Monday, Monday

Feeling rather vulnerable, alone, dejected,
rootless, haunted, lethargic, restless, and wrecked
this morning.

Maybe I am never going to adjust to this loss--to
these losses--my father, my career. And I say career
because what I did was not just a job to me. For all
the years that I wished I could be home more, be
with my children more, have more time to write,
read, walk, garden, paint, travel, or just be idle
for a day and enjoy it--for all those years of wishing,
I would never wish this on anyone.

What is purpose anyway? What is use? What is time
and wise use of such? This overwhelming sense--this
permeating sense of failure keeps pushing my head
beneath the water. Pushing it down and holding it longer
and longer and rarely letting me come up for a breath
and not giving me time to take a deep one before
it pushes me back down.

There is no greater joy for me--has never been a greater
joy--than that of being a parent. Now, I look forward
to being a part of my grandchild's life, but even with that
joy, my brain won't let go of the this sense of being a great
big nothing. Up and down I go.

Yes, I realize I am depressed, but I have been that way most
of my life. This time it's different. There are such varying
degrees of depression.

*

I also realize that this inability to write is not because
I can't write--No, because I think I could and I think at one
point I did write some decent stuff.

I can't write because I cannot see. I have stopped
seeing. I look hard enough, but I can't see. Sometimes
I look so hard that the world just seems to turn inside
out and then back outside in or it just gets all looped
around--Mobius strip kind of thing. Or it's just upside down
and the sky is the ocean and the ocean is above me
ready to swallow me up. And the tree roots are spreading
their tentacled arms into the ether and their leaves
and delicate tops are balancing on the verdant fields.

Upside down. And inside out. And I cannot see.

*********************************************


First Gestures

Among the first we learn is good-bye,
your tiny wrist between Dad's forefinger
and thumb forced to wave bye-bye to Mom,
whose hand sails brightly behind a windshield.
Then it's done to make us follow:
in a crowded mall, a woman waves, "Bye,
we're leaving," and her son stands firm
sobbing, until at last he runs after her,
among shoppers drifting like sharks
who must drag their great hulks
underwater, even in sleep, or drown.

Living, we cover vast territories;
imagine your life drawn on a map--
a scribble on the town where you grew up,
each bus trip traced between school
and home, or a clean line across the sea
to a place you flew once. Think of the time
and things we accumulate, all the while growing
more conscious of losing and leaving. Aging,
our bodies collect wrinkles and scars
for each place the world would not give
under our weight. Our thoughts get laced
with strange aches, sweet as the final chord
that hangs in a guitar's blond torso.

Think how a particular ridge of hills
from a summer of your childhood grows
in significance, or one hour of light--
late afternoon, say, when thick sun flings
the shadow of Virginia creeper vines
across the wall of a tiny, white room
where a girl makes love for the first time.
Its leaves tremble like small hands
against the screen while she weeps
in the arms of her bewildered lover.
She's too young to see that as we gather
losses, we may also grow in love;
as in passion, the body shudders
and clutches what it must release.

Julia Spicher Kasdorf

Not Even Trying to Hide

It's relatively quiet tonight,
realtively speaking. The only sounds:
the northbound train, the trickle
of traffic, the landlord across
the street dumping something
into the garbage container
for tomorrow's pickup.

I watch him from the darkness
of my porch, wonder if another
tenant has left him with a mess,
if perhaps he just likes to work.
Work being the operative thought,
the impetus for pounding out words.

And I think about the last drag
of the lit cigarette, the small sip
of vodka, the liver cringing
from this latest onslaught,
the lungs unscreaming

, and I open

my hands to the night air, to darkening
sky, to the suffocating green.

No air, no air. No room to breathe.
No place to go or hide in this relative
world where even the relatives
and all their children never come
to play.

But, then,
yes, then--
there are the black-
eyed Susans who decide to grace
the side yard with their small blossoms,
on this out-of-the-way day beneath
a nonchalant sun.

The Doors - Riders on the Storm

Spent some time in Nashville last night. Discussed the doors of perception. Didn't discuss Jim Morrison or The Doors.

