Sunday

Troubles


I've carried, in my head and in my heart, your last message with me since it came several weeks ago.  I have waited, wanting not so much to find the right thing to say...an impossibility...but to  rid myself of any trace of the seemingly obligatory and presumptuous search for meaning that is yours and yours alone.

The one thing I can offer is this,  the past has never been as well known to me as I might have thought. Just as there are too many variables to predict the future there are also too many for me to adequately remember the past. The barest threads of logic have coursed through the events of my life and I have clung to those hoping for understanding, even absolution, but that thread has turned out to be the smallest of streams and far from the river.

The past, my past, has only appeared to belong to me.  In the middle of my own current troubles I've come to understand that there were players whose names I never knew, will never know. There were people seriously affecting outcomes that I, in my arrogance, dismissed as negligible or minimal.  Today it seems even that very I has been of the barest necessity to that which I've called my life.

These things may be true for you as well.  I don't know.  What I do know is this:  yes, you've stumbled.  Yes, you've been without grace more than you would have liked.  All the same, I'm far the better for knowing you. Far the better for your friendship.  For me your nobility, yes the very word, has been created by your remarkable insistence on living well, living beautifully, living as bravely as possible despite the stumbling, despite the graceless days.  Despite the over-whelming fact of the ever-present absurdity of what we call life these days.

The day here is very green.  At last.  I may not be able to touch it but I move closer.  Much closer.  As do you.