words
What though the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass,
of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.~William Wordsworth
My parents announced their impending divorce, and my dad subsequently moved out of the house just before I turned 12. At the time, I knew of no other kid who’d experienced this and it caused me to feel even more “different” from my peers than I already perceived myself to be. There was no one to relate to, no counseling available to me, no internet groups for kids with similar circumstances. So I read poetry, listened to music, and dwelled deep inside myself looking for answers…….hoping to find a place where I might feel less alone.
During that turbulent year, I memorized various poems and scriptures, including the above portion of one of Wordsworth’s odes. I shared these with no one, simply recited them to myself over and over until they blanketed me fully, keeping me warm and safe and secure. These words helped me to suffer gracefully, taught me to bravely investigate this suffering, and more importantly revealed to me the beauty waiting on the other side of it.
I just last night read how Walt Whitman was working as a carpenter after having been a journalist for a short while and trying to write some marginal fiction that had gone absolutely nowhere. Then one day he read Ralph Waldo Emerson and his life was transformed by Emerson’s words. He described it by saying, “I was simmering, simmering, simmering. Emerson brought me to a boil”.
Reading this was so encouraging to me because it reinforced how vital our words can really be to one another, and the capacity they hold for nourishing another’s spirit and opening doors of perception that were previously locked. It is in the open and honest telling of our story, that someone else may possibly learn to find their story. In those difficult times of my childhood, I instinctively latched on to the profound and eloquent words of an assortment of wonderful writers and poets so that I might be transported to a truer vision of myself. Now as an adult, it is still the written word that I reach for most fervently when I become imprisoned by feelings of betrayal and unworthiness. I am following a trail of words, stumbling around haphazardly, seeking those that resonate within which might ignite something that I hope will finally liberate me completely.
Like Whitman, I too, feel I am simmering, simmering, simmering. But thank God there is still heat enough to keep me traveling, and with impassioned words such as those of William Wordsworth above, I am ever hopeful of one day bursting into a brilliant flame that might possibly become the light that helps another out of darkness.
~Cynthia
