|Fountain at Lake Ella Park in Tallahassee, 9-15-2012|
- I hadn't seen Daughter in a few weeks.
- It was my turn to make the 3-hour-each-way journey by car.
- Recent telephone conversations with Daughter have been almost as sketchy and unsatisfying as some versions of text messaging. "How u been? OK. Me 2. Wassup w/wrk? Same ol same ol. Same here. OK. Luv u. Luv u 2. Bye." (Would you believe I can't bring myself to text like that? I have to spell it all out. It can be agonizingly slow, but old writing habits are hard to break.)
- A massage CEU course was being offered at Core Institute on Saturday. Interestingly, it dealt with movement--the Feldenkrais approach to it. Huh? That's what I thought when I received an e-mail from the Big Bend Chapter of FSMTA. Something massage-related I'm not familiar with and two credits for my effort and curiosity? I'm game. Count me in. Same for Daughter. Plans for the weekend? Too bad. Mom's comin' for a visit.
The trip wasn't all about serious stuff like learning. Really? You can learn a lot from a soul that's been dipped in the icy waters at Wakulla Springs. There must be something in the minerals or the constant movement of the water.
Whatever it is, someone needs to bottle it and call it "Commotion in Motion." Or maybe "Endymion Energizer."
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.
And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.
On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
It comes,--the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,--
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies
O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!
O, drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.
Responds,--as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers, in its song,
"Where hast thou stayed so long!"
(Henry W. Longfellow, 1807-1882)