Disconnections
Tonight is officially the last night of summer: tomorrow, at 1:30pm, I begin (or, I suppose, continue) my career as an organ major. It's been a . . . well, a peculiar summer; and I can't say I'm sorry it's over.
My summer job ended today. A good job, in some ways, but also a place where I felt disconnected. Though, really, I've felt that way everywhere. Home isn't quite my home anymore; but neither is Virginia. Both places have changed, and are changing, in ways I can't predict and don't understand. Some good, some bad, some . . . can't be quantified. And my new college--well, the organ feels like home; the rest doesn't.
Ten minutes before I left work the skies opened and the torrents fell. It had been pleasant that morning, so I was wearing white sandals and a short flowered skirt--and my umbrella was in the car. I waited, hoping it would slow a bit, before deciding it would probably go on all evening. So I took off my sandals (2-inch heels don't work for running), stuck them in my bag, and ran across the muddy gravelly yard to my car. As I drove home through the torrents, I found that I had reached the last track of my new CD . . . a quiet, achingly lovely song that somehow captured things I was feeling, things I had felt, things I had never quite found the right words for. (Perhaps because I was only looking for the words, and they aren't always enough: I wish I could post the music.)
it makes a difference
that i'm feeling this way
with plenty to think about
so little to say
except for this confession
that is poised on my lips
that i'm not letting go of God
i'm just losing my grip
and i want to know
i want to know
will it keep you guessing
when i go
what is a love
if the love's not my own
this is not my home
this is lonely
but never alone
Yet sometimes the loneliness is so overwhelming that you find it hard to believe, hard to hold on. When home is changing, when people you love are changing, or far away--when the closest thing you have to a church is a 12-hour drive from where you live--when you read blogs to keep up with friends, but give up on commenting on theirs (or updating yours) because it just makes them feel farther away. When you can't hold onto anything, or anyone you love: dead and living, past and present, all sliding through your grasp . . .
i just want to hold you
in my gaze for a while
so i can remember
every line around your smile
then i want to know
i want to know
will it make a difference
when i go
How do you hold on and let go at the same time? How do live in a City about to be destroyed, and love it? How do you go on from that City to another like it, and find the courage to love it, love its people, even more? How do you live between doomed City and the eternal one--how do you grasp the Eternal City when the one you see, the one you love, is fading?
How do you live in Ilion?
My summer job ended today. A good job, in some ways, but also a place where I felt disconnected. Though, really, I've felt that way everywhere. Home isn't quite my home anymore; but neither is Virginia. Both places have changed, and are changing, in ways I can't predict and don't understand. Some good, some bad, some . . . can't be quantified. And my new college--well, the organ feels like home; the rest doesn't.
Ten minutes before I left work the skies opened and the torrents fell. It had been pleasant that morning, so I was wearing white sandals and a short flowered skirt--and my umbrella was in the car. I waited, hoping it would slow a bit, before deciding it would probably go on all evening. So I took off my sandals (2-inch heels don't work for running), stuck them in my bag, and ran across the muddy gravelly yard to my car. As I drove home through the torrents, I found that I had reached the last track of my new CD . . . a quiet, achingly lovely song that somehow captured things I was feeling, things I had felt, things I had never quite found the right words for. (Perhaps because I was only looking for the words, and they aren't always enough: I wish I could post the music.)
it makes a difference
that i'm feeling this way
with plenty to think about
so little to say
except for this confession
that is poised on my lips
that i'm not letting go of God
i'm just losing my grip
and i want to know
i want to know
will it keep you guessing
when i go
what is a love
if the love's not my own
this is not my home
this is lonely
but never alone
Yet sometimes the loneliness is so overwhelming that you find it hard to believe, hard to hold on. When home is changing, when people you love are changing, or far away--when the closest thing you have to a church is a 12-hour drive from where you live--when you read blogs to keep up with friends, but give up on commenting on theirs (or updating yours) because it just makes them feel farther away. When you can't hold onto anything, or anyone you love: dead and living, past and present, all sliding through your grasp . . .
i just want to hold you
in my gaze for a while
so i can remember
every line around your smile
then i want to know
i want to know
will it make a difference
when i go
How do you hold on and let go at the same time? How do live in a City about to be destroyed, and love it? How do you go on from that City to another like it, and find the courage to love it, love its people, even more? How do you live between doomed City and the eternal one--how do you grasp the Eternal City when the one you see, the one you love, is fading?
How do you live in Ilion?
posted by erendis nasard at 11:59 PM
3 comments
