It is a curious conundrum that has been presented to me by the amorphous and impersonal “Universe”. Or, perhaps by God. Or, perhaps by the Devil — temptation tends to be his tool of choice, false hope his everlasting hallmark.
I cannot get her out of my head. I cannot crop her, disinter the roots of her, from my heart. I am not, at least I believe I am not, a sentimental soul. My aging has made me less inclined to poetry or emotional reflection, less swayed by daffodils or sunbeams, Kentucky blue grass or Casco Bay sea glass.
And yet here I am, musing over things well beyond my control, deep in the cloudy realms of feeling, of love and of faith– I don’t belong here but I remain captive until I can make a decision or be set free.
So, yes, the Universe, God, and the Devil. Which speaks to me through found forgotten letters? Which gives me Modern Love articles, life lessons and book quotes, crisp photographs in soft-focus, clever nuanced meanderings, all evidence that I should not let go but hold tighter, should not let up but push forward? Is it my own voice engaged in a grand masquerade as something more, something greater? Or is it–
If it is a force greater than me, whichever one, I’ve a message to send back:
I have had faith and I have tried. I have read between the lines.
I have reached out. I have been direct. I have been oblique.
I have done all that I believe I am capable — and then just that bit more.
Therefore, in my honesty and my humility,
in the wretchedness of my humanity and in my weakness–
If it is her, let it be her. Let her leap forward!
Give her the strength that I lack.
Give her the courage that has left me.
Let her speak; I will listen.
I will listen.