Life got easier when I realized that after composing the crushing retort to a perceived online insult, I could round-file my clever answer and go on about my business. No need to trouble anyone else with my precious dignity: it's not a matter of general interest. It's not even a matter of interest to any part of me that I want to cultivate.
A line from one of my own poems haunting me: "Listen: don't waste time."
Yet I do grieve, grieve for all the wasted time -- which is not, itself, very profitable.
Listen: don't waste time.
Not when there is joy condensing on every cold surface, a sweat of delight breaking on the this old, patched, paved world of yours; a shiver with every wingbeat. It only takes one, maybe two breaths to get there: and the grip-strength come back to my hands, the focus back to my eyes. The grace and the lightness return.
Now. Get your kit together, Dale: you have a massage tonight.
7 comments:
Amen. My standard answer these days: I haven't that kind of time.
Note that I've still time to watch Jeeves & Wooster. "What did he say about your appearance, Jeeves?" "I do not recall sir, but it was opprobrious."
There's also time to team-teach a twelve-session writing course for high schoolers in Harvey. If you lived within 500 miles, know that you would have been dragooned. The Essay? World History by DV? Delicious.
So beautiful, Dale. Thank you.
"For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock : My thoughts are minutes ; and with sighs they jar, Their watches to mine eyes the outward watch ..."
Yes to the joy condensing on every cold surface! Yes to the joy of allusions.
Thank you.
I have a new URL: talking37thdream.blogspot.com
Dropping my end of the rope.
I just noticed that I had temporarily forgotten that indeed it only takes one, maybe two breaths to get there. Thanks for reminding me.
Indeed. Nobody much cares about my umbrage either. What's up with that??
Thanks all! Am, linked, thanks!
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