Friday, October 24, 2008


So it is. All trials are only circles. The hurricane falls into the shore, mingling sand-surf-beach-rocks-electric-air, the false lull before the plunge. The innards of the ocean throws up a curtain of sleet that spreads like a comforter onto a king-sized bed.


"You can't rush destiny."

No, I guess you can't. Just like you can't sail around a tempest, for if you did they'd still ask,

"Why were you late?"

And you'd have to say, "It was because of a storm."

Then they'd ask, "It must have been bad?"

And you'd have to say, "I don't know. I sailed around it."

No you just can't rush destiny.


The moment of not understanding is an opportunity to learn.
-- bell hooks


I love that all our things are mingled together, love how your stuff is a-clutter, crumple towels, jeans, and bras. I love to find traces of your passing when we're apart, love the way you're spread on the floor like a cyclone.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

A day alone. Time to reflect, to recollect what was given, what remains. Back to the Falls. The prayers I had uttered there all answered, just not in the order received. Back to a time colored heartache, a grey shade of blue on a starless sky, curling, shivering into earth. A thin strand stretcheing to eternity, showing where that berg of memory has sailed since calving from a glacier of lives never lived. When again was that day it fell apart? Where was that fault line to be found?

A false lull -- something quite as ordinary as the drop in pressure before the restless expenditure of a thunderstorm. Remembrance soaking my senses: the scent of morning in the forest; sound of beachrocks chattering in the tide and the taste of salt water; a thread of light flickering from the last embers of a fire to dance, all yellow, all yolk, before the mirrors of my eyes.

I hold my breath, watch as that small spark falls faintly to rest in my hand. This moment becomes all moments, becomes this pen shaping symbols, crafting vessels into which we pour meaning -- becomes something other than myself. "Listen more carefully," it says, "Then you will know."

In still silence a tether is cut, these syllables set loose from the past leaving only a dream, a dream that has always been true. For all things were given. All things remain. And I am held in life's embrace as the soil nourishes a seed to flower to see only the sun, as joy can reside only where once was sorrow, as surely as dawn. I am in love.