Saturday, December 17, 2016

What a Year

At the risk of sounding ungrateful, he turned his gaze on the year winding down and saw a smoking wreck, but one lit with the glow of possibility. On the one hand he had "the list," the reasons to be whimpering with woe: his truck had been stolen, he got pneumonia, he ruptured an Achilles tendon, he watched his father die. On the other hand, he visited his son in Panama, was awarded a sabbatical, got to scribble away on a book manuscript, and saw families divided share drinks in the same room. His heart opened wider than it had been in his adult life. He felt the pain and joy of love, was assaulted by beauty. He dreamed. Of course, his limitations persisted, but he began to massage them into being more allies than drawbacks. He listened to the Muses and sometimes heard them, followed them, gave into them. Metaphors, images, surprises, turns of phrase leaped out from the shadows and flowed onto the screen in front of him. He tasted coherence, saw the outline of a life's work. The wounds of loss broke the shell that bound him. He sang away the grief, found peace in giving to others the best of him.

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