Seeing Things: One Writer’s Call By Cynthia Beach

on Jan 10, 2018 in Blog | 4 comments

The old weathered post wore a sculpted head, its curves elegant, shapely. Rising from the sand, it framed the right edge of the vista that spread beyond the crest of the sand hill that led me to Lake Huron.

As a teen living near the lake, I walked along shore to think. Up the hill I’d scramble, my feet sunk in sand. At the crest, I’d pause to gape: that horizon stretch of blue-silver with the post anchoring the corner of the picture I always imagined taking.

Then one day I climbed the hill and—no post. Gone. Disappointment surged through me. Later, when I lamented to family members about the missing post, they said, “What post?”

The post became my symbol for that Something About Me—that part of me that noticed things others didn’t. My physical eye saw details like the post. My inner eye saw other details—emotional currents, nonverbal signals.

This seeing, at times, propelled me into isolation. It wasn’t an attribute I prized. My pain echoed in the words of Lara, the character from the Russian novel Doctor Zhivago. For Lara also asked, “Why is it my fate to see everything and take it all to heart?”

As teachers encouraged me to write—to record what my seeing revealed, this trait gradually became a gift. I began encountering ways of understanding this seeing. Catherine Marshall’s novel, Christy, taught me that God might be the One asking me to see. Christy’s mentor explains, “God had to take my little girl hands off my little girl eyes.” This idea electrified me. I understood. Be willing to see. This was what He asked.

Other reading confirmed my calling to bear witness. Another Russian, poet Anna Akhmatova, showed me how needed is this skill:

In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror, I spent seventeen months waiting in line outside the prison in Leningrad. One day somebody in the crowd identified me. Standing behind me was a woman, with lips blue from the cold….Now she started out of her torpor…and asked me in a whisper, “Can you describe this?” And I said, “I can.” Then something like a smile passed fleetingly over what had once been her face.

A recognized poet—her power to see and to name—stirred a desperate woman’s hope. I would try. I would try to look around me, to be the one to see. My seeing was a gift, the writing too—to be the one who would.

 

Breathe co-founder, Cynthia Beach is a long-time creative writing professor at Cornerstone University. Her writing contributions appear in publications like The Englewood Review of Books and Hope in the Mourning Bible (Zondervan). She is currently marketing her novel, The Seduction of Pastor Goodman.

 

    4 Comments

  1. This seeing (or feeling), and naming it, that you write of…brings a teary response of “someone who understands.” Thank you.

    Cathy Rueter

    January 10, 2018

  2. Cynthia:

    In the short time I’ve known you, I recognized your gift of “Seeing” with a keen observance for intricate detail.

    I was originally introduced to Anna Akhmatova’s work through the translations of Jane Kenyon.

    Thank you for this observation. I want to leave you with this quote from Elizabeth Mowry that I used in an old post @ Walk With Father Nature titled: “The Poetic Landscape” … http://walkwithfathernature.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-poetic-landscape.html

    Gratefully,

    Richard Havenga

    Richard Havenga

    January 10, 2018

  3. Very nicely done–a lovely and insightful piece in a short space.

    Wayne Ude

    January 10, 2018

  4. “Why is it my fate to see everything and take it all to heart?” – love this! Both the gift and challenge of being a writer. Thank you!

    Patricia Robertson

    January 11, 2018

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