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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #470787 added November 23, 2006 at 6:49pm
Restrictions: None
Proof for Existence
"Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can..."
~~John Lennon
You remember that one, don’t you? Well, you should because it added another millennium to your earth years. I am proud of my part in that one. Don’t get me wrong; I had nothing to do with its creation. The honors go to John alone but I picked it up to submit it to the high command.
Whether you believe in heavenly beings or not, we angels surround you, except for the times when you reject us and don’t let us butt into your business. As a general rule, we rarely interfere, unless you ask us nicely with a “pretty please.” We, however, watch what you do, because those things you create determine the future existence of your species. Each time you create from your heart, each time you do something sincere, your species gets bonus points.
In my assignment as a defense angel, I belong to the group that collects meaningful creations for proofs as to why the mankind should continue to exist. We work in hordes, usually in a section. Each section collects something significant: good wishes, good deeds, deeds of healing, self-improvement efforts, prayers for others, daydreams and intentions, determinations, expressions of love, expressions of thankfulness, works of art, music, and literature. Sincerity is the key here. If you are not sincere, they’ll know about it. Believe me.
Recently, I was on the beach looking for sand castles where pieces of children’s joy might still be lingering as leftovers from the summer. Children get special treatment up there, so I am constantly on the lookout for their work. Unexpectedly, a warm though sad feeling enveloped me. I floated toward that feeling, holding on to its sincerity.
No, it was not a child, but an old man who sat at the beach, writing into a pad with an empty bottle near him. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. He had no shoes on. His white hair flowed in the wind and tears streamed from his face on to the pad. I wanted to tap on his shoulder to ease his pain but I held back in respect. We angels try not to touch you when you are creating.
When the man finished writing, he ripped the sheet off the pad. Then, he rolled the paper and inserted it into the bottle. Strolling closer to the water, he placed the bottle in the sand. The tide would soon come in an hour and wash away this momentary art. As soon as he turned his back to walk away, the wind blew an empty shell near the bottle. What a finishing touch nature has!
I glimpsed into the bottle. Great piece. I was sure this would be held in very high esteem.
Here, see for yourself!
“Dear God,
Please, forgive me. I did the best I could. I looked for you in temples, mosques, and churches, but I encountered men wrapped in strict dogma trying to dominate other men by using your name. If I could be with you alone in one of those places, I would have talked to you there. In my heart, I believe I am closest to you here on this beach. Please forgive me for calling to you from here and not from any one of those places.
My Dear Creator, forgive me for failing to support my family. No, I am not talking about the money, because at first the money was good and we got by, but I was a very harsh man. I never paid attention to my children’s needs, and my wife never got a word of encouragement from me during the earlier years. I made fun of her nonstop. I picked up women in bars and never paid attention to anything that shamed my family. I ridiculed everything and anything about my wife. My children never had a father who applauded their successes or a father who was there for their sports events or recitals. I didn’t attend their graduations. Yet, after my newspaper failed, they were the ones who supported me. What did I do in return? I drank night and day and even tried to end it all; it was my wife who was there just in time to save me.
My wife was there for me through thick and thin. She was there for me through the AA meetings. She was there for me when we started the second publishing business and made a go of it. My wife, my angel in disguise, was in my arms with all her warmth, but I didn’t realize how precious she was. I didn’t realize that you had sent her to me.
I don’t blame you for taking her away. She deserves to be in your heaven. I would like to make up for my mistakes, if I may. I don’t exactly know how. I am too late to ask for her forgiveness but maybe, Dear God, you will take pity on me. Not that I deserve it, but because you are greater than my mistakes.
During the time remaining for me, I plan to give all I have to charity and to counsel other men who may be stumbling into the same potholes that I did so clumsily. My children are far away; they are detached from me, and rightfully so. Please keep an eye on them and don’t let them make my mistakes.
God, please let me help other men.
I am planning to have a special line through which books will be published to help families in crisis. Maybe I can write about my mistakes as a lesson to all the young men. God, please help me there. It is the very least that I can do.
How sad it is to be aware of the beauty of our loved ones after they are gone...
How sad it is to not be aware of the greatness of you, My God!”
See what I mean? Sure enough this beautiful image was erased by the tide, but its essence has made its way into the records of the Higher-ups.
Didn't I tell you? Sincere words govern life and writing is heavenly, even when it gets washed up by the waves.
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© Copyright 2006 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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