My own ground

I came across this excerpt from L.M. Montgomery today:

“I grew up out of that strange, dreamy childhood of mine and went into the world of reality. I met with experiences that bruised my spirit - but they never harmed my ideal world. That was always mine to retreat into at will. I learned that that world and the real world clashed hopelessly and irreconcilably; and I learned to keep them apart so that the former might remain for me unspoiled. I learned to meet other people on their own ground since there seemed to be no meeting place on mine. I learned to hide the thoughts and dreams and fancies that had no place in the strife and clash of the market place. I found that it was useless to look for kindred souls in the multitude; one might stumble on such here and there, but as a rule it seemed to me that the majority of people lived for the things of time and sense alone and could not understand my other life. So I piped and danced to other people's piping - and held fast to my own soul as best I could.”

And I realized that no matter how much this speaks to me and about me, I have indeed met people on MY own ground. Not just theirs. There have been beyond oodles of people who strolled by on that little gravel path outside my little soul home, curiously craning their neck to try to get a peek into my tiny soul cottage that always keeps a glimmer of warmth from its innermost spirit hearth. No matter what is going on (around it) at any given time. There’s been quite a few that actually made it into the foyer of this intricately woven web of comfort. I’d be showing them around a bit, displaying a few trinkets here and there. And as they would enjoy the stay or the break in their own travels, it was always time to move on (for them). I was simply hosting them the bit of rest and comfort needed, for them to keep on their journey refreshed or maybe even help them figure out the next step on their path. Then there have been a handful of travelers coming in from strange lands, strange grounds, arousing my own curiosity, and they would make it beyond the foyer, cozying up behind that ever glowing hearth, meanwhile rearranging not just the decor, but at times going as far as remodeling some of my worn and broken internal structures. So that my unnoticed crumbling of major foundations would not completely cave in my soul.

Indeed, I have met people on MY own ground.

art by Thomas Kinkade

http://thomaskinkade.com