Insomniac or truth-teller, who knows, but at 1 a.m. the dog and I go outside, tea in hand, to sit quietly beneath front-yard maples rustling in wind. Starlight in harmony with the scent of lilac, the familiar ladle north and a little west, tilted towards me. Attention is a gift - see if this is not true - and that is why we give it.
Who longs still for signs will be rewarded (with meteors) accordingly. By 4 a.m. the absence of order is revealed - again - and one is brought to prayer, and through prayer to fear. See if it is not true.
The dog chases rabbits, and one car passes on 112, the diffuse beams of its headlights briefly sweeping the yard. How sweet to have chairs and a table out front! How confused I am with months this year, missing May by always writing April, in love as always with L sounds.
Well, we know who teaches us by where they direct our attention. The sound of wind at 3 a.m. in spring maples is intimate, a brother, and thought slows in its presence. Even in the middle of the night I am grateful for dandelions.
The absence of order reflects evasion of responsibility which is simply attention abandoned, not given, and this distinction is critical. Evicted from the monastery, I wandered the Irish coast bereft for many years before I found you, and grateful for your salvational hospitality I stayed with you, and have remained so for lifetimes now, but it is time for me to go home. See the truth in this and be not afraid!
Twice I go to the pine trees to pee, hoping I'm not ruining any purslane or other cunicular delectables. The mind wanders into conversations with people who are not here, and may never be again, and then returns and it is such a relief, it is such a blessing. Old rakes, jump rope, baling twine and two buckets of stones from Bronson Brook.
By God's grace I am rendered unfollowable and skip delighted through starlit dark. Tenebrous rhythm everywhere.