This year, my wife and I kept our holiday giftgiving simple.
I gave her a set of swing dance lessons and tickets to a stage performance.
She gave me a carved cricket that when stroked with a stick of wood sounds like a cricket in summer/fall, a couple of handblown glass balls and some handmade notecards.
In our later middle years we've grown accustomed to each other's desire for less.
Some our age rule the world and some live in a world of underpasses.
My father gave me a rubber mallet and I gave him a single blade knife for Christmas.
Time slows down - I'm happier about peace on the Korean peninsula this year than with much else.
The way muscle tissue and tree limbs can bend without breaking fascinate me more than monetary investments or sports scores.
A log in a stream am I, spinning and bobbing toward a river or lake or sea, maybe, I don't know.
Going quietly into the dark, snowy night.
Once you shatter the illusion of the body as a sacred vessel, there is no turning back - you can only create a new illusion that accommodates the belief set you best (or better) believe in.
I am an old man who has stopped counting his days.
Every day is a new beginning and a new end.
I have given this world all I have which is all I know.
Anything more and I'll repeat myself dogmatically.
The quest for life is the satiation of anticipation - I have nothing left to anticipate.
I sit, no longer waiting.
The moment is here.
All is all.
No comments:
Post a Comment