Friday, March 17, 2006
I have been working on some short stories…semi autobiographical and wrote this as an “introduction”…it’s a bit rough yet and will change no doubt and edit…
People say that, "Time Heals All". I don't believe this. Time
doesn't do anything at all, we do. The passing of time may knock
all the raw edges off, that's all. We are like planetary bodies
passing through a vast asteroid belt.
The new planetoid approaching this belt is smooth and spherical.
It sails serenely through the blackness. It dreams a thoughtless
dream as it rolls along in its absolute innocence and total
ignorance. Seeming perfect. As it approaches the asteroid belt,
it wakes up slowly to the dangers. In its mind it calls to its
parent Sun for help, but in its young gameness it has already
wandered too far away, for the parental gravity to call it back.
The little sparsely scattered rocks of the asteroid begin to chip
away at its pure surface. Its surface becomes pock-marked, and
its regular rolling, less regular.
Well into the asteroid belt, the larger rocks begin to explode
onto its surface, and cracks form. From some of the cracks light
emerges. From others, crawl all manner of darkness. The balance
is being struck. Its atmosphere is filled with the dust of its
sorrow, and it begins to lurch and roll dangerously, trying to
consciously steer a course towards a space between the rocks. The
old and battered planet carries its baggage like a 'Bag Lady'
ploughing her way up a crowded city street, head down and
avoiding all eyes.
As the planet wobbles its way through the enormous belt, the
asteroids become fewer and smaller. It hardly notices the
millions of little collisions that occur through the millennia of
its travels. The knocks become less hurtful and the planet begins
to forget the suffering and begins to dream again, this time
without innocence and without ignorance. It laughs and rumbles
with mirth at many centuries of life in the belt.
Now the vastness of space can be seen again, becoming rich with
mystery. Peace and wisdom grow in the planet and it begins to
roll evenly again, but now with a difference. Now it is the most
beautiful planet imaginable. It carries a halo of
light-reflecting particles, tossed up around it by all the
impacts. Those last small rocks which besieged the planet,
sculptured it and it is now spherical again, after all this time.
It gives out its own light now, and appears like an angel in the
dreams of young planetoids waiting to be born.
Life is like this, I believe. Some people never pass through he
asteroid belt. It seems to others that they are the lucky ones
but I'm not so sure in the long run, although it must be nice to
reach the end of life without losing innocence. Some people see
the asteroid belt coming and make adjustments to avoid it,
weaving and dodging, only to be fall into an unseen black hole
and get sucked into a long string of nothingness. Others refuse
to begin rolling and remain innocent and ignorant, impersonating
perfection. Whether it takes all sorts to make a world or not,
the majority of us end up in the asteroid belt, being sculptured
by our sorrows and joys, savouring empty spaces we call peace.
I'm right in the middle of the asteroid belt now, and I pray that
none of the rocks that smash into me will be too big to handle.
The title of my story " Roaring With Delight", describes how I
feel inside much of the time. Life is really funny, along with
all the unbelievable sorrow and suffering, the world is a very
funny place. Often I am aware of the 'roaring' feel of life. Its
like being on a huge water slide unable to control your descent,
but most of all I feel like that planet, plunging through aeons
of collisions in the crowded spaces in the asteroid belt, having
breathers in the stillness of the spaces in between.
At fifty two and at this moment today, I feel good about the
life I am about to describe. I would like to make it right
through the asteroid belt, so I too can roll smoothly, trailing
my halo. Ha! I also hope that this emergence from the turbulence
doesn't happen for at least another forty years. I am much too
rough headed yet to roll smoothly, and I quite like it here
amongst the other rough headed ones. I keep telling God this and
hope it carries weight.
There is a big drawback in writing your own story, when most
people you know are still alive, and may choose to be hurt. I
would most certainly be hurt myself if I were to be presenting a
totally graphic account. The best bits often have to be left out.
The things you got away with unscathed, have to be put on hold,
to protect the guilty, and some of us could be pretty guilty of
minor anarchy, in the public interest, of course. I might just
have to put in a sealed section called 'Naughty Bits'. Next time
perhaps, when I am eighty.