Across waters silent, there, reflecting, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker.
Across waters silent, there, reflecting in a mirror smooth and silver
My spirit sits amongst marble columns and wonders
Why my soul sits on the other side,
Like a husk, like a cast off hide.
Why do we sometimes flee from ourselves,
That fleshly temple which should be hallowed,
Yet it's often encased, swallowed
By the darkest clouds?
It wonders why its home is not always filled with happy thoughts,
Bright and clear,
That its halls are often haunted by distraught.
And here,
In that innermost chamber where heart's throne resides
Many battles have been fought against raging tides,
Many won,
Plenty lost,
Sometimes at aching, tearful cost.
And at times the foe we fight the fiercest
Turns out to be our own reflection
Made manifest in waves of second thoughts.
And yet at other times it's frightening shadows that jump us,
Ensnare us from underneath the fading light of hope.
Because we do not know what the next day may bring,
Uncertainty is our compass,
Doubt often leads the way.
Yet, we know the sun will certainly rise
As surely as it set the night before.
And what really would eternal sunshine be
If not a scorching upon the earth?
A burned land in the brightest light
That has never experienced the relieve
Of cooling shadows and nurturing rains.
Do we not need then, after careful consideration,
The melancholy as much as we need the laughter, the elation?
Or the shadows in which we may rest,
Find respite from daylong toiling
Lest our soul from all it's hard work be spoiling?
To this I can attest
That despite the fact that we cannot command the sun,
Cannot call it forth nor hush it when we so desire,
Cannot force time to bend to our will, it won't be done,
We can appreciate that which is given
And prepare for that which may be taken
And that which may never be received.
And upon that conclusion my spirit began returning,
For its uncertain host it now was yearning,
Returning over waters silent, from over there,
Carried by a breath of longing air.
And as the rain drops began to fall,
Quenching the thirst of a dried up land,
Turning mirror smooth and silver
Into a canvas of painted motion and gentle sounds
My soul and spirit trembled
With a grateful melancholy shiver.
© Thorsten Becker
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> Why do we sometimes flee from ourselves…
Maybe it’s an impulse or need to be other than ourselves. Not because we hate what we are but because we want to mean more.
> Don’t we then, after careful consideration, not need the melancholy as much as we need the laughter?
Yes, the melancholy can be quite lovely albeit a little painful/uncomfortable to get through at times.
Your thoughts and this image brings such comfort. Thank you.