the horizon

“just keep your eyes on her horizon” - Tori Amos

“maybe I’m just the horizon you run to when she has left” - Tori Amos

The horizon: It’s the line where the sky and the earth appear to meet. And for some reason it has always fascinated me. For pilots and sailors the horizon is a guide, for astronomers the horizon is the zero point, for artists the horizon is a perspective reference. But for me, the horizon is a source of wonder.

I think my fascination with the horizon comes from many days spent at the beach. Walking along the sand and looking out at the ocean it’s impossible *not* to see the horizon .. where the water and the sky meet seamlessly in a line that seems to go on forever.

It’s where the sun rises each morning and where the sun slips into darkness each evening. It’s the separation of earth and not earth, sky and not sky. It’s something that we all accept as a truth, as a constant, perhaps even as a reminder that we are a part of something much larger than we will ever understand.

One particular day I noticed that there is a magic time when the colour of the sky exactly matches the colour of the sea and in that instant, the horizon vanishes .. absorbed into the blue. It’s a strange and disorienting sight. But just a quickly as it vanishes, the horizon returns as the blue of the sky changes ever so slightly.

I think we all have a horizon in our lives. Something constant and orienting .. a compass of sorts, a true north. I’ve come to the realization that too often in my life I have looked outward for my horizon, to someone, and then when that someone leaves, I am left disoriented and struggling to find my own way. Perhaps it’s better to find the horizon within myself, and then when someone else joins me sharing the same true north, we can travel together, to where the sky meets the sea and beyond..

secrets

“It is such a secret place, the land of tears.” Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I think everyone who knows me will agree that I am a very reserved person. If you disagree than you either don’t know me at all, or you know me much too well. I happen to be someone who believes that words are powerful. I don’t feel comfortable slinging them around casually because I’ve come to understand that the echos can go on forever. In an instant I can recall the most hurtful thing that was ever said to me — the tone, the inflection, the words — they are all etched permanently in my mind. Once said, something can never be unsaid.

That is why I have so many secrets.

I don’t think that I’m the only one. It’s not that I’m purposefully hiding things, it’s just that there are moments in my life that I choose not to share. I choose not to put them into words — some because they are too painful, others because they are too beautiful and then there are a few that are just too sacred. It’s almost as if assigning words to them would place an artificial limit on the experience itself. The power of some moments is found in the spaces between words, in the things left unsaid, in the telling silences.

*12.15* is one of the days that I cannot put into words. It also happens to be one of the true defining moments of my life. The only person who knows of this day is the person who lived it with me. The real beauty of the experience is that it exists only for two people. It is a ’shared’ secret that remains so through an absolute, unspoken trust. That day transformed, empowered and enlightened me. That day was a turning point in my life.

And just like that, I’ve already said too much.

The words get in the way of the message, which is this: your life can change in a moment. It isn’t important that you know what happened that December, only that I heard what I needed to hear — and the message did not come in words.

Sometimes you have to close your eyes to truly see.

*This* is my deepest secret.

such stuff as dreams are made

“We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep…”

–William Shakespeare, The Tempest (IV, i, 156-157)

i am one of the lucky ones. sleep comes easily to me and it always has. when i hear stories from people who have insomnia, i cannot understand what it must be like to have problems falling asleep. for me it is as natural as breathing.

sleep is my daily comfort. it is safe and warm and rejuvinating. it is my escape and my return. it is the period at the end of my day.

i used to keep a dream journal. it stayed on my night stand and each morning, as soon as i opened my eyes, i would record what i remembered from my dreams. every so often, i look through that journal and when i read about the dreams, they come alive again in my mind. most are just non-sensical combinations of random people, places and events. but there are a few that seem to be something more. sometimes i wish i had not stopped recording my dreams. sometimes i think i should start my journal again. sometimes i think that dreams might actually reveal something significant that lies just below the threshold of consciousness. sometimes i think i think too much.

sitting here this morning, i cannot recall the last dream i had. it seems that if i don’t capture them with words, they evaporate into the morning light and are lost forever along with whatever truth they were trying to communicate.