"I have walked in the mountains and seen the beauty surrounding me.
I have heard the babble of a stream and the eerie hoot of an owl."
"I can see and hear. . . I've known what it is to feel physically normal. Some people never do."
". . . the core is intact despite the withering exterior. . . . that undefinable part of oneself that lives beyond earthly existence."
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Continuum
Feb. 13, 1984… I have often thought, "If only I could make time stand still.".. when I am involved in an enjoyable day. I know that wish could not possibly occur, but if it could, it would most certainly be a selfish desire. In that same instant, perhaps another individual is struggling with overwhelming sorrow, and an extension of that sorrow would cause the individual many times more difficulty. No, it is much better that time continues. The inconsistency of life necessitates the seconds, minutes and hours which make up a day. Life is, at times, difficult to bear, and time passes, allowing one to rest and derive solace from the bits of serenity found here and there along the way. I would not elect to make a change (even if I could) in the system of time unless I was able to better that particular moment for all concerned.
After Dr. Freeman stilled my paranoia and filled my cavity, I'm conscious that my own worth (in silver) has escalated! I sat outside on the "stoop" (what a name). . . suddenly I was inspired to compose a poem. . . I rushed inside for a piece of paper upon which I could unleash my inspiration. It was a beautiful day, complete with sunshine and snowy clouds sailing rapidly by overhead.
The Truest Friend
The air is fresh
With the promise of Spring…
Sap flows to the treetops,
The chickadees sing
The insects respond
To the warmth of the sun
And the grass will stand tall
E'er the day is done.
Myriad clouds reign
A flawless blue sky…
Short-lived is their kingdom
Through which they fly
For springtime delivers
Their wealth to the earth
To nurture the land
With the newness of birth.
The time so quickly
Hastens by. . .
Soon spring is gone
And summer, nigh
(As after dawn,
The pearly morn)
Upon warm wings
The summer is borne.
Time goes on
Like an endless maze,
Melding seconds to hours
And hours to days.
The seasons reel onward,
Ever the same,
While humanity strains
Against winds of change.
It is well that time
Is beyond man's control
For to meddle therewith
Would but injure the soul.
Time, alone, is willing to share
Grief too great for one to bear,
For time will come
One misty dawn
When the mind has grown
And sorrow is gone.
Perhaps time
Is one's truest friend…
One's sole companion
'Til the very end.
Lauren Isaacson
February 13, 1984