I promise this is not another lackadaisical post where I just write a few sentences, post a picture I took randomly somewhere at some time and then hand off the baton to the next day. This is a post about how I actually surprise myself sometimes. I love poetry and I love reading books and most of all, I love writing both, but I often get down on myself for not being able to come up with a good blog post...
I wrote this blog, under 'Shellymarie's Thoughts' (my first attempt at blogging), six and a half years ago. It's clear that I wasn't just writing to meet a challenge, I was sharing a part of me that doesn't see the light of day often enough, and should.
This may not be the most fascinating post you read, but for me it is a journey back into my brain when I just sat down at the keyboard, didn't care what someone thought about my writing, or what I was thinking, and just shared a random thought that crossed my mind thanks to a book that at the time touched my soul.
Thank you Walt Whitman for that small reminder that life is to be enjoyed and lived, not rushed through, or to sit by idly waiting for the miracles you are wishing for, to happen. Life is the miracle and everything else is the bonus.
Untitled - originally posted on December 27, 2008
I am one of those who can only read so much poetry at a time. I love it and I enjoy it, but if I don't take a break every 30 pages or so, the poems all run together and begin to read like one long work, which to me loses the meaning of each individual idea.
In Leaves of Grass, Whitman's perspective regarding his surroundings while discovering America, are not only fascinating, but intriguing. It's like stepping back in time and seeing the country as it comes into it's own. It is said that Whitman loved this country so much and though much has changed since he traveled through America, there are still some places that still reflect what he wrote about.
In one poem, "Miracles" he talks about all sorts of things that we may just see, but can also be seen as wonders, for instance he asks 'What stranger miracles are there?" referring to many things, before that final line, but the line just before speaks of men on ships. The first thing I thought of was an airplane. He never saw man's first flight, but to him a ship on the water was a miracle...fishes that swim, rocks, etc. I think sometimes if we just close our eyes, we can easily "see" all of the wonderful things around us.
In a way this book is opening my eyes to things around me. It's showing me that sometimes we need to slow down and remember that no matter what things are happening to us and around us, there are still wonderful things right in front of us. Awaking everyday is a miracle, breathing, walking, talking, hearing, seeing. It sounds corny, but truly these are little joys that sometimes get taken for granted.
I can't say that Whitman ever intended to make anyone see more than what he wrote about, conveying his feelings as he traveled through a land that was still growing and still finding itself with every railroad track that was laid, because I don't know.
I read words of a man who saw first hand the history I love so much. A man who was so moved by the Civil War and by the death of Lincoln, and who spoke of how everything around us is a miracle. As silly as it might sound, I look forward to finishing and re-reading this book over and over again. To me, this book is a mental time machine, transporting one back to an era that seemed simple, yet so complicated.
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Until Tomorrow...what is your miracle?
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