September 19, 2015

Marco was coming out of the Wedge as I was going in, a merry meeting after far too long.

Had a moment to sit in the garden as the magic hour of dusk alighted. Began to build an altar near the east fence, in a ring Stewart had used as a fire pit. My heart yearns for the spirit, and the news from Black Mountain Press took the weight of hatred and despair off it, at least for the while. The Spirit must yearn in return, the tiniest bit, enough to keep an ant going in the desert– or if not to yearn, to allow the yearning. Anyway, people at a certain time in their lives will not credit how good it is to wake without weeping.

Incredible dreams. Receiving a massage, I had a vivid vision of a long road through forests, where I had never been. I wanted to ask Zach if he were thinking of that, if somehow his thought was communicating to me. I was too near sleep to put it into words.
   
First Humanities exam. Generally a slaughterhouse, though some had perfect or near perfect scores. In my head constantly: “I said this five times. How could you not remember?”

Chancellor’s installation in a few hours. She’s the seventh at this institution, and I have known them all.