the most beautiful thing: hope
Hope. It is a buzz word of late. “Hope is not folly…” was an oft-quoted phrase in the early days of Barack Obama’s campaign. And “Hope springs enternal…” Pope wrote, and many quoted after. Pope also penned, “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” I wonder to myself, are these sentiments related? Do I hope for more than the hearts around me dare hold. And in the hoping, do I tread too closely to the edge of reality, the other side of which is surely delirium? I wonder to myself… and I decide: delirium would be a small price to pay for the ever-present hope of you.
This hope, it is the outstretched hand to you. It is the heart raised in open bloom and the mouth set slack with the anticipation of you. It is is the foot feebly finding ground and the hand slipped up and out of the sleeve, sliding along stone and rail and wood and brick with the wishing for the sliding against you. It is the breath. It is the breath wanting of the mingling of you. It is the moment held deep in the belly, unsure but clear for the not knowing. It is so much and so much more and the so much and so much more, it is not real to the touch today. But, it is real to the heart in the form of that which brings us to our knees and raises us up towards the person we wish to be. It is the form that pulls us from depths untried and heights unfallen-from. It is the mountain come to Mohammed and it is beautiful. It is the from of all feats beyond our daily capacity. It is the form beyond our doubts and wonderings-aloud. It is form, pure and simple. It is not folly. It springs eternal. It is hope.
Photo Credit: Chip Clark/Smithsonian Institution