July 26, 2009

I could see the Bele Cher fireworks from my porch. Not only were they spectacular, but the noise of them set up a reverberation among the surrounding hills that was quite magnificent, and lingered after the explosions themselves were gone.

Late night. Starting at dusk, I took a long walk southward, getting sicker as I walked, till the return up Kimberly was an exercise in finding places and moments to puke between houses and the prying lights of cars. While I was figuring out what THAT was about (elderly sour cream in my soup, perhaps), other thoughts came to my head, melancholy thoughts, I suppose, but thoughts edged nevertheless with energy. I think I was telling myself–self-cleansing body and brain both–that everything that came before is gone. All potential from times past is lapsed, all ungathered treasures are ungathered forever, all loose ends loose till the end of days. No love from that time will continue into the time that is before me. No hope from that time will be realized in the time that is before me. I can Google; I can Facebook, but the responses will be echoes of voices changed so that I’ll hardly understand them. I can demand redress for old wrongs, but even if successful, that’s all I’ll get: redress for old wrongs. I do not think that’s what I want. If I turn back and dwell there, I am lost. If I fight a war that is already over, my defeat is permanent. Luckily, I have no desire to turn back and dwell there. I have no desire to take up arms. I really do have nothing but the future, and there were moments-- under the hazy moon, bent over being sick on the grass– when that seemed the strangest, deepest blessing.