Window thru Wendell…


Its not as if I didn’t know this was all coming but now that its here I’m not sure what to make of it. No point in not liking it, nor seeing it as a challenge or wishing it were otherwise. There’s just no way to prepare for realizing that one is old and the mind is going quicker than I had hoped. It’s not so much going, as distilling into a more reduced and thickened version of the old self that seemed somewhat under control.

Less helmut, but more Helmut. Ouch! (Wheezed the world.)

That’s my view from my kitchen window. Doesn’t look like much but when I step out and from under the portico, its a nice view. I lived in a couple of small cabins in the middle of mountain ranges, in a few places, and was always content to have just one window. If I wanted to see a view, I stepped out into it. It’s like people always talking about getting out into nature and spend a lot of time and effort to get there, whereas going and exploring self-nature is basically free and always nearby but the price seems hight. It costs us our distractions and they were hard to come by and even though tarnished or worn out we still can’t let them go.

Anyway that is the context for my views; a kitchen sink with cleaning materials, a glass cucumber, a cup made by a young niece some years ago with my name on it and a small plastic hand in it waving hello, a glass elephant blown by a friend a couple of years ago and the fruit waiting its turn. A simple life with new-forgotten old-regrets surfacing to bring tears or-remorse or-smile and joy.

Life is good and I wish I were better. A dear close spiritual friend sent me this quote today as part of a thank you note for a note I sent in the Spring, I really should make a copy of things I write people ’cause I have no way of knowing what I wrote, but she sent this in response and as a part of a thank you. Its beautiful, I wept as I seem to do more readily and always joy, shot through with regret; for all the things I didn’t do right.

Here’s quote from Wendell Berry, 1983©


It may be that when we no longer know what to do

we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go

we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is one that sings.


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