Saturday, March 16, 2013

My Sword



I hadn’t ridden on a train for many years. This was a spur of the moment decision, born out of boredom for my solitary life. Walking the street of a city where thirty years before I too rushed through life working and probably being watched by slower mortals like me now. No longer master of my fate; no longer creating waste like this seething horde around me. No, I was the waste now, wasted, wanting yet unwanted, and in my lonely wandering I passed a railway station and boarded a train with places to go, I was a passenger, but nowhere to go and sat grumbling, rumbling and screeching in my mind as the train’s wheels screeched too over points as I stretched out on my seat to see the head of the train stretch around the bends as it pulled up, up to wooded hills and the sea now but a faint line on the horizon and me faint with anticipation as I recognised the scenery of so many years ago. We had lived here once. The train‘s whistle called and we rushed into a tunnel’s darkness and then out again and that was the moment my memory took a flying leap backward, and the changes that were there now were unseen as I saw the scenery unchanged from when I walked the dog in those fields, explored those woods with my children and waded in that stream on adventures that had made me young again then but now only tore little pieces from my heart that I could ill afford. What words can express sorrow? There are none. The train crossed a creek it was here so many years ago I had walked with the youngest and we had discovered a dead woman’ body who chose the bed of that rivulet as her last resting place. Should I too die this way, away from all without fuss? And now we cross a paddock where one careless match had set a fire to frighten all those houses safely sitting there now still their windows all agog. It had stopped at the road and hearts beat normally again. But my heart will that beat normally again? Life is to be shared, and the worst thing in life is to be alone, unloved. The train pulls into the station at the end of the line. I have almost got to the end of the line too but not quite for I have words enough to keep me going they are my sword.

22 comments:

  1. I like going to places that jog my memory. It's when I find it drastically changed that I get depressed, even though I know at an intellectual level that nothing stays the same.

    Interesting that both you and Jae wrote about the importance of words. They keep us going in so many ways.

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  2. The words do bring comfort when all else fails.

    You have evoked that fear of being old, alone and unloved. I hope it is not truly like that for you. Even in the blogosphere there are friends who love us.

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  3. The best sword to have..Thought of Iggy Pop..The Passenger...you can find a place in not having a place..maybe? everyone on that bus belongs together in some way..

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  4. "What words can express sorrow? There are none."

    Your wisdom shines through these painful words...

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  5. I enjoyed this. It almost seemed sad, the meandering. But perhaps thoughtful is more accurate

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  6. I am intrigued by the rambling ease of your trip to a place... "We had lived here once." It is fascinating what comes up when we visit the past. Thankfully words are there to support us.

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  7. Wowza! I love this story. There is sadness, but also acceptance. Life continues, in this case it came full circle....back to a beginning. The woman's body was shocking, and interesting.

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  8. Enjoyed the ramble. Trins seem to travel into the past. Nice journey, (what you wonder, I wonder to, old ect.)

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  9. Your poem, because it seems in so many ways, a familiar train of thought, also makes me so very glad that I embraced words while young, they stand beside me and pat me softly on the shoulder when I ride that memory train on occasion. Thank you,

    Elizabeth
    http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2013/03/17/instruments-of-survival-ii/

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  10. It sounds like a real bummer to be old and alone. I hope that this is fiction! As Elizabeth said words can keep you company.

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  11. This piece tore at my heart, as it a tale all too familiar to me. Although I am not alone at the present, I am ever aware that I could be at any moment, and I also dream of the years of my life with children growing up and a far more active life. They have both gone their own ways now, and I have grown old. There is sadness in the memories, but comfort in the familiarity of places that once were home, and yes - until the end we will have our words, and then we will leave them to our children. Beautiful, thoughtful piece, Old Egg!

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  12. I do hope this is fiction, old egg. There is nothing worse than being alone when we grow old. Excellent piece of writing.

    Pamela

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  13. A great sense of an inner journey.

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  14. Oh, I enjoyed your story and the way you told it. You left me wanting the story to go on. Great job.

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  15. Being the slow one in the wasteful crowd just makes the loneliness sharper and thus the need for the sword that cuts the distance between us.

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  16. Interesting piece, Where does life take us sometimes and why we must be the passenger and the operator.

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  17. This is mournful at times... especially the woman on the tracks. When one begins to ponder what the end will look like and whether there are enough "arrows in the quiver" to keep going... that's the time to head to a cafe or a bar and share time with other folks... but first, write down what you felt. Robin, this is a sincere, touching piece. Amy
    http://sharplittlepencil.com/2013/03/15/mama-needs-a-brand-new-bag-a-barlette/

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  18. You have found the words to express a sadness. I have known that loneliness, walking in another town, lost without...you have expressed it well. I got it.

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  19. It's good to look back, just as long as the train keeps moving forward and doesn't hit the buffers!

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  20. I went back home once...it was no longer there..the tres, gone, the streams filthy or dammed but it is there in my mind and I know it's better to go forward than back...you are right...we go forward with our words

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