Saturday, April 17, 2010
Sometimes, when I’m physically and mentally exhausted — not to draw a fine line between the two — I think of pulling the plug on my worldwide web endeavors. Then I remember that I have never walked away from a friend. Which is what you need to understand: my disease is such that I can’t pretend you in the abstract, I can’t wish away your flesh and bone and blood. In my mind we have already met, and the only way to destroy that fact is death. In my time, I’ve seen old vineyards and orchards pulled out, pushed into piles, and burned. I’ve stood by their fires day and night, and inhaled their blue-gray smoke. I couldn’t get enough, for the lungs are connected to the heart, and the heart is connected to the mind. I still carry that smoke inside. I am the flesh of everyone I’ve known, and of those who will never know me. This joy and pain I feel is our own. And yes, this sweet abiding melancholy I would never wish away, or this laugh at all I think and say. We will disappear, but that is a good thing. And we will meet again, as it has always been — I a tree, you the wind, a stone, a twig, a bright eye, a furry tail. The love we seek, the breath we hear, the hand we feel.
In the Forum: in a brand new T-shirt, waiting to be discovered.