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Sunday, March 16, 2014

And yet, and yet...

How can self forgiveness happen, for anyone? Hurting another is morally reprehensible to me, yet I have done it and it overshadows the good memories.

Self forgiveness is not absolution. Amends=trying never to hurt again, at least not to that depth.

How do you let go an entire portion of life in which you believed in happiness, in a place of safety? Into the great mystery, all.

Bow to the mystery. Warm your hands at the cold fire.

How do you go on?

One step and then another. Climb the mountain on hands and knees.

When my son Jamie died, I went back to teaching.  I wept in the car every day after work. The years were a rosary of time. I healed but there is a central scar, a fossilized rose.

How do you believe a person?  How did this happen, really?  How to trust anyone again?

There is no answer. Far off in the woods, a fox barks. An owl sends out its grey sound.  Skull of moon in a black sea-sky.  Trees burdened by their own silence. A book I believed was about me but is not.  Throw a stone far into the dark and the creek might answer, then go on with its ceaseless braiding and unbraiding of water cold as my mother's still heart, alone in her buried house of wood and steel. 

Tell me how to bear this solitude. Make me a branch in that creek, the one
where the cougar makes her den, down in the stone cave I dare not enter.  They say she is pregnant, her belly swollen, inching towards that time.

Let me borrow the gold of her eyes, the sheathing of her claws.  She makes a nest in her den and waits

while you, a grey and silent ghost, enter my heart and disappear.