So many things have happened since last I wrote here... I had thought to put everything here in verse, but I find I've little time to perfect my rhymes and so feel constantly dissatisfied with my efforts. Now, I must write whether or not I reach the heights.
The world is full of synchronicities, coincidences, and I believe in neither, which makes this an auspicious time. Chances to redeem old mistakes, rare things to keep hold of without losing the truth of this moment... some to redeem me, some to redeem others. Are these travellers here to stay or is this but a stopping place to offload some baggage so that the journey ahead may seem the lighter? Who can say? We must take it moment by moment and let it unfold as seems most truthful.
Elsewhere, in the world, change is accelerating, keeping apace with denial. It is warm now, cold now. The neighbour chews his cud, burns brush despite the ordinance. We get out paint, we put paint away, watching the geese fly north and south like confused people. Honk! Honk! Clogging the jetliner's engines like cholesterol in an artery. A hundred wrists push a hundred watches up to eyes pinned wide by the spectacle outside, iris to iris, fingertips to wing-tips. Is there some meaning here? Why was the plane not delayed, why were the geese off course, why watch in helpless horror the frame-by-frame unfolding of disaster?... There are no accidents. The meaning is there in the pattern, if we dare to look for it.
I am hopeful now, despairing now. I know the cycle. I know how far it is to the light. The thought does not encourage me. And yet, the beauty of the earth, the knowledge of how things were (and could be again) make anything but the insanity of hope impossible. Yet to each thing its season; the powerful must fall and the deceivers be discovered, and that too is a kind of redemption, making the impossible possible. Let us hope, then, for a time.