Waxing philosophical in Whitley Bay



20 June 2007
I live on a street. It’s a magical street, the sidewalks made up of paving stones, one fitting perfectly next to the other, just so. Every once in a while, I step on the corner of one of these stones and it’s opposite end lifts up, the stone having been set unevenly, and with my next step, it falls back into the place it’s meant for; the fluid and sudden motion of sinking into the ground and the rich, musical sound it makes, clanking against it’s neighbor leaves me with a feeling of exhilaration and immense satisfaction; kind of like finding fresh, thin ice, and crunching it underfoot; soooooo good to me.

 Everything’s trying to grow on my street. It’s lush and green and the vibrance of the flowers in bloom  makes up for the seemingly perpetual greyness of the sky. There are tiny, green gardens, bordering tiny brick flats and everything is neat, manicured and almost…polite looking; like the gardens themselves have developed a personality; not just human though…English. They’ve taken on the feeling of this place, it’s essence. It’s the same in every place, if you know what to look for. Sometimes the people shape the land, sometimes the land shapes the people, but in all cases, the two are part and parcel; intertwined.

 It’s beautiful here. Lately, the streets have been shrouded in mist rising off the sea, and I walk through it, every morning, feeling like a polite fairy in an ethereal, almost holy land. This place still doesn’t seem real for me. I can see it’s beauty, how could I not, but I’m not taking that beauty and translating it into something tangible, or creating with it, or allowing it to inspire me because I haven’t embraced this place yet. I’m still adjusting.

I see the buds on the trees, the moss and ivy on the stone walls, all growing, striving to be; straining and searching towards the light– their life force because it is their nature and they will survive; they will grow and be because they don’t know how not to– but for me, I know how not to, I’m human and I’ve been conditioned, but all it takes for change is a choice. I recognize this as a truth, but I can’t seem to manifest a full acceptance for this place. I miss my friends and family; the feeling of home, and although every day I create more and more of a home for myself here, it’s still lonely from time to time and the loneliness grips my heart and holds me down.

 Ahhh, moving. I moved and moved and moved to end up standing still. Humans are such fragile creatures…I will persevere though. I’m here, and it’s truly amazing! The wonder of this place will eventually seep in and take over the loneliness…My spirit refuses to be broken.

P.S. I’m starting to see that true happiness comes from within and is NOT created by your environment


P.P.S. I thought I learned that lesson already…

P.P.P.S. I have an unhealthy penchant for semi-colons in the “write” and wrong places. (grin)

About Shellschön

My parents gave me a babyhood nickname. It takes the last part of my given name, Michelle (Shell) and the German word for "beautiful" (schön). The ö is difficult to work with if you type slower than you think, like I do, so the name kind of evolved to shellshin; like pressing words--word press.
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