[aloha-donblanding] Re: Hearts Radar
- I'm always in trouble here because my Blanding materials are at home,
but I do my email at the office! I knew I should have found the book
title that included "Heart's Radar" when I sent my posting, but of
course I didn't. Tried to slip one past you and you didn't let me!
::smile:: It is in "Today is Here". I happen to have it in this
computer, so will include it here.
I may have dreamed . . . I do not think I dreamed. . . .
But in the twilights mystic hour it seemed
That one I loved who had gone before
Returned on silent feet through the Gray Door.
This one whom I had mourned returned
From that far place (which is not far, I learned).
It was not strange at first . . . I was aware
Of friendly presence near . . . and he was there,
My friend . . . not as a spirit set apart,
But smiling a smile of lips and eyes and heart,
Sprawled lazily in his own easy chair
In his own place beside the fire where
He loved to sit and dream the time away
Through dusk, the most loved hour of the day,
As though he had not been away at all.
Yet now, in looking back, I can recall
A silver shimmer like a moonstones glow
That shone about him like white fire. I know
There was a silence, hesitant, which broke
With laughter . . . and with laughing hearts we spoke.
I quite forgot that I had ever known
Hours of aching emptiness, alone,
Waiting, a futile waiting without end
For the return of this beloved friend.
I can not quite remember that I heard
His voice, yet I recall each loving word
That seemed to flow from his mind into mine,
A soundless speech in swift exchanging line
Like music heard in memory, a refrain
Pulsing and lilting in the heart again.
Time had no meaning, hour, day or date
In that communion, dear and intimate.
We talked . . . or thought . . . as we had talked before
Of this and that, of friends and love and war.
With war I gasped a sudden indrawn breath.
The spell was broken with the thought of death.
I felt a chill of interstellar space.
My frantic eyes sought out his smiling face,
This is a dream. A cruel dream, I cried,
You cant be you. You cant be real. You died.
The silver shimmer faded, dulled and blurred,
Dont speak that thought, he said, Dont think that word.
You kill us in your thoughts. You seal the tomb.
And you who love us most pronounce our doom.
You close the door by which we might return.
You exile us until you truly learn
That we are not wan ghosts . . . not gone . . . but here.
The silver fire blazed strong, white and clear,
We are not phantoms wailing in the night.
We are ourselves. We see with finer light.
And we are even more alive than you
Who are encased in heavy flesh. We, too,
have lessons we must learn, steep paths to climb,
Long roads to walk . . . and weary ones . . . through time.
We need your help . . . we need your strong belief.
Dont shackle us with bleak despairing grief.
In life we sought to give you happiness.
The knowledge that we cause you black distress
Is like a wound that will not cease to bleed.
You turn us into lonely ghosts indeed.
He came quite close, so close that I could feel
His presence like warm breath, more truly real
Than wood or stone, as real as living flesh
Yet flesh of quicker, lighter, brighter mesh
Than ours, like mist or light or rhythmic sound
Which is not here nor there but all around.
His voice . . . or thought . . . was urgent in command,
Dont question now. In time youll understand.
Tell all who mourn to cast aside their doubt
And break the barricades that keep us out.
The veil between our worlds is frail and thin.
Give us your help when we would enter in.
If you should sense our presence, be alert
And discipline all thoughts of loss and hurt.
Recall instead the joyousness we shared.
Remember how we laughed and loved and dared
To dream and hope. Then dream again and know
That death is not an ending. We but go
Ahead a little on the endless way
That all must go . . . should want to go . . . some day
To goals half-glimpsed by searching human eyes,
So splendid that we call them Paradise.
A silence fell. The dusk turned into night.
I was alone with memory and fire-light.
Yet, not alone. My heart flashed vibrant thought,
A radar beam that crossed the void and sought
Another heart, returning swift and true
With word of faith that I pass on to you
To pass along in turn to those who grieve,
Today is Here. Dodd Mead and Company, 1946: pp. 73-76