Birthdays.
Never a favorite occasion. As I've now published over 20 posts for every year I've been alive (!) on this very blog, you might imagine I'd have at least a small portion of my life at least purportedly, marginally well-covered.
Rather, I'm struck by how great the gap between life and memoir has become. Life devolves into a second by second affair. Your breath going in and out. It's between you and the air.
Pressing through that air can become a challenge sometimes. There's gravity, inertia, all sorts of forces at work.
People require their own power plants. We consume energy at a frightful rate. We pollute, we waste. All in our quest for -- what is it again? That something we are seeking?
Is it peace, balance, security, love, faith, connection?
The other day I watched a bird hanging high overhead. It didn't seem to be moving at all, just gliding in place, still, surveying all that lay below. Then I detected a quiver, ever so slightly, as the bird betrayed its dependence on the wind.
The Japanese have a verse of Haiku: For every leaf a breeze. I think's that's it.
I'm going to celebrate my birthday by seeking a fresh breeze.
Then I'll return to writing, which these days seems to be the main energy force keeping me from giving in.
-30-
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