Sometimes it's actual nostalgia: a feeling that some ghosts from the past are still rattling chains in my head. Family times from childhood, places, songs, people. They sneak in with their compound memories, an echo of smells or photographs, of recordings or furniture. They are the husks of shed snakeskin, there and yet they exist only to show what has gone before. They are the moulds from which came the brass statuary of reality, and yet they are just plaster- broken. The shattered powdered mass cannot recreate the entirety. They are the abandoned burrows of earth-bound creatures, the shadows of objects in negative, removed from the sunlight.
Sometimes it's a feeling of nostalgia for that which may not happen, or just a daydream, slumbering in the possible or impossible future. Wistfulness is the warm outer-layer of hope, the maybe which keeps me placing one foot in front of the next.
Somewhere, between the past and the future, is where I hide- glaringly visible, and yet none of you here with me knows exactly where I've been or where I'm going. There are architects plans, the blueprints crackling in the breeze which lifts them aloft, sends them spinning crazily and unpredictably forward. The tumbleweeds left behind recede, rolling, bouncing into the ancient hills.
Sometimes it's a feeling of nostalgia for that which may not happen, or just a daydream, slumbering in the possible or impossible future. Wistfulness is the warm outer-layer of hope, the maybe which keeps me placing one foot in front of the next.
Somewhere, between the past and the future, is where I hide- glaringly visible, and yet none of you here with me knows exactly where I've been or where I'm going. There are architects plans, the blueprints crackling in the breeze which lifts them aloft, sends them spinning crazily and unpredictably forward. The tumbleweeds left behind recede, rolling, bouncing into the ancient hills.
Posts
This takes me way back to interpreting poetry at school :) But it's lunch time after a hectic morning so I can't promise my best :)
ReplyDeleteI interpret this piece on a personal level to relate to the feeling of "Although I know that it is most unlikely, (too good to be true perhaps? or because I'm not very religious?), the mere possibility of seeing those who have passed on again is a powerful factor in that which motivates and inspires me to be happy living without them, until "then".
This is so "important" to me because no-one could ever be as in tune with who I am, and how I got here (emotionally), as those who knew you as a child.
I like your writing style. It's wonderfully dainty and descriptive without being weighed down by syrupy adjectives.
Hey, @rubi, thanks so much for your comment... (you know when the comment is almost is long as the blog entry, it'll be interesting!)
ReplyDeleteI reckon all of what you said is in part true. The main gist of what I wanted to convey (to myself) was that I almost feel like I have a sense of nostalgia in advance, for things that haven't yet happened. And that all the previous experiences, sensations and memories seem to add value and expectation to the future. Thanks for your kind words about the writing :)