Sunday, December 7, 2014
My Interior Correspondence
Wordiness unbound, attention relieved of tension, and waking too late to walk the dog during shotgun season. Deer breathe in snowy glades, their undulating flanks the color of burlap. Not for the first time do I consider reinvigorating my interior correspondence with Gertrude Stein, the brilliant but strange aunt nobody wants to claim. At the end of her mountain of a life she asked "what is the question" and then went silent, relatively silent. Sentences of the eighteenth century, especially Cooper's, forever resound in my head, urging me in the direction of transcendent gestures. "At length the sun set in a flood of glory, behind the distant western hills, and as darkness drew its veil around the secluded spot the sounds of preparation diminished; the last light finally disappeared from the log cabin of some officer; the trees cast their deeper shadows over the mounds and the rippling stream, and a silence soon pervaded the camp, as deep as that which reigned in the vast forest by which it was environed." The forest found us, and has not yet left us, is a better way to say it. Well, who doesn't love the sound of their own voice? Whatever arises is already here and so the idea of control is laughable, or would be if it weren't also the source of so much grief and conflict. Into your arms I would fall, beloved! Meanwhile, squirrels decorate the dogwood tree and chickadees abound. You can't have ice without water, or Buddhas without suffering, or pancakes for breakfast without sharing, thank Christ.
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