Old Drawings

Last night, I wrote some words and this morning I erased them.

What am I trying to say here?

                                                                                                       What stories do I want to tell?

There is a whole world inside my head and heart.

I’m unpacking it slowly.

I’m at work right now, back after a week’s absence.

“When we see people clearly and sit with them compassionately, allow them to discover their truth and to forge their own directions, amazing things are possible.

When we work together in upholding this ethos of kindness and self-determination in the spirit of collective good, the world changes.

As the evening fell on Wednesday, the clouds held a column of reflected light, long after the earth had turned away from the setting sun. We had the good fortune to watch this together, a clear path of gold held by the sky.

In that long moment, we all seemed to believe that anything was possible and so it was and so it is.

There are many questions to be answered, many conversations to be had, much work to be done. The ideas of those who came before us will guide us in answering the questions we ask and which are asked of us and collaborative vision will lead the way.”

In the meantime, the woman in the next office is talking about supervision schedules and a trip to the WalMart.

Gaza is a bloody nightmare of dust and rubble.

Day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

When I drew the picture at the top of this page, I was certain that a ghost was in my hand.

How exactly does one “get over” their life?

Keep living.

 

 

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