A letter I received from you recently had me lamenting over times long passed.
You are a relatively new friend but your soul seems old. Your soul recognizes my soul somehow from long ago. Or at least, it seems that way.
Friendships come and go. Though somehow, over this vast net, tight bonds are wound even tighter. They are ropes of thin thread, yet unbreakable, and rarer than any spool in all the land.
The grief of sickness, and possible loss, the unknowing—these are all familiar feelings to me.
Across the country, I felt your pain, though brief, it was a stabbing pain. It was the pain of grief.
The phone rang early in the morning late last week. Just before Halloween as well. It was around the same time you got your news. The same time of year that strikes so many friends. They spoke of the empty chairs I had written about once before. As I saw my son off to school, I held back tears, but when he left, and someone else I love called, I broke down.
I broke down because I know that void of a feeling that comes with those empty chairs, and I know my friends feel it as well. I’m not sure if it’s the times we’re living in, or just life itself, but this does seem to have been a certain kind of rough year.
So, I sketch this down. The same as I would anything else. Then, I tuck it away. It becomes a card, to become one with my castles in the sky. My epitaph should something happen to me. So I don’t fade away. Since some days, death weighs so heavily on my mind.
There are some memories that cannot disintegrate into the ether. Some of us keep them alive—with ourselves; within each other. It creates a sense of home within each other. Within that home, some of the rarest thread in the land is created. It’s built from scratch and with weary hands.
It’s built from stories shared and intimate thoughts. It’s built from an exchange of love that cannot be explained with words. It’s something foreign and otherworldly, and beautiful, and strange. Would anything else be as able to birth such a magical creation that binds us together, in some thin existence that cannot be seen with the naked eye?
Today our old friend mentioned how this was going on similarly for him. How the feelings we were both going through were also going on within him, due to his own past familiar set of circumstances. I thought of that mystical thread and how it seems to be woven so tightly around and within all of us.
Though invisible, it’s something that will remain long after we are all gone.
Much like why I created the castles to begin with. They have always been a piece, a fragment; a mythical card that will linger long after I perish. They are a window’s view of the home within my heart that has traveled long and far with me. And I stack them far and wide and way up high because none of this should have to end.
And none of it will.
It won’t end due to the thread that won’t allow it, magical thread that holds it everything and all of us together, seamless though through imperfection, but strong and valiant none the less. Binding and strengthening and ever-growing—it exists, and I’ve been a witness to it more than once. That too, will remain long after I’m gone.
I’ve seen the beauty that takes place in my heart home. It happens when most times when I’m not even there. There are miraculous things that pump through that thread like a heartbeat, and it happens due to the souls that power it. Those souls stretch on a lifetime and I’m touched by them every day. They come from all walks of life and somehow they manage to fuse together weaving a gorgeous pattern that transcends time and space.
As humans these plagues are something broken and blanketed that touches us all. Pain and sickness, can affect all of us, and eventually death as well. We cannot avoid it. Somehow, though, we can help each other through it.
This thread that comes in rare forms that bonds us together is strong, and I’ve been witness to it.
As friends do, we will stick together and help you through this difficult time. —For you, and for all of us.
I lend my hand to you, because a piece of your thread helped stitch me back together, when I was still somewhat apart.
This thread of ours is the rarest in the land and it can never be broken, because your soul is old, and was attached to it all along.
Daydreams is a self-described
mommy, writer, artist, and gamer
among many other things. She is the
keeper of a little castle in the clouds where
she shares all of her thoughts and dreams
with a large community of loyal readers.
It’s been said, her art tends
to take on a life
of its own.
Written for Walking With Intention. If you’d like to be a part of the challenge, find more info here: Walking With Intention. But first leave a comment and let Daydreams know how you feel about what she said, and be sure to visit her over at Card Castles in the Sky when you’re done.
Featured artwork by Daydreams
Published by Sreejit Poole
I am a King without a Kingdom, in a world with many masters, wrapped in the spoils of a jealous heart, and my people’s callous laughter. Trudging through a battlefield of broken dreams and compromise, indecision, my weapon of choice, serves me well in ‘getting by.’ The chair, from which I rule on high, demands the virtue of the Gods, and so I keep well hidden my humanity that hems and haws. Still, my name, although unknown, swells with the pride in which it rocks, as my spine curves from the weight of a kingdom existent in thought. View all posts by Sreejit Poole
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