Thursday 13 November 2008


Beyond tired, beyond ill and beyond depressed, a flickering, sharp-edged place I've never been before, whose name I do not know, or whether it is to be welcomed or feared. Rewind, go on, as long as the mechanism responds. Maybe in the end that's all there is. But so far through the story, isn't it strange, this blankness, the links and assumptions breaking, the pages unwriting themselves?


Zhoen said...


Anonymous said...

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

~ Mary Oliver: Wild Geese

Anonymous said...


Dale said...

Hugs, dear. This passes too.

Rosie said...

Dale is right, it will pass, but naming the nameless helps it on its way

Anonymous said...

Not nearly as strange as life itself. It sounds to me that there might be some freedom here for you to enjoy, and it may help to quicken your journey out of the shadows. As you said in a previous blog - there is no control, so "head up" as you sail into the unknown.