October 28, 2009

Shining blue autumn. I was at the gym in the still-dark, and when I finished and went out to my car, the hills hedging in Woodfin were a gleam of gold and scarlet, not the vulgar blaze of two weeks ago, but subdued and elegant.

Changed plans because of the beauty of the day, and dug in the garden, burying a new shipment of bulbs I didn’t remember buying, nor did I know what everything was from the Latin names printed on the bags. I trusted that small bulbs made small plants and large, large. The lilies I knew. All their beds I lined with shredded paper, much of it from misprinted or discarded manuscripts. I like the idea of one creation feeding another. Th worms like the paper and the flowers like the worms.

Received the water bill from the city, and supposing it’s all finished, it was less than the least I had imagined. Huzza!

Sudden odd flash of the imagination–I guess it was the mention of worms above. I had died and was at the Gate, and somewhat to my surprise, it swung open for me into paradise. I was shown an image of me picking a worm up off the pavement and throwing it safely back into the dirt. That had made the difference. In the vision, or day dream, I was sobbing, barely getting out the words, amazed and grateful and astonished, I was saved by that?