Thread of life

[vaneramos]

My paper quilt for Marian incorporates my motto: "These are our few live seasons. Let us live them purely as we can, in the present," a phrase from Annie Dillard's Pulitzer Prize winning work, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. It's one I've been thinking about lately as much as ever.

It's a shame, really, that we can't live constantly in the moment. When I experienced amnesia, I was trapped entirely in that space of time without context. In the breadth of a moment, without reference to anything else, painful feelings and sensations can be terrifying. A life without suffering is impossible. Suffering without meaning is unbearable. But in the rich fabric of an entire life—in the quilt of our complicated existence—suffering has a place.

I'm not used to doing needlework. My finger tips are sore from pushing the needle back and forth through the heavy black paper, and from the occasional prick. But I didn't like this quilt until I added embroidery.

Marian is developing callouses on her fingers from learning the guitar. These light and momentary pains are bearable in the context of creativity. Sometimes we can endure greater suffering if we expect a positive outcome, or if it teaches us something inwardly. Sometimes we cannot make sense of it and succomb to despair or bitterness.

Living constantly in the moment, we could never learn from our mistakes or from the complex wisdom gathered from a life journey. We could not anticipate the changing seasons, set aside necessities for the lean times, or gather resources toward a cherished goal.

But the best parts of my life have been those when I could, for some fragment or strand of time, set aside all worry and planning, and sink thoroughly into the tapestry of my senses. Rain on the shining rock, my daughter lost in the slanting light of a July evening. The feel and earthy smell of rock tripe on the granite cliff. The places we have walked, the stories told to us by people, houses, trees, rivers.

Last night: the taste of brandy and the quick, warm haze pressing around the edges of my mind. It is a momentary pleasure, but a life lived in that muted place would be irresponsible and probably tragic.

We must learn how to weave like a thread across the surface of our senses, then puncture, move below and travel there for a while, finding our path, knowing that at the right time we will rise again into the light.

Comments

[ubermunkey.livejournal.com]

that is some great stuff Van and indeed into the light. I am stuck in the middle of nowhere and instead of panicking and freaking out I am rolling with it. There is some magic quality about me right now, almost like a cloud over my normally frantic mind, allowing me to view it as a state, a current bit of my overall existence, transitory but also living in the experience. The tacky neon, the blaring of slot machines, the reek of the smoke and the call of the cocktail waitress with her too short shorts and her breasts poking out. Almost too surreal.

very interesting post.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Wonderful images there, Connor. It's no surprise, those same sensations that make life beautiful are the same things that make a piece of prose or poetry compelling to read. Enjoy the magic, bud.

[teddyb.livejournal.com]

Hi, Van. I'm enjoying reading your journal entries and getting to know you better that way. And I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you and get to know you a bit this evening at Sunday Dinner. I wish you all the best for the holidays, and look forward to seeing you again soon.

[vaneramos.livejournal.com]

Yes, Bob, pleasure meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again soon.