For awhile . . .
March 21, 2020 A friend writes me this morning about yesterday’s post—that he noticed that I repeated the word awhile several times toward the end:
"…and having that odd sensation when repeating a word quickly that some brain mechanism drops out and now the word sounds weird, and what the heck does that sound mean? . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . It’s as if you’ve produced a mantra; something of that word “I” enduring through indefinite time."
I repeat the mantra to myself quietly . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . and feel tears rise up. I could feel something hovering yesterday as I was writing, but I didn’t know what. Now I can sense it better—can feel that it is grief and joy tangled up together.
. . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . .
We are here for awhile and then gone; we are in this place for awhile and then we move; today turns into tomorrow. We live . . . for awhile . . . and knowing that, the grief of impermanence and endings rises up from somewhere down inside me like a shape from deep, deep water. And with that grief, comes joy. They come together, as inseparable as the head and tail of a copper penny. I could feel that yesterday hidden inside what I was writing, but I couldn’t name it; it took my friend to uncover it for me.
. . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . .
Before bed last night, Tom and I stand outside our trailer for a moment with our headlamps off and look up at the stars. Orion—most obvious; the Pleiades a smudgy patch over the hill. Venus like a queen among her subjects. Some years ago when Tom first started taking photographs, he bought a telescope and took high-resolution pictures of every phase of the moon. For about a year we would go out at night regularly, learned the constellations, some major stars, the Messier Objects. Then we gradually drifted over to birds, and it felt too hard to wake up early and stay up late, and somehow the birds won out. Now I just remember the big names; most of what we studied together, I've forgotten.
This loss of knowledge, and the memory of an ending of a time in my life, often feels sad. But last night I could feel this mantra inside me already, tucked away like a secret.
. . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . .
And I could smile at the thought of past experience: of having spent that time with Tom; having looked out into the dark brilliance of the night sky; having thought and felt and loved with all the awkward grace of any human animal . . .
. . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . . for awhile . . .