Little dents in the ground have collected rain and become portals to other places. Better places. Distant places. I peer in at them with fascination and that familiar longing.

I wave to the tiny people I see, but I know they don’t see me. They’re the same as the big ones up here.

Unobserved, I watch; breathe. I want secret things and I know secret things. I hold the secrets of nothing and nowhere;  mapping the periphery of everything and everywhere.


11 thoughts on “Asrai

    • Thankyou! And i’m glad you chose the word “uplifting”, as, out of all 15 of the words i tagged this post with, only “depression” seems to have made the cut to the reader feed :/ I’m not sure why that’s happened , but it irritates me! I mean, it does partly deal with feelings of isolation and not belonging, but i also wanted to convey the idea that perhaps the very fact that some of us don’t neatly “fit in” is what gives us our creativity, too. We want “their” secrets, but at the same time, we have our own, and they’re quite precious. There’s magic in those secret places we go that nobody knows about.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Love this evocation of childhood … I still feel the same … thought you might like this (bit long but worth persevering with) …

    Shadows in the Water

    By Thomas Traherne

    In unexperienced infancy
    Many a sweet mistake doth lie:
    Mistake though false, intending true;
    A seeming somewhat more than view;
             That doth instruct the mind
             In things that lie behind,
    And many secrets to us show
    Which afterwards we come to know.

    Thus did I by the water’s brink
    Another world beneath me think;
    And while the lofty spacious skies
    Reversèd there, abused mine eyes,
             I fancied other feet
             Came mine to touch or meet;
    As by some puddle I did play
    Another world within it lay.

    Beneath the water people drowned,
    Yet with another heaven crowned,
    In spacious regions seemed to go
    As freely moving to and fro:
             In bright and open space
             I saw their very face;
    Eyes, hands, and feet they had like mine;
    Another sun did with them shine.

    ’Twas strange that people there should walk,
    And yet I could not hear them talk;
    That through a little watery chink,
    Which one dry ox or horse might drink,
             We other worlds should see,
             Yet not admitted be;
    And other confines there behold
    Of light and darkness, heat and cold.

    I called them oft, but called in vain;
    No speeches we could entertain:
    Yet did I there expect to find
    Some other world, to please my mind.
             I plainly saw by these
             A new antipodes,
    Whom, though they were so plainly seen,
    A film kept off that stood between.

    By walking men’s reversèd feet
    I chanced another world to meet;
    Though it did not to view exceed
    A phantom, ’tis a world indeed,
             Where skies beneath us shine,
             And earth by art divine
    Another face presents below,
    Where people’s feet against ours go.

    Within the regions of the air,
    Compassed about with heavens fair,
    Great tracts of land there may be found
    Enriched with fields and fertile ground;
             Where many numerous hosts
             In those far distant coasts,
    For other great and glorious ends
    Inhabit, my yet unknown friends.

    O ye that stand upon the brink,
    Whom I so near me through the chink
    With wonder see: what faces there,
    Whose feet, whose bodies, do ye wear?
             I my companions see
             In you, another me.
    They seemèd others, but are we;
    Our second selves these shadows be.

    Look how far off those lower skies
    Extend themselves! scarce with mine eyes
    I can them reach. O ye my friends,
    What secret borders on those ends?
             Are lofty heavens hurled
    ’Bout your inferior world?
    Are yet the representatives
    Of other peoples’ distant lives?

    Of all the playmates which I knew
    That here I do the image view
    In other selves, what can it mean?
    But that below the purling stream
             Some unknown joys there be
             Laid up in store for me;
    To which I shall, when that thin skin
    Is broken, be admitted in.

    Liked by 1 person

    • To be honest, an evocation of childhood was not my intention- it was the simplest description i could come up with for how i feel most of the time. But it makes perfect sense to assume it’s the world as seen through a child’s lense, as i do still feel like a child 😉 That’s ok, though. I quite relish the fact that i have so many interesting things to learn still.

      Whoa, what a poem! Thankyou SO much for introducing me to this. It’s pretty magical. Excellent last lines. I’ll have to read me some more poetry. I’m beginning to get over my fear of it. Actually just found a teeny little set of Tennyson, Shelley, Keats and Browning at an op shop…the lady charged me $3 for the lot! I haven’t read them yet, but i will soon enough.

      Liked by 1 person

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