September 27, 2017 § 7 Comments
All the earlier selves are hidden inside the one you see, still there, preserved.
But unlike those wooden dolls, each of the selves hidden inside that old body is different.
One has skinned knees.
A second is reading a Nancy Drew book.
A third wears a prom corsage.
Another holds a baby in her arms.
I wish I’d known that when I was a kid seeing my grandparents as only that, grandparents. Inside each of them was a kid as young as I was, and on the outside, a kid as old as the one I would become.
I know about these hidden selves because, much to my surprise, I am old. And young. And everything in between. I am every one of those dolls down to the tiny one at the very center.
2. The inanimate is just the animate holding still.
Existence is an addition problem. It is the sum of everything.
Each rock, feather, man-made object, holds the life force.
It moves like a cloud shadow across the landscape but we are too distracted, too human-centric to notice.
We, the kinetic, the perpetually in motion, are not attuned to it, but if we become aware, the inanimate befriends and anchors us, it puts our insignificance into perspective. Feel that force and we understand that we are just one more number in that long, long addition problem.
I know, because I feel the life in the rock I rest against, and in the favorite sweater I wear year after year. Still my whirring self, and the company of all that is surrounds me. « Read the rest of this entry »
September 13, 2017 § Leave a comment
You whose name is God,
Which is fitting.
God, the great intangible.
Dog, who with nail-click,
familiar stink and scrubby fur
God is omnipresent
while you, oh dog,
are simply present.
You live in this
roll in the grass.
This scratch between the ears.
May we learn
from your example.
You are not God,
but you exhibit his patience
with us, the impatient,
Thank God, we pray.
But thank dog, we live.