Saturday, August 6, 2011
After the light
The fog is here this morning. No sunbeam had a chance at 7 a.m. After the fact, I'm even more grateful to have seen the glowing band I wrote of on Monday. As the week, possibly the month, set about revealing their distinctive characteristics, a finger of light pointing to my neglected studio (thoughts of Indiana Jones in the Well of Souls...I make no apologies) seemed to be an even stronger push than I'd first thought.
My life is moments. Some stand alone as though in soliloquy, a scene from OUR TOWN. Others attach themselves to similar events and form a chain. All have meaning, if only to say be, or be here, try to learn the secret of not squandering any part of now. Among the parcels that arrived with the sun-sent message is an awfully large serving of very old business and its near-death grip on a portion of my spirit, trying to defend its spurious claim on me like the fool who decides to be his own lawyer.
That fairy tales might be teachers is a recent awareness. Some of us fell asleep long ago, the briars grew thick and choked off knowing, presence, participation. We wake up, if we are fortunate, as soon as we can but need a bit longer to gain our bearings, then additional time to grieve for what we lost or missed while under the malignant spell. I keep thinking the hard work has been done and I keep being surprised. This may be a day to reread some Joseph Campbell and remind myself how the hero does survive the journey.