You let the sand slip through your fingers. It is warm and dry. It makes an unmistakable rasping sound as it pools at your feet. The sun is warm, the shade beneath the ironwood is cool. The birds are riotous in the midday heat. Something races through the chaparral, rattling the dry brush. This is … Continue reading I’ll save myself.
You go about the waking world holding it together. Presenting your best face. The workaholic. The stay at home mom. The perfect wife. The perfect Christian. The reformed addict. And then you’re here. Ostensibly anonymous. Words uttered without the threat of scrutiny. Without filter. (Or filtered through the lens of what you believe makes one … Continue reading Je suis Dorian.
My oldest and I were discussing the Ancient Greeks, as one does with a 16 year old on the way home from school, and she mentioned something a classmate of hers said in their Socratic discussion. “Grief is the perseverance of love.” To my embarrassment — and her alarm — I choked back a sob. … Continue reading Grief is the perseverance of love.
She would be 20.
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool. “The surface glittered out of heart of light,And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.Go, go, go, said the bird: human kindCannot bear very … Continue reading And let my cry come unto thee.
Blessèd sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden, Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit stillTS Eliot, Ash Wednesday Saint Eulalia, John William Waterhouse. This isn't the passage I'd initially planned on using, but there's a beauty to … Continue reading Teach us to care and not to care
Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something. The Dying Gaul. I can't sleep, even though I would really love it. My mind spins when everything is quiet, and I usually try to distract myself to get it to stop. But I've got Kaleo's All the Pretty Girls stuck in my head, … Continue reading Thinking about stuff at 3am.
There's something about hope that just rips through the scar tissue and finds the weakness in the armor we have built up to make our lives liveable. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I am susceptible to hope because I so desperately want to believe in it. I want to believe that there is more than … Continue reading Some thoughts on hope, and what it means.
In which I try with limited success to avoid the cliche of Hamlet's most famous soliloquy.