Thanksgiving Weekend
November 23 THANKSGIVING DAY
So I have polished the brass, and roasted the bird, and the wet leaves fall down in the rain. The fire is laid on the hearth, and friends are on the way.
I am looking at my picture from a year ago, the thing I am the most grateful for is my own transformation, my own healing. Seventy pounds gone, and a stronger, more vital, more confident being lives here today.
November 25 - Clear, cold dawn, and a pink feather boa in the driveway.
Morning after yet another party. Not enough writing lately, I feel it, I feel the stories come and there is no where for them to go, then they fade. Like coals, like stars, like days rising and falling. Like breath. No guarantee of a next one. V says “There is no certainty, only opportunity.”
He is at peace with that, completely calm with acceptance, not at all resignation or defeat. I need this demeanor. It serves me not to search for the reasons V is sick and twisted. He sings to me another message, his calm clear, effective way of being, his powerful grace and confidence, his fearlessness borne of knowledge and preparation.
The cat is so compulsive, she is standing on Evan’s camera and ipod at the same time. She is drawn to the energy and allure of these gadgety things we love and play with all the time. I asked her to get down, and she did. I asked her to play her xylophone, and she raised a paw and struck one deliberate note. Then, being a cat, wandered off. Behold, the kitties of the house: they neither sow nor reap.
So I have polished the brass, and roasted the bird, and the wet leaves fall down in the rain. The fire is laid on the hearth, and friends are on the way.
I am looking at my picture from a year ago, the thing I am the most grateful for is my own transformation, my own healing. Seventy pounds gone, and a stronger, more vital, more confident being lives here today.
November 25 - Clear, cold dawn, and a pink feather boa in the driveway.
Morning after yet another party. Not enough writing lately, I feel it, I feel the stories come and there is no where for them to go, then they fade. Like coals, like stars, like days rising and falling. Like breath. No guarantee of a next one. V says “There is no certainty, only opportunity.”
He is at peace with that, completely calm with acceptance, not at all resignation or defeat. I need this demeanor. It serves me not to search for the reasons V is sick and twisted. He sings to me another message, his calm clear, effective way of being, his powerful grace and confidence, his fearlessness borne of knowledge and preparation.
The cat is so compulsive, she is standing on Evan’s camera and ipod at the same time. She is drawn to the energy and allure of these gadgety things we love and play with all the time. I asked her to get down, and she did. I asked her to play her xylophone, and she raised a paw and struck one deliberate note. Then, being a cat, wandered off. Behold, the kitties of the house: they neither sow nor reap.
posted by Ven at 10:46 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home