October 13, 2013

True to my travel pattern, I’m waking slightly before 3 AM, but also true to the pattern I’m glorying in the hours and hours that gives me even before the sun comes up. The last time of sleep is filled with rich images. In the very last this morning, I had a garden in front of a building at school, and one of the groundskeepers mowed it down. When I confronted him, he said I should have paid the $45 which would have allowed me to do such a thing. He was very tall and had a sort of tiny light in the middle of his chest, and I wondered if I struck that tiny light would it turn him off.

Good day Saturday. I sat in the café writing a little and rereading The Crock of Gold for my class, weeping at places, certainly at the end. Nothing injects a story into your skull like having to teach it. It is the grand antidote to Ulysses. Then I gardened, planting the boxes of bulbs that had come while I was away, including a white heron iris, which was huge and sent in a huge box. Slept a little, then met Adam and his friend Rebecca at Jack of the Wood.  He looks sensational, and has about him the compactness and efficacy of one who will succeed. He cuts the air around him. We ate, went to see the Apothecary, where some kind of incomprehensible seminar was going on, then Rebecca shopped rather fiercely. I am grateful for continued friendship.

While I wrote in the café, before the sun was fully up, I said something to myself. I said, “Now I am in my right mind.” I kept repeating that to myself through the day. I was. At this dark, holy, silent hour, I am.