There are no replacements for God. The waning quarter moon fades while drifting through the interstice of October maples. Frost glitters on fallen leaves though you have to kneel to see. One has a sense of darkness and space and pending realization.
There are no codes to unravel. In the morning I walk shivering, looking down, and later write, unsure why. An old sweat shirt on the bed, unusable reading glasses behind the clock. We want to be reliable but for who?
And why? The tea grows cold while I wait for the dog to come back and my stomach rebels accordingly. For the first time I am frightened of winter! One's appetite for fiction subsides and in its place is a longing for the simplicity and clarity that only honesty can bring.
I waited up for hours but nobody called or visited. I remember afternoons in Burlington Vermont, sitting at the window, watching the lake change colors, idly picking my way through unfamiliar chords. Churches come and go but prayer endures regardless. Hours in the kitchen are a kind of love, albeit not the one we are after, but still.
My father's walking stick rests in a corner by the door, a single thread of cobweb dangling. In the end, sex is just a prelude to being held both gently and carefully, enabling at last a sacred rest. It is no longer sufficient to know the way or point others in its direction. I linger over the sentences, set them as best I can, and move on as we all must, sooner than later.
It is funny, Sean. I am both drawn to your 20 sentences and, at the same time, sense some inner resistance. Another metaphor, perhaps? Your first sentence stopped me with its bare truth. Could that be what is always pending realization? Say too much and words mean less.ReplyDelete
"There are no codes to unravel." We would like to think so, because then we would have something to do. Then our endless searching is justified. Then we can believe in our specialness.
I, too, no longer have an appetite for fiction. I, too, want simply to rest in Truth.
I like visiting here briefly because what you mean is not what I might hear but what I hear has meaning, too.
Time to run and clear a few of my own cobwebs....if only for a moment.
Sending you a Monday thank you hug..... :)
Thank you Cheryl. Way back when I started this project I was reading Gertrude Stein closely (which I do from time to time) and thinking a lot about how meaning is made, and what meaning is, and to whom it belongs and so forth. I have come to believe - as a lifelong reader and writer, and finally as an ACIM student - that we can only see in others what lies in us untended (and thus gets projected, if you want to stay with the ACIM metaphor). I pay a lot of attention to what I see in other writers that I envy/admire/imitate - for example, this piece of writing struck me today as being entertaining, intelligent, well-researched and brilliantly structured. I stopped many times just to oggle a single sentence. I do that too with writing I resist: what is it I don't want to see? What am I avoiding? Peace always lies in looking closely which is what enables us to let go/let heal.ReplyDelete
Thanks for the kind words & spot-on interpretation of some lines. I was resistant to writing that first sentence. What do you say after that? For a moment I thought: maybe this is how this project ends. But I am still figuring stuff out - encoding it, decoding it, leaving clues behind for those who follow, et cetera . . . .
Be well & wordy,