Who was it that said that every moment is a thin veil behind which the truth is hiding? If I could push time aside and see where the secret is. If I had the sense of miracle I would tie myself into the knots of grace and wear them on my wrist. I have learned recently to feel and know continuity between days and years at the expense of wonder. In the morning I stay in bed because I know what awaits me. I approach the new day with caution because I know that when I push off from shore and close my eyes I'll come aground at a wild island where monsters and alchemy are crowned as kings.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm so drawn to dusty, scraggly, and inhospitable places like the red rock country out west. I know I wouldn't survive two days there without a backpack full of gear. I have been terrified in that environment, and it was there that I felt despair and hopelessness and everything opposite of beauty. I'd like to be more eloquent, and maybe spin a few poems first, but all I know is that everything we make, buy, or use ends up as trash at some point. And trash ends up as dirt. And out of dirt springs moss, cacti, worms, manzanitas, plums. The persistent force, and the holy thing we will all be.
As for now, I am tired, and a little defeated. I have seen many new year's resolutions that have to do with getting rid of material possessions, and I see meaning in that. From now on, I'm only giving plants in stone pots as gifts and selling off what I don't need. Tomorrow, I'm going to my favorite city in the whole world and I hope to see you there.
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