Lauren Isaacson
October 16, 1985
Ascent To Reality
From beneath the autumn leaves
I watched a youthful, auburn squirrel
Leap cautionless from limb to limb.
With no rival but himself
To test his acrobatic feats,
He bethought he'd mastered all
And, bathing in a pool of pride,
Washed apprehension from his mind.
The tiny sprite performed his dance
From tree to wind-tossed tree,
Alive with joy and pure delight…
He knew no pain, no discontent,
And thus immersed, called life a dream.
But noonday warmth soon disappeared
And golden rays slashed through the trees.
The sun cast spotlights on the lawn
And made the trees let go their crown.
Darkness stole the crimson glow
And, as through his domain he flew,
The squirrel ran before the night,
Thinking he could out-wit time.
On agile feet, both swift and sure,
He sailed into the shadowed trees,
Yet missed his mark in failing light,
Betrayed by faulty, youthful pride.
Catapulting toward the earth,
The wind reached out and caught his pride
And blew a limb within his grasp
To buffer his naivete'.
Life was not a blissful dream;
He panted in unsteady breaths,
Drawing strength from wisdom gained
Through time and circumstance.
Ascending toward the lofty heights,
His vision was renewed. . .
The world became Reality
Both beautiful and cruel,
While he transformed to earthly size,
A minute parcel of himself
Yet elemental to the whole.
Lauren Isaacson
October 17, 1985
Daydreams
Today I reserve for dreaming,
For dismissing the hectic world,
For unleashing my burdens unto the wind
Where, no longer imprisoned,
They'll haunt me no more.
If only today, how high I shall fly!
Soaring amid the fragrant breeze,
Adrift with the blackbirds
And fluttering leaves,
My freedom will beckon me
Rise higher still
And my spirit, unshackled,
Will lounge on the clouds
To create wistful visions
Of heaven above.
But daydreams must end
With the red setting sun
And, like autumn leaves,
Succumb to decay.
For today, dreams exist, not for 'ever,
Sustaining when all else runs foul.
Dreams, alone, are the soul food of God. . .
The ambrosia of heaven on earth.
Lauren Isaacson
October 24, 1985
Oct. 27, 1985… Todd and Debbie came yesterday. We had a wiener roast for lunch; it was quite appropriate as the day was crisp and clear.
Today, after lunch, I asked Mom how long they would be staying; she thought I was complaining and said, "sometimes I wish it was all over for me so I wouldn't have to listen to all of this; everyone thinks only of themselves, yes, everyone is so selfish." When I recovered slightly I said that I hadn't meant it that way, but that I was scared about getting too tired… I didn't want to say that, it sounded selfish, too.
Too often I have experienced hurtful things when there is a visit; while one can forgive and try to start anew with each visit, I find it impossible to forget. When hurtful statements are made, that person is still the same; there is still that part lurking behind the individual and it becomes difficult to know how "genuine" is their countenance.