“Sincere forgiveness isn't colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don't worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.” –Sara Paddison
Letting Go
My nine year olds’ grin flashes in the crab grass that hides my little form. My face smooth feels the scratchy brush against it. The air is thick with the scent of laughter on a hot afternoon. There is a rustling …and then nothing. The air shoots from my chest as Reme, my twin, has just jumped on me, and we continue to roll in the tall crab grass. A hot spring afternoon yields a perfect playtime. I wish I could go back and sit in that tall crab grass and be hidden, just seeing and sensing, where nothing could penetrate my fortress of green to move me farther than I wished to be. Annie Dillard explains in her essay, “Seeing,” that there is one best way to “see” in this world and it is seeing by “letting go” (122). But what about wishing to go back and see? How can we “let go” of what has happened since then and return to a more simplistic time, and really see?
The easiest way I can picture just “seeing” is through a version of Dillard’s “letting go,” and that would be my “letting go” of what has occurred to cause my melancholy. I know everyone would wish at some point in their lives to go back to the simple way of things, no responsibilities; it is the lifestyle that eludes us, it seems. I do not mind my responsibilities as much as I do the existing relationships I have with others. In particular my elder brothers I see the rift that has formed; the hostility, the sadness of how it is, certainly not how it was back then. Dillard writes: “Its one of those nights when I wander from window to window, looking for a sign. But I can’t see. Terror and beauty insoluble are a ribband of blue woven into the fringes of garments of things both great and small. No culture explains, no bivouac offers real haven or rest. But it could be that we are not seeing something” (118). My ribs ache for the feeling in these words, and how closely they can relate to me. At times when I am most nostalgic I look for signs as well, and there is no haven from my memories. Moments in time where the world is clearer and the aspect of time itself tends to freeze up; where almost any bridge can be crossed, even that of those lost to us. Through deep breaths I continue reading and see this tapestry of my life, its gray, with the hints of blue terror and beauty. Everything is not as it seems. Pretending is no longer an option, and the usefulness of that resource has never helped me let go; it only has enabled me to hold on to my resentment.
What am I to do? I know that I am a person who nurses grudges. These vile puss filled anger pockets sit in my gut for years. I have not learned to “let go.” It’s the flaw of a tragic hero, or in my case heroine. As I sit and ponder this dilemma I am pervaded upon by more of Dillard’s words: “I see only tatters of clearness through a pervading obscurity. I can’t distinguish the fog from the overcast sky; I can’t be sure if the light is direct or reflected. Everywhere darkness and the presence of the unseen appalls” (115). I think of a rain pattered window, the water creating rivulets that blur the outside from my eyes. And this feeling that I will forever be in this darkness if I am unable to let go of my anger. The value Dillard fills in her essay is not just about seeing in general, but is akin to life’s problems as well. Of course “seeing” covers many areas in which we use our eyesight, but what I can surmise from the “letting go” type of seeing is to see with the soul. Using your soul as a sense in replacing what our eyes perceive. The air particles around me seem to sizzle, if I listen closely my soul will guide me.
“Letting go” is not a way to pretend rifts never happened, but as a means of dropping the baggage from it. As Dillard says: “We rock, cradled in the swaddling band of darkness. Even the simple darkness of night whispers suggestions to the mind” (115). What suggestions can I hear? One that states it is time to quit seeing my relationships with others as failures. My family does not deserve this kind of giving-up treatment and neither do I. The point of seeing this world for what it truly is, and waiting to happen-chance upon a glorious wonder is what brings this self doubt that I am going about living completely wrong. I want to go back to the days where the simple pleasure of rolling in crab grass and smelling green are what is natural too me again. So I must recreate this feeling again. This is possible through the laying down of arms. Minus my sarcastic remarks and the cold shoulder (I so willingly showcase) will help to alleviate the resentment inside and that in turn will deaden the unwanted, ugly history. As with this new acceptance of the world, I truly see that the flaws I so distrust in others are ones that have hurt me in the past, I must not look at what has happened as a form of vendetta against me, but a irrational mistake, only to happen once. Only then can I free up my aching shoulders and breathe deeper through my realization, and my “letting go.”
