Monday, February 11, 2013
snow like ice cream
Awake since 4:30 am, finally crawled out of bed at 5:30. So that's the way the week is going to begin then. Nightmares, you could call them, the last three nights - very realistic, so that I wake up feeling the same feelings I dream-felt. And they follow me, pursue me, these filmy dreams. And maybe it's late in winter that it's most possible to be steeped in winter sorrow. Just a little more to feed the poems and to feed the dreams. There's a poem by Mary Ruefle from her selected that begins,
"I feed my sorrow
I feed my sorrow spinach
I feed my sorrow eggs..."
"I starch my sorrow
I iron it flat, then I fold it again
I buy blueberries for my sorrow"
And so I've been reading that over and over. Feeding my sorrow. Feeding my sorrow yogurt and feeding my sorrow coffee. Burying my sorrow in the snow and digging it up again. I feed my sorrow frost and I feed my sorrow snow like ice cream.
Pema Chodron in No Time to Lose, talks about a kind of laziness called 'loss of heart.' This kind of discouragement that we may feel, is an indulgence. The opposite of laziness is enthusiasm, that going forward with curiosity that I usually am able to embrace. Still, I think it's useful to stay with our sorrow for a time, stay with our loss of heart. Keep it company, write through it if possible. Look at the world, photograph it even, through our sorrow lens.
And maybe at the end of the day, I'll go out and buy some blueberries...