This isn’t a life I get to live over again
Or, the current prayers
I have abandoned all particular forms of devotion, all prayer techniques. My only prayer practice is paying attention. I carry on a habitual, silent, and secret conversation with God that fills me with overwhelming joy. - Brother Lawrence
This isn’t a life I get to live over again
his hazel eyes and salt-and-pepper hair / blue blue blue prairie skies / The line: “Soon, thoughts deep among rivers and mountains, I hear this mind my former lives all share.”1 / it is a truth universally acknowledged that teenagers only want to really talk at the midnight hour still / a shattered father in Gaza who just learned his babies have died while he was out getting their birth certificates2 / unsure of prayer; praying anyway / my son’s voice shout-singing along to Green Day through the floorboards, in the basement / the first cup of coffee / dark-night silence / tangled rise of sweet peas in the broken flower box at sunrise / tartness of a homemade lemon square / the post office lady who always remembers my name, she’s having her second baby soon / post-supper laughter at our family table / too-tight hugs from tall teenagers / potatoes / the donations I made to NGOs, the emails I send to politicians, again yet again / vigils for peace / the empty-too-soon Costco-size box of snacks in pantry / the daily walk in the neighbourhood / the church website with options for autumn small groups - and the scrap of courage to try again / vaccine boosters / the local newspaper scattered across a Saturday table / holding opinions and thoughts close, rather than posting / a squishy pile of yarn that looks like a sunset palette / someone is glad I called / The words: “Each redemptive or loving act, as small as you like — such as reading to your little boy, showing him something you love, singing him a song, or putting on his shoes — keeps the devil down in the hole.”3 / her scrawny arms full of library books about space / an unhooked bra / letting people love what they love / a sad friend, always on my mind / arguments that end in understanding / “That’s my dad!”4 / that notebook with a slowly developing book idea / windows wide and curtains rising in the breeze / land acknowledgements / caring anyway / a quieter and gentler inner voice - at last / quivering aspen leaves in a strong wind / missing every past version of the kids; loving the new versions still emerging / new shoes for the first day of school / my parents are growing older / printing out the pictures from the phone / learning to love the world/ even when it breaks your heart / this isn’t a life I get to live over again, it was always this / a universe.
Attention is the beginning of devotion. - Mary Oliver
Trying to stay awake,
S.
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This is the last line in Meng Hao-jan’s poem “Listening to Cheng Yin Play His Ch’in.”
“They’re dead:” A Gaza father cries for the loss of his wife, 4-day-old twins, killed in Israeli airstrike - CBC News. The babies were named Aysal and Ayser. Their mother was Jumana.
This is from Nick Cave’s recent - and deeply moving - interview with Stephen Colbert. The entire quote from that answer is living rent-free in my head right now especially that particular line and this one: “Hopefulness is not a neutral position — it is adversarial. It is the warrior emotion that can lay waste to cynicism.” Here’s a link to watch the whole interview.
This moment, when Tim and Gwen Walz’s son Gus openly wept and celebrated his love for his dad while being loved and supported by his family meant so much to me. Signed, the mother of neurodiverse kids.
I just had a lovely weekend with my 3 adult children. One’s returned from Munich, one’s broken up with a partner of 5 years, the third lives far enough away and works crazy hours so we were thrilled he and his partner could join. I was very, very sad when the time together ended. But so thrilled as they each move to new things this fall. Thanks for this line:
“missing every past version of the kids; loving the new versions still emerging”
Thank you "windows wide and curtains rising in the breeze" helped me to take a deeper breath this morning after some tension at home...I love how noting little moments of life can bring such wonder and comfort - simply (for me) seeing such heartfelt, relatable moments articulated. A soul-felt breath of fresh air.