Skip to main content

Not alone

I went to my garden and saw my plants and watered them. I never go near then without getting on hands and knees and inhaling the sweet and bitter scents of my various herbs. They liked me. I felt them welcome me.

When I came near them and cared for them I realized I was no longer alone. The same when I passed my old porcelain doll and saw her pallid face glaring in the darkness, as mine does from old photos. I held her and realized that when I am with plants or a doll, I am not alone, yet when I am actually not alone, I am alone. I reflected how I am a solitary person, and to interfere with this is to give me acute pain not easily healed.

If you would poison me, surround me with mediocre minds. Their banal words and transparent thoughts are bitterer than rue. Pointless conversation topics and meaningless words I feel to my very soul, as though it is my own breath expelled and stolen from good use forever.

Truth and beauty are their monsters in the closet, the other side of the mirror they are not acute enough to glimpse.

Where are the other unicorns? I'm still watching for them. In the meantime I hold old Caroline close.

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...

Helen Keller

Reading this Women of Influence book is causing me to remember another of my great childhood loves -- "The Miracle Worker," the story of Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. It was Anne Sullivan I really loved, and still love -- it always made me heartsick to think of her sacrifice, devoting every waking minute to another human being, with almost no life left to herself, until she died in old age, and Helen Keller required another translator. But God -- she must have known it -- that's the best way to live -- it is to have every moment of your life swallowed in supreme goodness and satisfaction. No wonder I loved her, and no longer do I feel sorry for her -- I envy her. I thought of her today perhaps because when I was around eight or nine I grew aware that she and I shared the same initials "AS." Today is the first day that I am Amanda Monteleone at work, and I have written my initials "AM" dozens of times already. It's strange, but the satisfaction of...

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.