And now for something completely different, but not really and not funny.

27 02 2009


Lots of folks are feeling it, I suppose. It seems that way, or that is what they say—that inertia. I feel like a big lead apron has been dropped over my entire body—perhaps I am about to be x-rayed. My toe?

I’ll admit it, I have dirt under my toenail—I’ve been digging the dirt a lot for I am landscaping our currently-being-remodeled-house and I am terrible at staying clean. I just get right into the dirt and then it gets all over and I have trouble scrubbing it away. Not that it really matters. But that’s not what I meant…I’ve lost my facility to write coherently, if I ever had it. I am currently editing every second word in my head because I believe you will see all of this as stupid and banal. As it really is—stupid and banal.

Would you like some honesty? (hah! What does that mean…) Well, here goes….

The robins are back, and the breast of one I saw on the grass yesterday as I went for a run at dusk, glowed. It was beautiful and I was worried they would get hit by a car or eaten by a cat. This one yelled at me as I ran by.

And on that same run, the ducks were sleeping—those spiritual ducks, remember? But I didn’t feel it this time. Perhaps because it was still light and it was cold but they seemed more irritable than anything else probably because I was approaching the beach to get a better look and sense of everything and they thought perhaps they ought to move away, back into the cold water, but maybe not because that creature has now stopped approaching thank [fill in duck deity here].

And now, the cars driving down the road flash by the window like a birds flapping wings.

The wings of the wind of

I am a spiritual experience addict. And I cannot quite get back there. I’ve lost the practice that was taking me into a particular place…consistently. What I’ve got to figure out is how much of that was smoke and mirrors and how much was my own focus. And how much it matters, and how much it is like that little hit of something one just really really wants, knowing it is not the way to go but goddamn it feels good…and just one more time.


I am trying to crawl out from under the weight of things that are not really in my own house, my own heart, but are close enough to create that tug and pull.

That person, over there, looks like someone…ach.

Where do you linger?

And why.

I was upset to learn that someone from my high school class, a person I was not friends with but who I knew, shot him/her self. This person had two very young children and was my age.

Tragedy begins with a radical given.

There’s a bit of a radical given for those kids.

I had some trouble processing this news, as I suspected, the day after I received the news it was no longer such a huge and disturbing thing inside of me. So perhaps I am a cold and hard person.

But not really. This was not a person with whom I was a friend, ever, and so I am sad for the family and friends, but the death does not penetrate in that sort of grieving way.

Each of us knows that there is a black hole within us. No place you hole up is
Adequately inland.

And I’ve been in a different place, but in the mad way that seems sane at the time. Because, when the acceptance of life and death (which really is quite a big thing but you know we go day to day not inside of it) disappears—this is when I would turn on a light and it would light up everything except me. Because I was in a pit. And now I have little guard rails so that if that pit comes a calling I can find a place away.

This is because of the kids. My angels, my little babies. I want them safe, even if that means safe from me…if ever, if ever.

It is because when you are inside it, it feels like TRUTH has come down on you. It is a spiritual transformation into the darkest reaches, into the fullest form of disconnection from all other living creatures, all that is love and is joy. It is a purity of a horrible sort of TRUTH and when you are in it you believe it and believe that you are now a seer of things that no one else can see.

It is because of Andrea Yates and her five dead children.

Do you know what? I have kept the deepest reaches of that pit, the actual teeth of that black dog, away.

Warring priests of transformation, each
Animated by an ecstatic secret, insist

They will teach me how to smash the glass

But in learning of this person’s suicide, I could see the gun, feel it in my hand and feel it against my head. I did not like that.

I looked up a picture of this person with his/her children and it made me ill inside of my stomach.

Anyway…there is a certain idea I have that I have experienced some element of what brought on the suicide and, though that may be presumptuous, it is a hateful sort of presumption, for it terrifies me.

Anyway. You don’t care about all that because it is boring. Really. I apologize. Things are good—we are lucky with jobs and our families and our children. Lucky with our bodies and the critters we’ve seen.

I’ve been lucky with quail and I must knock on wood now because I am really asking for it aren’t I…

The Queen of Heaven, I miss her


Quotes are from Charles Baudelaire, mainly Frank Bidart and Robert Lowell.




One response

1 03 2009

Just passing by.Btw, your website have great content!

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