My resolve is to write every day. The imperative to write and produce creates its own self (life) sustaining process.
I see the snow bloom outside my window. Snow and ice roses expand concentric circles of petals, like pieces of dry white cloth dropped into a bowl of water. Snow angels and snow monsters – we barely know which is what. This winter has been too long, dragged on and on, the gray and shades of gray. I can’t wait for the sky to reflect the activity and life I have felt in my heart, my blood and lungs.
Sometimes wonder why people are so angry. Bitter and hateful. I really don’t understand. And the fact that I find it so difficult to understand and see where they come from, what their reality is, what the world looks like from their eyes, makes me realize how much I’ve changed into something definite – my own particular and coherent view of the world. Because it is coherent, it is comforting and orderly and to some extent predictable. Or rather, I am predictable and consistent. Which is what I’ve always longed for, this feeling of certainty in a world that shifts like melting paint.
I feel that I have my sea legs now. My body and mind is comfortable with the terrain. Perhaps because of familiarity? But also because I’ve discovered the amazing mechanism of flexibility, and the resilience that it can afford to once-rigid legs. I can adapt, I can learn anew, and I will never stop growing.