“Let not future things disturb you, for you will come to them, if it shall be necessary, having with you the same reason which you now use for present things.”Marcus Aurelius I am tired of reaction. I grow weary of anticipating disaster. I do not want to cease thinking rationally, but would like to avoid … Continue reading Let go.
grief
Catalysts are made to be burned.
I do not want this. With every fiber of my being, I do not want to be here. The heat. The ants. The fucking gravestone that I refuse to maintain. I never bring flowers. I shouldn’t have to. I should not have to come here. For fuck’s sake. It’s hot and humid today; the marble … Continue reading Catalysts are made to be burned.
This wave.
The Tempest. J.W. Waterhouse / 1916 How do we learn to be still? To allow people the grace to ebb and flow around us without reacting to their emotional whirlpools, their tempests, or their doldrums? Don’t look at me — I have no idea. I am a reactor. I become a tempest in response to … Continue reading This wave.
Grief is the perseverance of love.
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.
And let my cry come unto thee.
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.
Sovegna vos.
The dripping blood our only drink,The bloody flesh our only food:In spite of which we like to thinkThat we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.TS Eliot, East Coker When I was about eight, I fled our Good Friday service in tears. It was a shared service … Continue reading Sovegna vos.
