I stand quiet in the lintel and wish him well
You walk through it and it will reveal -if you look carefully- little pieces of the puzzle of his past, loved treasures from his present and his past, big plans for the future all together put on this little messy and sweet nest of his
It is warm as his embrace is, it is dark as his thoughts might be, its quiet as his despair might get, its cozy as his arms can be, its sweet as his laughter is and if something is still missing, he doesn't seem to need it
When I came to know him, he was coming back from a different era, and the little house was still a mess, it reflected the exact phase where he was in, not here but not quite there anymore either. I like to think that even if I am to be a memory someday, I gave him roots which he needed so desperately at that time. And also confidence and loyalty and commitment and joy which he too needed although he would never realize it.
So then, paintings were on the floor, he was not sure- and still is not sure- where his bedroom would finally be set- there were carton boxes everywhere , which contained variety of things- from clothing to pictures, from books to papers, from magazines to keepsakes- the house back then was just a place where he slept. A traveler who never accepted some of his pains, he was still not sure where he wanted to be, but at that time, he fell in love and began a cruise that would take him to places he had never been.
Yet the house, was always there to greet him
Little by little, it became his, and it has been a triumph to keep it his. Nobody helped him to get it, and nobody has help him to keep it...therefore along with his family, it is his only treasure. And although he fights with it constantly -yesterday the ceiling, today the weeds, tomorrow the old bathrooms or the kitchen, --my God! so many things that trouble this man who wanted so badly to be The Traveler- they have become the little things that make his house his home; and it has become the ultimate place where he finds peace.
I see his mother's paintings and other little things from his past, things that constantly remind him he was fortunate enough to have parents that loved him. and which also today take him in some ways to try to understand a mysterious couple that were persons that hurt, that loved, that needed, that dreamed and strived as he does now -and whom he tries to still reach in spite of time and death.
Someday he might realize that they and their love and teachings are engraved in his existence as color is engraved in the paintings he values so very much
I see his daughter's pictures everywhere, without a doubt the most sacred achievement he has attained and ever will for he has been the sweetest, the most reliable father I have ever met, and his loyalty and love towards this little girl will be always sure for her. I see also signs of her love for him and how sweet the years of her childhood must have been. I see the pain of letting go and the pain of not having had things the way he once thought they would be
Someday too he will realize things have been exactly the way they were supposed to be. And that he has been good and that his love and presence has make her strong enough
I see traces of his past, the good and the bad that we all have, I also see efforts for a better present
Someday he would realize that although we are our past we survive and last because of our present.
His yard is also what he is, something striving to be what it can be, with the potential to be whatever he want it to be. With the most beautiful pretty little yellow tree that Ive seen in this autumn, his front yard welcomes you with a promise. -It might be a good day. It may be indeed a warm day..the clouds there might go away...-
And all of this is set in this cacophony of colors and details and stories and scents and dreams that float in this house in such a manner that you just simply have him there enclosed in it all together in this pretty mess that looks as his hair looks each morning: messy but cute
What you see there is what you get. He doesnt try to seem much or better..he is much or better the way he is. And I see this with a heart that still believes
He loves his house because its his..not because he can impress anybody with it, not because its bright or new or opulent or even big... not because it costed a fortune. He loves it simply because its his
I understand this so well. You see? I don't have one. Im always so afraid of the absence of warmth that will keep me away from being safe,the absence of a ceiling that might protect me from storms, the absence of windows to open that could light my darkness, the absence of a door to welcome someone in my life that will bring gladness to my heart. So I understand what this little place of him means
Once he lost my trust without wanting to hurt me, without wanting to fail me. Now with little things that he doesnt even notice he is doing, he is getting it rebuilt; moreover, he is showing what he really is and might be, which for me is a present. With generosity he opens his house and his heart little by little too, trying to save the remainings that survived the storm...maybe not for us, maybe its too late for that, Im afraid I still dont know if we can make it, but surely for the good , for the faith, for the trust in human beings of one lady that loved him once as she never will again
Its his house and although it might still need some unique touch that might be invisible yet strong, not needed yet essential it doesn't seem he is completely aware of that and maybe this its for his best.
We might not say always all the things that should be said, but as long as I will remember in what still is ahead - with a sweet smile for him- in my dreams, I will enter again and again and again his house knowing he has made it
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