Monday, November 23, 2020

House, Family and Wife

Letting go.

Having nothing to say.

The interior silence yielding to the hymnal heart.

The stillness of the Holy Spirit choosing for me.

You. You and what I am becoming in You.

What I am letting go of in you.

The softness, the sadness.

Streams beyond the pasture freezing before the river.

Other errors arise, other sweetnesses appear.

Other tangles.

I turn certain lights on at 2:30 a.m. and leave other lights off. Inside me, the dark is unaffected.

Prayer is a form of intentional forgetfulness.

The confusion of how to say things, the uncertainty around staying silent.

Plans, plots. 

Alive in possibility, including the possibility of no-possibility.

Snow spitting in pitch dark off Flat Iron Road, hours after sunset, walking farther and farther away from house, family and wife.

Forgetting forgetting.

Who forged the container, who left it where they did, who came along and filled it, who is it watching me to see will I pick it up?

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