As Dillard speaks of blue terror and beauty, I speak in unison of green hope and prosperity. All in a combination that will fulfill my happiness in bridging those lost causes. By the “letting go” type of seeing I can use my soul as a sense to fulfill and return to the obligations of the past; back to the time I was happy. I now can really see for how things are, and not just how they should be. By this mere chance of reading Dillard’s essay I have been shown how I could see the world, not by pure imagination, but by the greatness of letting things just be as they are, flawed yet perfect. I can fix things. I will be able to smell green again. And by using my soul as a sense, I can heal myself and others in time.
7 comments:
Beautifully written Whitney, you have an eloquent way of writing that I like very much! I can see you and your sister in the tall grasses, smell the sun baking the earth around you....we all long for the simplicity of our childhood, in your writing you are able to put those feelings down in words that are stirring. Really nice essay!
Love, Mom
I like it Whit. It reminds me of all our talks about forgiveness :) you are a good writer. Love you
"quote" is actually Reme, but for some reason my screen name was messed up
A successfully communicated thought,
from one human mind to another,
is one of the most powerful forces I know.
- Peter McWilliams, Life 101
I like this one!
Whit,
Not having read Dillard’s essay, it is difficult for me to assess whether your interpretation of her form of “seeing” is accurate or not. However, considering your own literary acuity, I will assume that it is at least very close to the mark.
I think that the purpose of your essay is to analyze Dillard and explain how to apply her thoughts to your own life. In this way, you have made a bold beginning. Your writing remains strong, though at times it flutters. This is no terrible sin, as long as you remember in subsequent drafts that it is simplicity that great writers strive for. Simple sentences, simple words. The one true sentence that Hemingway was always seeking.
I’m going to tell you the largest flaw in your paper, and it will not be an easy one to deal with. First, I’ll tell you a little story.
The greatest writing advice I ever got was from my high school freshman English teacher. I turned in a paper full of fancy language and purple prose, great long meanderings and sentences that would make Faulkner wheeze. Robbe Pitts, my teacher, read it, marked it, handed it to me and said these simple, brief words of wisdom.
“Tyler,” he said. “Get to the f*%$#*@! point.”
Here’s why I tell this to you. Not because you are actually off point…you’re just not there yet. You ask if your slip is showing, and it is, and that’s the problem. Not that it’s showing, but that you still have it on at all. Writing, when it’s real and when it’s great, is about standing naked before the world. You either bare all or you walk out. Writing isn’t a club for fence-sitters.
Are you getting me? You’re near the point in this essay, but you got to keep pushing. You talk about melancholy, problems with your brothers, laying down of arms, vendettas, ugly history, one-time irrational mistakes…but all the while you remain vague. You’re alluding, but refusing to give us concrete details.
I used to do that too. Always, there was Robbe, telling me to get to it. The point, Tyler. Get to the point.
For the reader to understand how the connection is made in your life, they’ll have to understand how you applied it to a specific situation. They’ll need details, not vagaries. This is the hardest challenge for writers, because again it goes back to telling the truth. Do we tell it like it really was? Do we tell how we really felt? Maybe we can just change a few details, just not mention that one little part of it…because it’s embarrassing, and who wants to know it anyway?
But half-truths provoke yawns. The real truth hits us in the gut. Every reader knows the difference.
Thoughts…
If you do decide to be more specific, choose one and only one incident to “let go” of. This will focus the essay and keep it from wandering.
At the start, change it to Reme’s grin in the grass. Stating that it is your own grin gives the reader the perception that you are observing yourself…which is odd and jarring. Keep in mind the reader’s point of reference. They see what you see.
Is “letting go” a solution that takes one back or moves one forward? Is it healing or an attempt to remove the wound? It seems like a semantic question, but the issue is whether one can ever go home again, which Thomas Wolfe said you couldn’t. Bob Dylan said you could come back, you just can’t come back all the way. What do you think?
Why are things no longer simple? Is it the world that changed? Or is it we that changed?
Finally, your sentence: I think of a rain pattered window, the water creating rivulets that blur the outside from my eye. I loved it. When I read it, I thought I was still reading the quote from Dillard. I had to read it twice to realize it was you again.
Keep up the good work.
Tyler
Tyler marvelous critiquing of Whitney's essay!
Whether you meandered or not I still understand your thoughts. My answer..no we can never go back to our childhood, but thank god we can remember it. As time goes by and you experience more you will realize what is important to hold on to and what you should just let go of and move on. It won't be difficult and the weight will be lifted from your life. There is also the possibility that you will find your childhood "hurts" were part of learning about others. I like the way you write and think Whitney. I feel your heart..and it is good!
love aunt dee
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