It’s hard to believe it is already so late in the year. My
great-grandmother’s voice always resonates in my mind when I think thoughts
about how quickly time flies. I can remember being in her apartment one
afternoon after school and for some reason the topic came up. I don’t remember
her exact tone of voice, but her words stay with me, all these years later –
when you get older time seems to go faster and faster and one day you blink and
wonder how you came to be this old person. Her apartment was never sunny and
bright. The sun rose and set at odd angles around her place, so I remember it
as being dark; black and white almost, although I know it was not somber. That memory
probably lies within the photo I took of her sitting at the window overlooking
Cherry St. – her face was bathed in filtered sunlight and the lines on her face
were so striking to me; she was beatific. The expression on her face says she was
lost in thought, or in a memory. She was approaching 80 then, her husband had
been gone for close to 25 years; my grandmother – her firstborn daughter - may
have just passed away; she died when I was 17. From time to time her words echo
in my mind; those afternoons spent in short visits to her remain part of the
fabric of my teenage years.
The date was not on my mind as I decided to record my
thoughts this morning, but as I typed the date and realized there are only four
more months left in this year, my mind’s eye blinked, then the memory of Grandma
Hooker came to mind. The thoughts first on my mind were waking to a dream of
walking in a river with several of my friends. It was just a shallow river, flowing
lazily in the late summertime. It was peaceful, calm, serene. They were
standing on the banks talking, bantering, lost in their own conversations and I
was searching for river glass. Searching for glass is a passion of mine. There
is something in the hunt itself; something soothing and thrilling all at once
to discover little moments of the past in the form of shards of glass – broken bottles,
glasses, even dishes, polished with a soft edge, once whole, then discarded,
lost, broken down with time, water, sand, and rocks. River or sea glass are little
pieces of someone’s life, even if it was just a bottle of beer someone drank
and tossed in the river or ocean. It doesn’t matter, it somehow becomes special
with the passage of time. It’s kind of like a quest for antiques; they assume a
character; a history; and if they could talk they could tell a part of someone’s
life story.
But my dream - It was a soft slice of time; a moment of
quiet and tranquility. Such are the moments I collect and use as a balm for my
soul. I am a seeker of silence, of simple moments, of peace, serenity,
quietude. It’s not always possible in our world full of noise and distractions.
Many of us feel the need to fill all of our moments with something; a
distraction, a sound, an activity. Maybe such moments make some people feel
alive, with purpose, or action. I am discovering more and more that I like
quiet, and I am finding the world more and more noise filled. Waking from such
a dream this morning was something substantial or symbolic. There is probably
some implication that dream interpreters might find – it was definitely a seeking
dream (most of my dreams are searching dreams where I look for someone or
something). Maybe it was just as simple as what I was searching for was just a
few moments of peace and tranquility in a life full of activity and not nearly
enough quiet time for reflection or for myself. I had such moments this summer, although they
were spaced farther out than I would have liked. Maybe the dream is just a
reminder to me to appreciate those few moments of silence as they come, and to
treasure them as I do bits of river glass, or even moments of memories of loved
ones who have passed on.
