We slept in our clothes in the daytime, a dreary exhausted sleep, and I woke feeling old and impotent. Nothing seemed quite to match or meet up. When I went to tie my shoe, one end of the laces was longer than the other, and I sat staring at them stupidly, sure this betokened some disaster, but unable to think what it was, or to imagine a remedy.
My heart did not entirely work. Its gears were stripped, and nothing could catch. I wondered if I'd ever really be awake again. Or had I ever been awake?
At the far edges of the sky, white silver marbling showed itself under the heavy gray. A small lightening of the spirit. But the heaviness and grief of loss still threatened to swamp me and bring me under. There's nothing wrong, I told myself. It's just sleeping in the daytime, it does this to you, wait and it will pass.
At Tosi's this morning, the waitress said, "So-and-so asked how you were doing." Except she used your American name, not your Tibetan one, and I didn't know who she was talking about, for a long second. We haven't spoken for months. "Oh. Oh." I finally said, and nodded. "When do you get done with school?" she asked. I said September. "She said we should all get a free massage from you."
I smiled, I'm sure; I always smile, but in the distance, a little rattling drum started up, like the patter when you use stiff fingertips on a conga. All these sidesteps, half-lights, mutterings. All I want is one clean, bright, still thing. A mark to steer by. Some way to make a resolve. Some way to clear the heaviness and confusion.
Begin to think of making something new of me, Lord. I am dry and crusted like old clay. It's near time to be thrown back into the kneading trough. Bend your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.