How things you do might fall way but not disappear. How sense of self might lose clarity but remain as an impression. Of essence. How you might look into and through self like fog wondering if you will lose your way. Wondering if you care. How you might sit and stare and find only a sense of something, knowing that might be enough. How waking seems dream like and you feel thankful for that. How you wish you could find a place in the natural order that didn't seem so chaotic. But then how losing something becomes finding out more about it. How you long for more time. How you wish you could fix it for someone just by simply sewing patches together. And so you do that and it helps simply because you feel calmer. Deep breath.
Patchwork can be like a prayer.
Direct link to today's Diaries entry even though I am having issues loading video.
Yesterday was the day, we decided, to keep the promise. A soft and gentle day for August. Breezy. Not too hot. A good swimming day
As we drove across the bridge to the old sea, my whole life flashed before me. especially the part lived at home. Mom and dad, they loved the sea. And this beach at Fire Island, is where we spent all our time as kids. There was no bridge then, just a little ferry across. There we were. Riding the waves. The first thing my father taught us. Body surfing. We were hilarious, this family of fish. Sliding in along the shore, lost in sea foam and sand. Both our parents lived and breathed sea. From way back. The hardest thing for both of them was not to be able to make it down to the water's edge anymore. That and not being able to gather the group long enough for a long swim.
When Dad died, Mom kept his ashes. W a i t , she said. For me. And the out-going tide. And so we did.
There is peace today. Joyous peace. And another promise kept.