It’s a particularly sensitive morning

I, personally, am wavering

Between obsessive, habitual guilt

And parental concern for my punishing ways.

Between answers and questions

Questioning the rightness of my life

I believe in questions,

More than answers

And so, this goes with the territory.

And because there’s no question between life and death (as we experience it)

I am left to make meaning of my impossible existence.

Or maybe this is the point…

Meaning or no meaning,

Life until death

Existence is.

I exist.

The preceeder of all questions and meanings and answers.

The subtle silk of life

Gleaming and seemingly fragile

Strong, flexible, gentle

I exist.

Not fragile, but breakable, destroyable

And also replenishable

The subtle silk of life,

Oh joy. Oh joy.

I have found it again.