The Journey

untitled, 1992, 30″ x 22″, monoprint

I surprise myself sometimes that I still have the core of faith at my center.

I still love this precious life.

And most of the time I want to stick around.

I probably would not be so keen if the whole theater of the thing wasn’t still entertaining.

These days though, I watch from my witness perch and it is too often dark out there.

Out in the world, sure, but closer to home as well.

But is this bad?

I sense it is all part of the plan and my job is to stand for what I stand for, make a good life and handle my own inner violence.

Flip flop..flip flop.. change happens so how shall we hold it?

It embarrasses me that my inner terrain is not more even.

The GREAT DAY of yesterday has slipped into another costume as days are wont to do..

Often, when sense is out of reach, I go here, to Mary Oliver’s work:

The Journey- by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.


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