Thursday, January 12, 2012

Traveling Woman

I am a time traveling woman. Tiptoeing through the distant echoes of paper thin memories, gently peeling back the folds of moments lost in the fabric of the past. Leafing through stacks of famous faces, I marvel at their sagacious ways; the winding roads they paved for those endeavoring to meander along in their footsteps. I hear the far off murmurings of their sorrow – a melancholy refrain of those whose mark is slowly fading. I am caught in the in-between. The in-between. The in-between. The in-between! As my eyes view, from youth’s shadowy corners, the harmony of disarray that is this modern century, I wonder why those around me have yet to question society’s motives.

For the citizens of days gone by are weeping, mournful is their tune. In yesteryear they fought with everything they had – with passion and fearless abandon – for the chance to have just one glimpse of freedom. And when she graced them with her presence, they held on tight. As hope overflowed within them, they waltzed with liberty, her slender fingers leading them closer to that shyest of creatures called peace, and she sent them spinning into the soft embrace of reconciliation. They finally tasted the pure perfection of victory – having summoned the courage to cast their stones – and as those stones soared towards promising horizons, they knew what it was to be free of great burdens. It is the pianissimo calling of their troubled voices that I hear as I lie beneath the nighttime sky. I am a time traveling woman, but in this present hour, I am caught – caught in the in-between. Standing on this deserted country road, surrounded by the murmuring grasses and the restless trees, I am waiting. I am searching for light in this darkness because I have seen the ache of the human soul and my heart breaks to know that history is repeating itself. I have traversed the course of errors and pain that defines the human race, and I’m at a loss for words as the same errors are made once more, the same pain, knocking at the innocent’s door. In the overwhelming heat of mature summer’s burn, I know those citizens of yesterday are turning in their graves, crying out in forte swells, imploring us not to venture down
overgrown paths.

In the stillness of the night, I sit, covered by the brightness of the moon, blanketed by the rain, and I inquire of the Creator just how best to right these wrongs…

The stars foretell of a generation ready for change, He says. They will rise up, from the meadows and the hills they will run, and they will come on a wave of freshest air. The wind will spur them on, scattering the sands of time along fields ripe with anticipation - I feel a revival on the edge of dawn. I am a time traveling woman, weaving together old and new, a tapestry of brightest color and desire. I feel a revival on the edge of dawn…