I’m sorry, okay?
My footprints are bigger than yours.
I don’t ration trips to the stores.
I don’t know my neighbors and
they don’t know me. But
Hey, I’m shy, that’s why.
I’ve unanswered letters galore–
don’t dish up food for the poor.
I fail to keep promises
and tend to run late
In my heart I know that
I am a cheapskate.
My dark side holds sway
Even during the day–
Unitarian, a retired lady
Of leisure but hey,
I’m sorry. Okay?
On my fifth birthday, riding on the swinging garage doors, I wondered about life. I wondered about the essence of awareness of conscious existence. Why was there no connection between my awareness and that of others? What did existing entail? My first five years had only served to confuse.
I saw two sets of worlds: the world of myself as against all others, and the world of children as against adults. I never believed I would grow up. Not really. One thing worried me especially: would I essentially change as I grew up, or would the me of myself remain constant?
That afternoon by the garage on my fifth birthday I resolved to keep in contact with myself. From birthday to birthday. I promised myself on my fifth birthday. I promised myself to keep in touch with myself on every proceeding birthday. More times than not, I keep the faith. I re-familiarize myself with the five year old and touch base.
Not long ago I came across a letter written five years after that fifth birthday. It was addressed to the me of the future. It read:
Hello, How are you? What do you think? Have you changed?
Of course I’ve changed, and for the worse, as do all people growing up. Childhood is the age of innocence and wonder and faith in the infallibility of adults. Since my childhood my innocence has been tainted by knowledge, my wonder has been dulled by complacency, and my faith in mankind has been demoralized by observation. I can still remember the jarring shock I received when I saw an adult act in childish temper.
I feel somehow guilty that I have changed. It seems I should have kept the girl of five alive to a greater extent than I have. I make compensation to some degree on my birthdays, when I remember.
She lies upon clean cotton sheets, a cocoon
curled into itself inside this benevolent
holding cell, mesmerized by the soft
click clicking of the overhead fan
whispering that she is still alive. During the
split second as she is siphoned away with
no warning, will she realize why the sound has stopped?
nm circa 2014
Bo’s heart is beating loudly and
pain shoots through his head.
The red-eyed drooling dog is mad
and we all wish him dead
except for little Willie B.
who still loves his old pet
and runs to embrace him
and hug him round the neck.
A shot rings out and Bo goes down.
The boy stumbles to the ground.
Why oh why did he have to die?
Only a sigh is his reply.
nm circa 2014
I’ve changed my mind (and not for the first time). I’ve decided not to get completely organized by the time of my surgery in February, but to work on it for 15 minutes a day and the rest of the day continue finishing my new (just started) book. Earlier I had sworn never to write another non-fiction book, and I changed my mind about that, too. I wonder if changing one’s mind is a sign of old age or renewal or no sign at all?
I decided this last night and decided to follow my advice in Stepping Stones to the Depths, which I am just beginning and whose contents I can’t publish if I or my literary executor try to get it published–following my own advice as I go. This journey of my experience in writing the book will appear on my page on Dreams on this blog. I still haven’t gotten clear about entering on pages and/or blog proper, but I’m sure I’ll be finding out soon.
Anyway, for two days now I’ve been a vegetarian, and last night’s long dream brought me several new/old ideas about my topic (different ways to visit the unconscious).
The current This Week magazine reports that in Argentina 144,000 women have gone off the pill this year because they can no longer afford it, and condom sales have shrunk 20 percent in recent months….