Saturday, December 31, 2016

belief

Outside the snow has tidied up the world. The braids of snow on the skull of the world are everywhere swinging.  The pale sky is lit up with pink glow.  A corner wall of the sky is kept tastefully grey. The best home decorator is Nature.

The chaos of stuff inside my writing room is very fertile. I feel very satisfied to have found so many garage sale things that I like.  The only clear space is the wall where I have written "believe".  It's the only word needed to write.

I have bills to pay and laundry to do.  The older boy is getting ready to leave. It feels a bit maudlin. I liked having him around even though he was mostly out partying.

Soon things will return to the one child house it was before.  The living room will lose all the stuff that older boy carries like a gypsy from place to place. I will take the time to baby sit mum. There will be snow shovelling to do. But every morning I will come here to the stuffed writing room and pause before the day runs out of energy.

You never know where you will end up. Everything you do is useful. The world is filled with delightful things. People with blue souls appear like mushrooms in the dark damp sections of your life. There will be happiness.  But of course the street can crack, you may fall through the crack and end up harmed and even destroyed. Best to believe. Believe that you are sufficient to overcome such natural and unnatural disasters to make it to the end of the journey.

At the end of the journey, there is a door.
Whether you are ready or not the door opens.
You fly through.
The darkness is indescribable.
Silence.
The slide into nothingness.
There is no more.

All the faiths of this world tell us that there is more.
There is no more.
At least I don't think there is anything more.
It may be that for those who believe there is more and this comforts them.
I remember the robin dead on the soccer field struck out of the sky to fall to his death.
I believe this is how we all go.
Just like that.

And in my writing room every day I remember that robin.
I believe in myself.
I believe that the crack in the street that swallows up whole so many can be navigated with skill, precision and experience.
But you have to be willing to face hard facts rather than run away from them.
Writing is the process of facing hard facts and going beyond the cracks in the street to salvation.
Whatever this salvation may be. 

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