February 6, 2008

Jocasta was fighting with something under the rhododendron bush in the dark of the morning. I ran out and rescued her. She seems to be unscathed. She alone of all of us has tales to tell of the dark with the stars moving over and the strange things stirring in the shadows.

I do realize that I have spent a whopping portion of the energy of my life trying to grab more than was, evidently, meant for me. And I suppose furthermore that this has been a sin. I would consider it one myself if I stood outside of it. But it is also true that almost all the happiness I have known has occurred in that illicit realm, when I worked outside of the box that had my name on it. What should I think of this? That I have done well to refuse restraints? That I was meant to make a new world for myself, and I almost did? That I have invited ruin and sorrow by forcing my way into places where I was not meant to go? Even poetry seems like a jewel stolen from a treasury when I was very young. In my defense, I thought the treasures were meant for me. The lid was open. I thought we were meant to delight, and choose.

Ed C phones last night to invite me to a party. It seems like a voice from another world, the one I mention above, where I passed like a shadow, never at home.

Mardi Gras celebrated at the Usual with the Hat cast and their friends.

Evening: the day turned out to be a good one. Good workout at the Y. Went to the studio and painted almost to my heart’s content.