Sitting alone and far from idle in the Rockies; the train roars beyond the shroud of low clinging clouds, the mountains hide behind the late spring showers, and my mind roams deeper into itself.
The pictures and sounds of friends and I talking about many aspects of life through the years float by like a calm river, as I stare into the white-grey, billowing marshmallow cloud covering.
I drift to where the mind does not have a lot of time to go these days; these busy, work and so called “life” filled days with scant a moment to put such things into perspective through art, through the best medium of truth that I know.
I think of friends now, somewhat reeling from the flood of memories. I am sentimental and have only one outlet to rely on, being that my lips tremble and voice locks tightly in my throat when I attempt to verbalize the emotions attached to them.
I think of those people who have hung beside me through the years; everything I put myself through and thereby them as well. I think of the magic felt when instead of turning away from me, they managed to get closer. They knew when to withdraw and when to push me a little harder and further than ever before. They knew my threshold; what point I would tolerate and that which would send me reeling off the rails into isolation.
They wondered.
I wandered.
They questioned.
I answered.
We laughed.
I broke down.
We cried.
In the end they stayed.
I often wondered along the way, exactly why someone would go through all of it for a person, who seemingly wanted, with an obvious air of desperation, to be left alone. I wondered and they simply remained, automatically finding a way to reach me through the thick haze of self-loathing I regularly put out from deep within me.
It is not that I did not show them love when I could; in fact I believe I was able to show this love in ways other people perhaps cannot. But the truth remains that I inevitably pushed them away in order to shield them from the symptoms I presented, historically with more regularity than today.
I cannot name them of course because there are more than I ever knew possible; my blessings today are intangible in number and names. And yes, each blessing I can count at the day’s beginning and end are in terms of the people God has placed in my life for whatever reason.
God knows the words they needed to speak when coming at me through the manic or depressive states I so often existed in; whether they believed in God or not, it was obvious looking back, that in fact He spoke through them in moments when I could not grasp the most simple of truths. And this is still remains true today; I can hear it more clearly today when mid conversation something uncharacteristic of them flows from their lips and it is exactly what I needed to hear.
I only hope that I do them proud today. That I am able to live well enough to show them how high in regard I hold each of them, illustrating in words when I am incapable of verbalizing just how important each of them are to me.
They say that actions speak louder than words; let my action sometimes be the picture I paint with scribbled sentiment on an electronic wall.
David Lewry
The pictures and sounds of friends and I talking about many aspects of life through the years float by like a calm river, as I stare into the white-grey, billowing marshmallow cloud covering.
I drift to where the mind does not have a lot of time to go these days; these busy, work and so called “life” filled days with scant a moment to put such things into perspective through art, through the best medium of truth that I know.
I think of friends now, somewhat reeling from the flood of memories. I am sentimental and have only one outlet to rely on, being that my lips tremble and voice locks tightly in my throat when I attempt to verbalize the emotions attached to them.
I think of those people who have hung beside me through the years; everything I put myself through and thereby them as well. I think of the magic felt when instead of turning away from me, they managed to get closer. They knew when to withdraw and when to push me a little harder and further than ever before. They knew my threshold; what point I would tolerate and that which would send me reeling off the rails into isolation.
They wondered.
I wandered.
They questioned.
I answered.
We laughed.
I broke down.
We cried.
In the end they stayed.
I often wondered along the way, exactly why someone would go through all of it for a person, who seemingly wanted, with an obvious air of desperation, to be left alone. I wondered and they simply remained, automatically finding a way to reach me through the thick haze of self-loathing I regularly put out from deep within me.
It is not that I did not show them love when I could; in fact I believe I was able to show this love in ways other people perhaps cannot. But the truth remains that I inevitably pushed them away in order to shield them from the symptoms I presented, historically with more regularity than today.
I cannot name them of course because there are more than I ever knew possible; my blessings today are intangible in number and names. And yes, each blessing I can count at the day’s beginning and end are in terms of the people God has placed in my life for whatever reason.
God knows the words they needed to speak when coming at me through the manic or depressive states I so often existed in; whether they believed in God or not, it was obvious looking back, that in fact He spoke through them in moments when I could not grasp the most simple of truths. And this is still remains true today; I can hear it more clearly today when mid conversation something uncharacteristic of them flows from their lips and it is exactly what I needed to hear.
I only hope that I do them proud today. That I am able to live well enough to show them how high in regard I hold each of them, illustrating in words when I am incapable of verbalizing just how important each of them are to me.
They say that actions speak louder than words; let my action sometimes be the picture I paint with scribbled sentiment on an electronic wall.
David Lewry