Wednesday, June 09, 2010

Life's Lessons


Before someone told me the awful truth I was content to view the world as consisting of two bowls like the china ones in my mother’s cupboard. One bowl was filled with earth upon which some thoughtful deity had planted grass and flowers and trees. Atop this, upside down, its inner sides painted the loveliest blue, rested the other bowl. It was a comfort to know that when I lay down on my bed and pulled the covers to my chin, I was safely ensconced between the two bowls and I would never, ever fall out. Eventually some well-meaning adult told me that I actually was standing on the outside of a huge ball in mid-space and that, worse yet, the ball was spinning. Gravity, it was explained to my horrified mind, was the force that pulled all objects earthward and kept them from flying off into space. It was hardly reassuring now that my bowls were smashed to smithereens. It was a long time before I felt safe again.

I learned other frightening truths as I grew up. One was that nothing and no one, no matter how well loved, stays with you forever. My first brush with death occurred when I was five. It was Sunday morning and we had just returned from church. Still wearing my dress-up clothes, I went looking for my new kitten only to discover it crying piteously on the doorstep, half in and half out of the mouth of a snake. I screamed for my mother. She dealt the snake a death blow with the garden shovel but it was too late. Moments later, my poor little kitten was dead. I was inconsolable. Why, I argued to my mother’s explanation, could God not have gotten his own kitten? She had no answer and I began my long journey away from the simple faith of my childhood into the world of the unfathomable.

I was fairly selfish and self-contained as children are wont to be and I was sure that what happened in my life happened in everyone’s. When I stood at the top of the stairs in my pajamas and implored my mother to come up and get the monsters out from under my bed she told me there weren’t any monsters. She didn’t even come to look. She would have seen them there as plain as anything, their long tails curving into the darkness, their evil eyes casting reflections in the windows. I turned on the bedroom light and that brought her up the stairs. I told her monsters didn’t show up in the light but she didn’t believe me. She turned the light off with strict instructions to keep it off, and left me alone with my demons.

I was right about that, though. All my monsters still disappear with the light. In the dark reaches of the night when my mind turns somersaults, when undone tasks loom large or regrets come to haunt me, I remember that in the light of day these things will take on their ordinary, nonthreatening proportions and the world will again resemble two bowls of safety.

14 comments:

Tabor said...

This is very well written and something that we all go through and understand oh so well. With that morning sun, suddenly the endless list of taunts and dangers grows realistic and sometimes shrinks to nothing.

Brian Miller said...

marvelous post...as we grow tha way we view the world is sshaped and sometimes shattered...light does chase away the darkness though...and what was so stressing the night before can seem so trivial...

Valerianna said...

What an interesting image of the bowls... bowls, within bowls - you tucked under the bedclothes bowl... so nice you held on to such a rich imagination! Lovely!

Barbara said...

There are many times when I would like to crawl in between two bowls of safety. Maybe I'll try it tonight when I go to bed.

Country Girl said...

Beautifully written post here. That was a terribly scary thing to happen to your kitten when you were only five. And I love how you saw the world as two bowls.

Russell said...

I agree with the others. Nicely written and the image of our world as two bowls is interesting.

And, yes, light certainly helps chase away many demons. Of course light comes in many forms -- such as truth, knowledge, maturity and so forth.

Take care and I enjoyed your post very much.

Frank Baron said...

Well, this was a treat! Pauline, you have a deft touch when it comes to rearranging the alphabet. :)

Nice dramatic photo too. Did you take that as well?

20th Century Woman said...

Like you, as a child I was afraid of what might be in the dark, especially in my room in the shadows at night. But I also thought there was something magic about night. It was when animals roamed, and if you could stay awake and sneak outside you could see them.

I like your idea of bowls.

Pauline said...

Tabor - I've been managing so far...

so true, Brian

Valerianna - most times my imagination has been a blessing

Did it work, Barbara?

Country Girl - when you live on a farm, death is always part of life...

Thanks Russell - and yes, light comes in many forms...

Thanks frank - you're not so bad yourself with the ABCs;) And yes, the photo is my own.

Oh I so agree 20thCW - I often go out at night just to see what's out and about

Wisewebwoman said...

Oh I love those teacups, what a gorgeous world in there!

3AYEM madness I call the night terrors, they strike us all. What the hell are we doing spinning through space, destroying the little ball we're on?

Lovely, lovely piece, Pauline.

XO
WWW

Barbara said...

My bowl experience was more like a tempest in a teapot. I was awake for hours last night worrying about a family matter. Not necessarily the fault of the enclosing bowls!

Pauline said...

WWb - I know, what are we thinking?

Barbara - that sounds more like demons under the bed!

Meggie said...

When my children were small, I tried to always remember those fears I had had, as small child. I always tried to see the monters under the bed, to 'see them off'.

Hilary said...

You sure do write like a dream, Pauline. The bowl concept is a wonderful image for a child to have of the world.. darn that gravity. ;) Thanks for sharing your beautiful words and photography.