Another year has passed. Another decade has passed, another generation has passed. Another life. <\/p>\n
Forgive my fumbling efforts to make something significant happen, before it is over. Be patient with my uninformed anxiety that pretends all of it matters, my tension as the end approaches–even if it is not near, it approaches. Be tolerant of me, please. <\/p>\n
I only wanted to …well, I guess I never really had a plan. I never thought this life through. But I knew beauty. I knew love–though often from a distance. I knew you. <\/p>\n
And now it comes time to make some sense of it all; time to make an attempt, at least, to reach for an anchor point; time to find a handhold in this tumultuous passage, or perhaps only a hand to hold. It is not as if this is the end. It’s not as if there even is<\/em><\/strong> an end. But there are turning points, not actual events neccessarily, more like convulsions in a life, birthing moments in which something else comes to exist. An effort that arises from the dust of complacency, a spasm resulting from the immobility of a life unlived. <\/p>\n Sometimes, just pretending something significant is happening can be enough. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Another year has passed. Another decade has passed, another generation has passed. Another life. Forgive my fumbling efforts to make something significant happen, before it is over. Be patient with my uninformed anxiety that pretends all of it matters, my … Continue reading