A blue note

I wanted to write about something else

I will already have a whole new batch of feelings, in among my inevitable highs and lows.

— Clarice Lispector, from “Farewell, I’m Leaving!”, Too Much of Life

I’m heading to Toronto in a week, so I’ll be pausing paid subscriptions until February. I will need a little bit of time to find my center again. I will also be sharing the winner of the Cyber Diary giveaway and emailing the winner in the coming days. Thank you all for participating and sharing in the joy of giving with me. I wanted to write about something else. I wanted time to be about something else. I wanted life to offer something else to me that I could share with you. I wanted to sing a happy note. I wanted the sky to open up all heavenly and radiant. Wild roses raining down from above like confetti. I wanted full moon bathing, dazzling clarity, and spiritual perfection. I wanted to be strong and handle things. I wanted a delicious straight line. I wanted to make only the kind of mistakes that I could fix. I wanted the purity of my heart to be obvious but I was confused. I am confessing to everything. The rain is turning into snow, I am up to my knees in this vague white slush. I see my breath but I don’t feel my body. I see my body, then, in the mirror: thinner than before. I have lost my appetite. I only cook when I am sad because my lover still eats. He regulates me. Grandfather clock of my life. I will miss his presence in a way that I cannot begin to squeeze into language. I have missed my presence in a way that I tried very hard not to notice. I see my intentions, noble and glowing, but there are cracks in the palace walls. I hope this is not the end. I hope this only looks like an ending. I wanted to write about the importance of a morning routine, about sanctifying a place within the day and transforming it into something that is all your own—ritual, solitude, meditation—and I wanted to believe that I care about anything that is all my own. I think I do care. I know I do care. But in the face of the incoming distance from Him, I feel idiotic and juvenile existing along those self-interested lines that once were so familiar. In his arms I felt so girlish, so stupid: what does it matter if I’ve lost my light, if I’ve abandoned my dreams, if I’m over-pruned myself to fit impeccably beside you? What is the worth of anything that I can win without you? I wanted to write about the magical and constant exercise of finding yourself, being yourself, expanding yourself. I don’t know how long I will be gone. I know there is so much I must confront, heal, and handle. I wanted to be a constant but I am chimerical and my face has changed. I am deep in the mud of love but it is not the pure love that touches me, begins in me, belongs to me. It is love that I use like a rope to keep you close because I only feel alive with you. There is so much to feel and even more to do. Life, stay beautiful. I’m coming back for you.