Saturday, October 25, 2014

Complexity as a Form of Love

One wakes at an unfamiliar hour, nudging the day before them the way a canoe gently shifts the lake even as it is carried towards the center. Trails of mist, a bass-eye view of surfaces and a sense one spent their midnight pacing marble balustrades. Oh moonlight tell me how to guide my kingdom home! I no longer want what I once wanted is now all that I want. The quiet deepens and something settles the less one subjects it to study. For example, the backyard dogwood tree altogether leafless and blue jays pocking the suet Chrisoula makes. Lessons hardly abound. And what I don't know becomes the elision in which definition yet readies its tangle. Inclination towards complexity as a form of love? Boughs of pine lifted, mergansers making a line north, sunlight after how many days rain? Awareness now of the risk inherent in both biography and history, clocks and calendars, which is to say the impulse to do away with them itself is gone. Is mediated? Lust wrecks the directive longing forever offers. There are dances, there are loaves of cinnamon bread, and there is the mail which though it never quite arrives is always here. Perhaps service is the willingness to be still in the face of ontological difficulties, in which stillness wordiness makes a not-unhelpful legend. Still. Maybe? I am saying not steps, but feet. Not maps but where we are, right now, together.


  1. Good Morning Sean,

    It's a gorgeous October Saturday here .... After all these years in Virginia, I am still astonished by the abundance of green that lasts well into November.

    I like your paragraphs and how many forms your writing takes while the message is essentially the same, one I gradually hear more deeply, more clearly.

    Like this:
    I no longer want what I once wanted is now all that I want! Never thought of it like that, but yes.

    And the risk inherent in biology and history, how we can get trapped in the box of our personal story and don't see how we have established parameters for our "journey" before we ever get started.

    And I keep trying to break the code of that letter. I'm guessing the problem is in the effort. :)

    Thank God there are dances and cinnamon bread and the GF chunky peanut butter/cayenne cookies I plan to experiment with making here in the next few minutes. (We'll see.)

    Enjoy the weekend with your family. I'm really missing my girls today. I'm glad they are independent women, but they do, indeed, grow up so quickly.


  2. Thanks, Cheryl . . . the moving around with form in writing is very important to me. Much is revealed as we allow language to lead us in new directions even as - as you point out - the content remains largely the same.

    Yeah, they grow up fast . . . even though all three of my kids are still here, it's just amazing to watch them growing and finding their own identities . . . Eric, who often comments here, is going to be a father! I have been thinking about those moments, the beginning of parenting . . . No other experience has been so full or interesting or challenging for me.

    We've got sun on this end today, after a lot of rain. I'm grading papers which means I'm locked inside most of the day, but I plan to wander at some point this afternoon . . . Have fun cooking! Sorry I'm not closer so you could bring some cookies by!

    Talk to you soon,


  3. Thank you, Sean, for sharing the photo of your daughters. I imagine they are as different in personality as they are in appearance, yet both so lovely, with so much light in their eyes.

    Ah, how deeply I connect with those two words "my girls".... :)

  4. Oops...left this comment in the wrong place, I see. Not sure how that happened but my apologies.