It is both a searching and a being found. A going toward and a waiting for. A putting out and a bringing in. This thing called beauty. A building and a making, a creating that needs to happen every day. A stalking for traces of it. Glimpses in unexpected faces. It’s not just the red flower weighed with dew. It’s what’s behind it also. It’s not just the cloud noticed for the first time or forgiveness. It is the night and the distance between us. I keep a sharp eye for you. Even as time moves you, it can be a moment, just a moment. Radiance. The tree lit with fire. The pang. The heart pang. Exploding. No longer the need to question. No longer the need. I was found. You come and rest even as you fling. Stay. No, it is not possible. Yet, the memory and the new alertness. The practiced eye. The certainty. The gratitude. The Silence.
January 6, 2011
December 4, 2010
Letter to an Old Friend
Is it okay if I call you friend? I’ve known you for so long and it is time for you to be a friend. You are with me always. Sometimes you sit in the living room of my house, powerful in your presence. At other times you are like a guest taking a nap in an upstairs bedroom. I used to fight you or plead with you to leave, but I don’t do that anymore. I let you be. I’ve discovered the gifts you bring with friendship. I am grateful for the clarity you allow, for whatever energy you permit, for writing, above all for that, for the daily work of living. Who would have ever thought that we would end up being friends, that even as I do all I can to keep you gentle, I could welcome you? I accept you and limit you all at once. Come on in, there’s a rocking chair for you by the fire, but it is still my house. Now that you’re a friend, I don’t know what to call you. Your medical name sounds too formal and distant. You are more than a condition. You’re not me and yet you are a part of me. The metaphors used to describe you seem too impersonal. Darkness, grayness, the words lack accuracy. You are painfully bright at times. To call you by your symptoms is to treat you like an enemy and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ll simply call you my old friend. I call you my old friend because I know you, I’ve seen through you. I’ve even seen compassion and hope in you. These are the things that only friends can see. I know you now, so well, and so I call you my old friend.
October 30, 2010
Of Raking Leaves and Writing (cont)
1. Imagine that an angel appears to you and asks you to rake for an hour. “I’m just a messenger,” he says.
2. No need to be perfect. He knows you can’t get every single leaf. He just wants you to rake for an hour.
3. Don’t let the cold stop you. The movement of your arms will warm you up.
4. There’s no one place to start. Where you start is the beginning.
5. How you feel while you are raking is not important.
6. Don’t worry what others think of the work, you’re raking for Whoever sent the angel.
7. It’s messy work, there’s no getting around that.
8. Be grateful when the sun comes out.
9. Raking is not more significant or less significant than anything else.
10. When the hour is done, walk away humbly.
