Wednesday, July 06, 2005

2:57 PM | Autobiography

For G.

Somewhere, my sundial woman and prophetess gets her heart broken. She speaks of it as a bewildering thing, because she has spoken not too long ago about "moving on," of "closing chapters," of living, finally, because she must. And yet, just like that, a glimpse of him one slow night unravels all that she is, and perhaps all that we are as well. I say "we" because hers is also our own collective autobiography. This is a story that we all know: the messy fact and quirky nuances of loving and leaving, and although the details from each of our lives may differ in hues and textures, the hearts of everyone of us remain the same muscle that know the same music. All of us know that we often seek the whole of the universe for that formula of consolation to our common pains -- and often, we do find it, or a semblance of it, in carefully cultivated changes of perceptions we foster to massage our weary souls. In the end, what we can know for sure is that no one can say anything really to a once broken heart, because the usual soft words to cushion the blows that go deep -- "This, too, shall pass," for example -- have become too trite they have long ago lost their meaning. Finally, it seems that only silence, and perhaps an offer of a hand to touch and calm her trembling, will be the only necessary vocabulary to ease pain. Soon she tells me without even saying anything that such silences may be enough. I now believe it is largely a myth to say things do pass on. Because things like pain certainly do not pass. They are not like signposts on the road that you can easily pass hurriedly by to get to that place in the distance that promises a kind of comfort. In truth, I tell her, we only just learn to live with the unexpected reservoir of pain or memory, and all that we can ever really wish each other is grace. To live out the turbulences of all our lives with grace, and to hope we can actually carry through -- that is more than we can do.

Labels: life, love

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

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