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
The preceeder of all questions and meanings and answers.
The subtle silk of life
Gleaming and seemingly fragile
Strong, flexible, gentle
Not fragile, but breakable, destroyable
And also replenishable
The subtle silk of life,
Oh joy. Oh joy.
I have found it again.