I need to rest

and I need to be awake.

I need to write

but my words are coming slow.

It’s Too Much

and it’s Never Enough.

 

 

This is a Terrifyingly Hard and Beautiful Life

and it only makes sense about one third of the time.

In the mornings,

after the long nights of Not Enough Sleep,

what eventually propels me from the lying prone position in my bed

to the feet sliding over the side,

hit the floor,

is not hope

so much

as gravity.

Not prospect of good

but responsibility

and The Only Next Thing To Do.

 

 

And if my heart feels a little tender and bruised,

you know,

it’s just because it is coming back to life.

It’s just because it has been in solitary confinement.

It’s not so much about What I Want

as it is about What I Cannot Have

and,

in the words of Mr. Wendell Berry, 

“it’s not right, but it’s alright”.

 

 

The sun shining the next day always helps.

Being outdoors is better than being indoors.

One always feels less desperate beside a tree.

Less lonely in the woods.

Less hopeless when the sun is warming your bare skin.

Oh Sunshine,

bring good news.

 

 

Reinvent and revive me.

Restore me and collect the bits of me floating away and apart.

 

 

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