I’ve been away from the computer for a while, finishing Middlemarch (it’s done as of this morning … and is one of the best books I’ve read), eating vitamins, Dervocet, and mushroom supplements (thanks to Mimi).   It’s an odd existence, not baking, not taking the trash out, not driving places.  I used to say these things, that this and that are essential for any kind of living, I can’t live richly and not write, can’t live and not garden.  But then, I actually have been able to write some poetry, some journal entries, a few replies to exceedingly kind and timely notes, emails, facebook messages, and I have been watering the paperwhites living on my windowsill.  Also the enormous crimson amaryllis opening just inside the window, on the radiator, and the small pot of Calendula.  This is gardening.  This is ordering the flowers.  And the writing is beginning to order my thoughts.

I’ve been getting together Christmas presents, and my first episode of … well, wordless sadness, happened in the car with Emily after realizing I wasn’t going to be able to give everyone I wanted the presents I wanted.  I haven’t really emoted properly (at all) throughout the whirlwind of the past two weeks, and I guess I can expect to keep bursting into tears for small reasons like this for a little while, at least.  I used to say I could never live clearly without good, cleansing bouts of weeping, deep and washing-out weeping.  It’s true.  Being floated about on the thermals of the safety of God (this is what Pete Leavers prayed over me, and God heard) left me no grief and no doubts about my life, for a solid ten days or so, and now I’m being met by the gruff but well-intentioned keeper of my emotional life, who says I have to go ahead and get the crying over with.  Thanks to the stitches (does everyone know? is everyone aware that this incision is 9 inches long? just making sure—), I can’t really do it right, and have to do things like look out the passenger window while Emily is asking me if I’m alright.

Yes, I am.  I’m paying bills and not worrying about tomorrow.  Yet.  Well, I hope I will let myself be taught here and now that I can’t worry about tomorrow.  Gah, what a waste of energy, eh?  I’m taken care of.  All the beauty will have waked and have waxed and have walked what while we slept.  Bad, but can’t remember the line well enough.  The gist, though.  He neither sleeps nor slumbers (Isn’t the repetition comforting?  Isn’t the repetition comforting?).  I used to say this but now have to believe it.  I hope I’m getting better at believing.

Chloe left, today, and I wanted so much to tell her everything I thought about her, how I was sorry things were so difficult and how (even so) glad I was that she had come, so that I could meet her, and that she could pray over me that day when everyone came over and interceded for me.  Sometimes people’s paths in life just cross, and you can hardly say why it was written with a gold script in the pages of your life, it hardly makes sense that it should, but it does.  And it’s hard to say things that you’re afraid will make you look silly.  But I think she’s the kind to understand.  (If you’re reading this, Chloe, good.  Thanks for the “silly” book…this is one of my favorites, did you know??  Have you heard Dylan Thomas himself read it?  I’ve never forgotten the way he said “like a town crier in Pompeii”….a delicious phrase.)

These are things I used to say.  My next entry ought to be on “things I will say from now on.”  Like, I am taken care of.  Like, God will allow me to be fruitful.  Like, my living will make a difference.  Like, I will receive the desires of my heart.

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