eternity
It comes as no surprise that we gaze with fixed intensity at the vast emptiness of space, and all the secrets it hold. For in that vastness that fascinates and terrifies us, we come alive. It fascinates us for it drives us to connect, to be a part of something significant, to somehow be known we exist, that we are here. Yet it terrifies us, for this vastness that exist between us, we know that this space between ourselves – be it a mere breadth of a hand, a mere whisper that separates us, it might as well be the universe that divide us – for it is a gulf never to be bridged, a chasm never to be crossed.
Comments