July 30, 2011

Bitch of a drought continues. I can’t water enough to keep everything healthy, even with my oscillating miracle self-watering wand, that gives me so much stupid pleasure to watch, like a cat a clock pendulum. I thought I was doing the Peruvian chocolate mint a favor by uncovering it from its overhand of weeds, but it had vanished in the blaze two days later.

Still adjusting to the new spirit reigning within my spirit. It’s hard to recognize myself, hard to understand my responses to things in the light of what those responses had been for the previous forty years. I can’t even locate the old fury. It is as something one read of once in a book. This is 85% joy and relief. But it’s sad, too, as though some power within me were set aside, and I miss the strength of it even though it was self-consuming, futile, blasphemous.

T reveals going through something similar. I always think I’m blazing trails none other has walked. Or needed to.

The Masque of Light had a lifetime of exactly one day. It’s too elaborate for what everyone expected. I think it was beautiful, and would have been beautiful to see, but it joins its family on the ever-growing mound of wasted efforts.