I am now living for a time at another's home. Care-taking. This morning, I open another's book at random, and find a few lines of Emily Dickinson's poetry. These two lines hit the bullseye:
I think to Live - may be Bliss
To those Who Dare to Try
I brought my own book too for the long stay over. Roberto Bolano's "Savage Detectives." Young poets in Mexico trying things. Beautiful, raging, raunchy, hilarious. Reading it for the 2nd time.
My partner told me it is a fallow time. Clear the field. Think about planting seeds. It is dark to dark here in the deep winter season. A good time to lay low, get our shit together. Dare to try new things.
A friend of mine remarked: "I like how you always have something positive to say."
I replied: "Ha. It is the only way I can keep going."
It's true. Just survival. Thinking of Emily & Roberto. Yes. To Live. It's a Gift. But what to do with it? Keep a going until one can no longer.
Being Human, I find, is a long series. Drama. Trauma. Giving. Getting. Some days there is a wide spectrum of broken. We wear our experiences on our skin, in our hearts & bones. There is satisfaciton weathering the weather. Challenging. So cold, so windy, so hard, every step an adventure. Getting through in one piece, a sort of victory.
Laid low one day. Bounce the next. A Life.
