a fool’s life
What is the difference between the most essential wisdom and the most essential foolishness?
Between in-the-moment living and ignorance in planning for the future?
Perhaps they are the same thing.
Perhaps wisdom is ultimate foolishness
all the while one’s “responsible” mind
demands that things be put in order.
I am, in each moment, trying to choose this wise, foolish path.
The alternative – forethought, worry – is simply to difficult of a path
considering the circumstances. I have been there and back already.
Maddened by confusion and anxiety.
But now I have returned to sanity, and what is there to do other than be grateful?
There is never a shortage of wondrous things to love,
praise, appreciate on any humble day. Let me count the ways.
Let me count the ways so I can remember that despite not having the basic security to know where I am, and where I will be,
richness greets me constantly.
I arrive at work, a place known as the palace, greeted by a turtle laying on the concrete path. Maybe he has lost his home too. Bright, hot sun, crisp California air, heart-stopping greens and blues above and ahead. I gently pick up the turtle and place him on mulch; he doesn’t flinch, and I am reminded of our baby turtle in my childhood home, Tehran, Iran.
Dark, brooding coffee lightened with rich, smooth cream.
A smile. No, many, many smiles seen daily.
Common courtesy.
More sunlight. Clouds. Rain.
Moonlight, stars peaking out from behind thin clouds.
Maybe the piercing, shocking redness of red.
The way it stops my eyes and mind for the briefest moment. Only red will ever be red.
Maybe the glory of a full, deep breath that reaches the very depths of my lungs. Cells long asleep come to life again.
Maybe the freedom and luxury of a stroll on my own two feet, and buying apples from a noisy fruit stand in Chinatown. Seeing and hearing the lives of others.
To love these things fully, with deepest passion, I can do that. And if I can do that, I think I will be okay.
What matters is that baby
swans are being born, reared
right outside the museum doors.
“because the sky is blue, it makes me cry.”
The only thing on which to depend: the inside of my being.
How wide I open the doors to let love in and out of me.
How authentically I can smile, never doubting that I am blessed.
How generous I am to the heart and minds around me, despite my own difficulties.
Being caught in the center of this quiet storm, I cannot see this time for what it really is. One day, looking back, I will understand how these days are shaping the core of me.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
I intend to come out of this like a phoenix, burning with a greater flame. My heart is raw now, but one day it will beat with a stronger, steadier rhythm than I can imagine. And then one day, it will beat so loudly and so clearly that it can carry the orchestra, loud enough to help other hearts find the beat.