I can’t believe I’ve written nothing for a couple of weeks – yet there has been so much going on that I can’t quite get a grip on my reaction to it all. Horrific events around the world, virulent illnesses, the passing of iconic talents, thirteen years gone by since 9/11. I was in NY that day – and yet to write of that day seems disingenuous. How the air stank as a disgustingly grey cloud forged uptown. Shock and disbelief trumped any sense of reality. Yet, I am here; my family is fine; I didn’t have that much innocence left for the thievery that occurred that day.
And still, this all seems like too much stimuli – I am too pained to be numb and too numb to reveal or touch the pain evinced in my heart. For reasons unknown to me, I can’t rise above this ache and feel stymied by my limitations with the English language. Somehow it feels like there’s no recovery period, no chance to re-group, cry the needed tears or resume breathing rhythmically.
This morning broke a bit differently though. The air is clear, the sky so blue it seems almost as if in a cartoon. The weariness of the leaves hinted at the promise of colors so vibrant, that the landscape waits with impatience. And I felt myself inhale for the first time perhaps in weeks. I drove with all the windows down, letting the breeze in and maybe suffusing the air around me with something fresher and kinder. Hope, hope – in the moment, for tomorrow, for the moments unseen. And finally, I bowed my head and cried.
Listening to NPR, this was playing …and I sat in the parking lot and was lifted. I hope. And I hope you do too.
Waiting for the Karma Truck 