Listened to Warren Zevon (Preludes--posthumous collection) all the way home. Don't know how to say where this all this ties together. I am a rider tonight.

John Lennon Beautiful Boy(darling boy)

Couldn't post the original video (copyright stuff, but you can watch it on YouTube), so here are the words.

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."--John Lennon

Life is Sweet, Cont.

and it is....I am a grandmother!

Isaac Zachariah Brown
7 lbs 10 oz
21 inches long
DOB: 7/09/07

He is a beautiful boy. Right now, those are the only
words I can offer. I am simply filled with joy. Babies
have a way of doing that to me!

He and mommy are doing well and should go home
today. I'm going back to see him next weekend.

I made it to the hospital in time Monday (3 hour drive
from here) for his birth and got to hold him that evening
and yesterday before coming back home. He's so small
and soft and snuggly!

Gotta see if I can find a particular John Lennon video
to post.

Life is Sweet: Revelations and other things

It happens, I think, like this: you are going
through a time of change. You are in turmoil,
inner or outer. You are in pain. You don't
understand why things are happening, or what
they mean. You pray that you will eventually
understand, eventually be able to assign some
meaning to these occurences. Meanwhile, you
endure. Every morning you make yourself
get up and face the day, go through the motions,
cope with whatever has to be coped with.

And then you see a bird at the feeder who does
not fly away when you walk by but stops and
looks back at you with his beady black eyes.
Or an acquaintance you had nearly forgotten
calls to tell you a remark you made two years
ago has changed his life. Or you are walking
with a child who spots a feather in the path,
pulls on your hand to notice, and suddenly
your heart opens. You are swept into the moment,
connected with a sense of blessing, kindness,
wholeness. In the midst of your hardship,
life is so sweet you can hardly bare it, like
honey on the tongue.

Christina Baldwin
Life's Companion: Journal Writing as a Spiritual Quest

*

I am trying to think if I have felt that way about
life recently. Today, it feels like I haven't,
but I think if I think hard enough about it,
an instance will come to mind in which
I had that feeling--the feeling that life
is so sweet I can hardly bare it. I am going
to think about that today and write down
some experiences that come to mind.
Maybe revelations will abound.

*

There's a song I really love by Maria McKee--
Life is Sweet. Wonder if it might be on YouTube.
Doubtful, but I shall look.

*

Morning started out bumpy. Trying to relax
at the table, drink my coffee, do the crossword
puzzle. Molly jumps up on me and spills the coffee
everywhere. I said %#@*& and *%#$@^&#
and a whole lot of other things. Takes a lot
of effort to say "percentage symbol, at, asterisk,
ampersand, etc." Wore me out. Molly can do that.
She's like the little girl in the nursery rhyme

There was a little girl
who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead...

*

Feel sorry for Molly though, and I think
her lampshade is starting to depress her.

*

Too hot to do anything outside and I am
not motivated to start an indoor project.
I want to strip the wallpaper in the hallway
and paint the walls a sage green. My hallway
is about 25-30 ft long and 5 ft wide. It has
oak hardwood floors and a beautiful 4 inch
wide beaded chair rail. The ceiling also
has crown molding, but all of the beauty
gets lost with the light wallpaper in there.
The ceilings in the house are 12 ft, but the
hallway ceilings are only about 9.5 ft.
I just know how much work is going to be
involved. Stipping the paper, washing
the walls, repairing the plaster cracks,
sanding the woodwork, washing again,
priming, then finally painting. There are
6 doors to do as well. The doors have an
intricate wood pattern on them, so they
take a while to do. If I could just start
the project--just quit thinking about how
long it's going to take to complete it,
I might get somewhere. Still haven't
completed the kitchen renovation.

*

Shower time. Then laundry. Then--
well, I don't know what then. Maybe
something fun. I want to go see a movie,
I think. Rented 4 this week: The Queen,
The Illusionist, Pan's Labyrinth, and Letters
from Iwo Jima. Have watched two and will
comment on them soon.

Falling into the hole: Rilke and other things


This sounds conceptual. I don't have any other language for it
yet. I need to move directly into the hole. Out of my head, out of
my reasoning, out of my ego, anxieties, fantasies of control. I
need to fall into the hole as I have never allowed myself, and be
led through darkness.

Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody. There is only one
single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you
write, find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest
place of your heart...Delve into yourself for a deep answer...then
build your life according to this necessity.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Letters to a Young Poet

*

Rilke makes falling into a hole sound like it might not be such a bad
thing. I am falling into a hole, so to speak. A not-speaking-much hole.
Which might be the kind of hole I need right now. It's not necessarily
by choice that I am falling into that sort of hole, but I have been told
that how we relate to what happens to us is a choice we make,
so I guess in that sense I am choosing to be a bit incommunicado.

*

Had Molly spayed on the 25th. She tolerated the surgery
and was doing well until Sunday, the 1st. I had been out of town
and was still not home when Wes called to tell me she had
something wrong with her leg. Took her to the vet Tuesday.
He said the sore on her leg was a reaction to the anesthetic
they gave her. He bandaged it and put her on oral antibiotics.
She chewed the bandage off within two hours of getting home.
I bandaged it again that day, the 4th, and the morning of the 5th.
She kept chewing off the bandages. It looked terrible yesterday--
could see muscle. The vet put a different bandage on and put
her in a collar.

Lampshade-Head Molly. It looks funny, but I am sure she is miserable.
She can't even lick herself, but she has to keep it on for her leg to heal.

*

Spent last Saturday and Sunday in New Harmony, IN. Moonlight
labyrinth walk on Saturday night. Walked the trails Sunday
and ate at the new coffeeshop. Had a turkey and pesto panini
sandwich and some hummus and chips. Was a good trip.
Fun. Relaxing. Necessary.

*

My brother and his family visited with my mom last weekend. I saw
them briefly when I got back to town Sunday. My youngest niece
(6 months old) is a very happy and beautiful baby. Sophia-Phaedra.
She seemed to enjoy sitting in my lap and letting me hold her in front
of me so I could watch her face and see her smile.

*

Grandbaby is due any day. May be on the road again soon. Lauren is
in NYC visiting my brother this week. She's planning to go to Coney
Island today. Always makes me think of Ferlinghetti when I hear
someone say Coney Island. Some good poems in his book A Coney
Island of the Mind.

*

Nose is dripping like a faucet today. Allergies, I think. Miserable.
But probably not as much as Molly though she's being a good
sport about things.

*

I have a friend who has not called me in three weeks. I was speaking
to her on the phone one day, and as we were talking, my Florida
company who visited with us that week came in the house. I told
her I wanted her to hold the thought she had just started to speak
about and I would call her back later. To which she said: Well, okay
then (in a very sarcastic tone) and she hung up. I tried her back
twice. She never returned my call.

Makes falling into a hole sound excatly like what I need to do now.
Seriously. Who has time for s*** like that? That's friendship? And
really, there is not more to the story (at least that I am aware of),
so I think her reaction was strange and unnecessary, and I frankly
don't want to invest anymore time in trying to figure it out.

Hole time. Falling time. Being led through the darkness time.

*

Finally got some pictures developed. Some of Dad's grave on Father's
Day a year ago. Didn't go this year. Couldn't. Don't know why. Also
pictures of a trip to FL Wes, my mom and I took last fall, and some
other pics of Molly. She's changed so much that I am not going
to post any of those. I have another roll of film to develop. It has
recent pics of Molly on it.

*

Spent some time on my journal today. Playing catch-up. Applied
for a job at the college. Am sending out another application Monday
for another job at the college. And may send a third for another
job posted at the college.

*

Some Ferlinghetti to close this ramble.


The Plough of Time

Night closed my windows and
The sky became a crystal house
The crystal windows glowed
The moon
shown through them
through the whole house of crystal
A single star beamed down
its crystal cable
and drew a plough through the earth
unearthing bodies clasped together
couples embracing
around the earth
They clung together everywhere
emitting small cries
that did not reach the stars
The crystal earth turned
and the bodies with it
And the sky did not turn
nor the stars with it
The stars remained fixed
each with its crystal cable
beamed to earth
each attached to the immense plough
furrowing our lives