I was everything
When I was young, I was everything,
The breeze, I would close my eyes and be the breeze,
I would be the autumn leaves falling from the trees,
The cold, crisp air of night and early morning,
I would be the sun, the drenching rain,
The sea splashing against the shore,
I was everything.
At times, I would be the rock,
Immovable and strong,
I would be the clouds, everchanging, ever moving,
The endless skies my home,
By night I would be the moon, if not the stars,
I would be the shadows on the wall,
I was everything.
Now, I look from misty panes old eyes become,
I see the child in the breeze,
He is the breeze,
The autumn leaves falling from the trees,
The cold, crisp air of night and early morning,
He is the sun, the drenching rain,
The sea splashing against the shore,
He is everything.
8 comments on “I was everything”
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Bryan Hemming 
Love it. The rhythm reminds me of Dylan.
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Thanks, Geegee. The comparison with Dylan is enough to make me blush, though he might not be so pleased.
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Hi Bryan,
You have penned a masterpiece!
Indeed when we are young, we have this innate capability to dream, unfettered by all that is around us. Could this be because we remain cocooned away from life’s day to day tribulations? Or is it an aspect of a mind not yet weighted by beliefs and prejudices?
Or could it be that the very fact that we lose the capacity to dream and envision is what leads to our minds aging?
Shakti
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Thank you so much for your unfettered enthusiasm. It is becoming a rare and precious thing in this world.
As usual, Shakti, you give much food for thought. Your idea of the innate capabilty to dream appeals to me, only I would add suspension of disbelief to that. Both come much more easily to children.
As a child I would fashion suits of armour and helmets from old coadboard boxes and string. With a cardboard visor pierced with holes covering my eyes, and a stick in my hand, I really became a medieval knight wielding a sword. For those moments in time I truly believed I was one, and believed others believed I was too.
This magic world allowed me to lie in a grassy meadow, looking up at the clouds, until I could almost believe I was a cloud. In some ways we are what we believe we are.
With the breeze carressing my face as I close my eyes, to all intents and purpses I am the breeze, simply through the procress of my skin registering it. The breeze exists through our sensory perceptions. We do not see the breeze as such, we hear it, feel it and observe the effects it has on our surroundings to conjure it into existence. We watch the trees bend, and listen to leaves as they shimmy.
We can do these things however old we are but, with age, it becomes harder to let go of those tangible things we begin to believe reinforce our sense of existence. We find it harder and harder to let go, for fear of leaving our temporal existences forever, with the passing of the years. But our capacity to dream and imagine diminishes more through underuse, than anything, in my opinion.
Children don´t suffer the same problem. They are the breeze.
In some ways I deal with the idea of dream and reality in my novel. You can click on to the first two installments here: Pedersen´s Last Dream.
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Hi Bryan,
Loved your comment, it is so alike what I believe. I would definitely love to read your novel. God bless.
Shakti
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It.s always a great pleasure to engage with you, Shakti. And may God bless you in return.
Bryan
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Forgot to say – oh sigh, that feeling of being everything…
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My God, this is fantastic, Bryan – fantastic.
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