The Event

To begin; two pertinent posts composed in something like heat from the glowing embers of the day.

Slim tendrils of; connection grew in a shortspace to (of course,still tenous vestigially grasped) vistas of substance known, excitement of epiphany, able understandings to leap tall buildings faster than a speeding bullet train across universal distance, briefly dismissing disconnection for moments I’ve been dreaming of off in my sometime silent cornering. Getting glimpses of fabled treasure formed from sacred clays.

And—

Breathing marvellous freshness of inspired exchanges. Still blocked by diminished energy but I’ve been waiting sooo long to be there, out with good people, surprise of compatible minds flashing shining surprise being out with found friends the only effort that of not drawing away even that not effort but to remind mindfulness. Drink it in. Treasure it. Thanks. Thanks. Thanks.

And a photograph from Bart Kreps, an old friend with unique distinctions:

Poly Returns

Looking at the most recently published post makes clear how long it’s been since I had the heart to apply myself to appraisal. The primary catalyst returning me was the visit this afternoon from an old friend, going back to the Fall of 1993. He had written the text for a dance piece memorably performed by the Collective Unconscious Collective at the Toronto Dance Fringe and subsequently for two consecutive nights and two consecutive full Moons in Guelf, which experience redirected my life. It involved as well Guh, who became treasured friends and whose music never fails to make me smile with pleasure and excitement.

David Jhave Johnson, as his name is, based his text on The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, and the refrain, ”Let it go, let it go, let it all go Now” remains vividly present with me to this day, with of course obvious application to most of my recent experience. Further description may, should, come, but not now.

In any event, the most recent post was published just after I had gotten my All Clear, as I understood it, from my oncologist. Now I have just received my final injection, two days ago, of my current round of two chemo treatments. (Yes it did indeed prove not to be an All Clear.) I still have a peach-pink glow, which should be gone by Monday; and I find that as with the first of the two, the pattern of physical and emotional reactions differs from previous experience. That is to say, among other things, that I’m more tired than I expected, and perhaps more irritable, more volatile perhaps, than I might have reasonably expected.

But then so much has altered in the intervening period. Two things stand out at the moment.

First, progress has been made in loosening the bonds that prevented any movement outside the influence of and dominating desire, need for the woman for whom I still long quietly from time to time. Some of the intensities of that tempestuous bond have been traced in, in fact permeate these blogs.

The other is that tomorrow I will be reading some of my poetry and quasi-poetry in public and in the company of poets, no less, for the first time ever. I’m probably not preparing properly; perhaps I am. Either way, it will be. I expect pleasure, I hope for further acknowledgement, I may suffer crushing embarrassment. I will cut this short, still finding it difficult to feel any interest in recording events since the last post, and leave the way clear for reporting The Event.