Verba Mille
I went to clean out storage boxes in my study last night, because I have (finally) purchased paint and am getting ready to carry out a long-cherished dream of turning my walls into parchment suitable for writing.
It is perhaps therefore appropriate that, of the seven or eight boxes neatly stacked in one corner, two turned out to be full of words.
I found the paper horses that I cut out when I was 13. Fingering them last night, I had to smile. What attention to detail, what care I lavished on all those tiny angles and curves of the feet, the hocks, the pasterns, and the tail! Throwing them away was a bit of an effort.
I found Christmas notes (my family always writes notes of encouragement to one another at Christmas time) from years past and cards of all kinds, crammed with love.
I found the sheet of thoughts that I wrote on September 11th, 2001. I was then sixteen years old.
I found my notes from Latin I (freshman fall), complete with Noe quotes. I miss Dr. Noe.
I found Danya's cartoons that I used to take to school, to cheer myself up when I was so homesick.
I found the paper I wrote the day I decided to put aside childish things and pursue womanhood, when I was 20. That was a very sober paper. That was the day I said goodbye to Peter Pan.
I found words of complaint, words of confusion, words of groping, words of desperation, words of heartsickness, words of faith, words of humility, words of understanding, words of worship, words of thanksgiving, words of wonder, and words of love. I found a thousand thousand words: verba mille.
In the end, I threw out the boxes, fabric scraps (from sewing projects), syllabuses, ticket stubs, receipts, and even the paper horses. I gave away some of my once-favorite (now outgrown) dresses and clothes to my sisters. I tossed old CD's, computer programs, scarves, jewelry, half-used bottles of lotion, and the only stuffed animal I've ever had. I got rid of a lot of stuff.
But I kept all those words. I need them... to remember.
I also put up my portrait, which was taken when I was twelve. That little girl in her blue lace dress stares out of the frame at nothing--and everything--with a Mona Lisa's smile on her childish lips. She (I always think of her as "She" and not "I") looks exactly as if she means to pierce all mysteries of the future by means of sheer intense gazing. It is an extraordinary picture, quite worth a thousand words of its own. It makes me wonder whether I was born quite human.
It is perhaps therefore appropriate that, of the seven or eight boxes neatly stacked in one corner, two turned out to be full of words.
I found the paper horses that I cut out when I was 13. Fingering them last night, I had to smile. What attention to detail, what care I lavished on all those tiny angles and curves of the feet, the hocks, the pasterns, and the tail! Throwing them away was a bit of an effort.
I found Christmas notes (my family always writes notes of encouragement to one another at Christmas time) from years past and cards of all kinds, crammed with love.
I found the sheet of thoughts that I wrote on September 11th, 2001. I was then sixteen years old.
I found my notes from Latin I (freshman fall), complete with Noe quotes. I miss Dr. Noe.
I found Danya's cartoons that I used to take to school, to cheer myself up when I was so homesick.
I found the paper I wrote the day I decided to put aside childish things and pursue womanhood, when I was 20. That was a very sober paper. That was the day I said goodbye to Peter Pan.
I found words of complaint, words of confusion, words of groping, words of desperation, words of heartsickness, words of faith, words of humility, words of understanding, words of worship, words of thanksgiving, words of wonder, and words of love. I found a thousand thousand words: verba mille.
In the end, I threw out the boxes, fabric scraps (from sewing projects), syllabuses, ticket stubs, receipts, and even the paper horses. I gave away some of my once-favorite (now outgrown) dresses and clothes to my sisters. I tossed old CD's, computer programs, scarves, jewelry, half-used bottles of lotion, and the only stuffed animal I've ever had. I got rid of a lot of stuff.
But I kept all those words. I need them... to remember.
I also put up my portrait, which was taken when I was twelve. That little girl in her blue lace dress stares out of the frame at nothing--and everything--with a Mona Lisa's smile on her childish lips. She (I always think of her as "She" and not "I") looks exactly as if she means to pierce all mysteries of the future by means of sheer intense gazing. It is an extraordinary picture, quite worth a thousand words of its own. It makes me wonder whether I was born quite human.
posted by Praelucor at 5:54 PM
2 Comments:
I hear you. Those old words are precious. I still feel a deep sense of loss for the journal I filled while I was in Cambridge for three weeks at age 17. It disappeared, and I don't know where it is. Oh well.
You don't sound overwhelmingly happy yet. You sound wistful and a bit abstracted. I am still praying for you.
Complete and overwhelming happiness must be reserved for Heaven, I think. It is unsustainable on earth... especially in the midst of difficult circumstances (you know the details). However, I am as happy as possible and I know that my soul--dear Plato--is being shaped by all this. I have deep rest and increasing gladness in God, which is more than I could imagine. I ask nothing more. :-)
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