Wednesday, January 20, 2010

at Odds and Ends

Disparate thoughts...

A book of poems I opened this morning, a new one, in which I was greeted by this... dedication?

After the final no there comes a yes

I could see this was not something to begin reading before work, so I tossed it onto the shaggy rug that has taken up residence in my living room, to await my return. This rug I did not need is my new landing pad, softly inviting me to sit down, stretch out, relax and stay a while. Fluffy pillows, yoga bolster, meditation cushion have all joined me in this new room. Slowly, I've been growing into this place, starting at the center... Sunroom waits for fairer weather, comfy chair. Sauna and I have only seen each other naked once, but I'm sure we're going to be fast friends once I get over my shyness. What will eventually be my bedroom is closed off, for now. I'm in no hurry.

Losing ground. These words come to mind, leaving work today, but why? Perhaps the loss of belonging to a place, of letting it go, or of letting myself go, ungrounded, belonging nowhere. This house makes itself home to me in spite of my fears. Something solid, in this sea of change, this flood of emotion. Where did all this water come from? My watery heart. Losing ground. We begin to know this, literally--oceans rising as we refuse, finally begin to understand what we've done, that there's no going back. After the final no...

Two dressed in desert camouflage, boots, backpacks, walking together down the river road in the dark of the evening, the light of streetlamps. Where have they come from, and where are they going?

Tonight, I can make a good meal with what is here. It is better than I might have hoped.

I've kept the radio off, no music for two weeks now. I haven't missed the noise. I'll sing from time to time, let the sound bounce around, but often I cut myself off... What is it that keeps me from singing, from dancing in my own home? Only fear, of course, but of what? On this rug I stretch my muscles, my joints, my injuries, but only as far as I can before something surfaces, gasping for air, scrambling for higher ground.

I have this rug, now, while mothers dig through rubble to find the bodies of their children, on an island shaken by the core of the Earth.

Disparate thoughts...

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