Chance = Change

....and before you know it, the vacation you so looked forward to is over and done, and you're forced to go back to the everyday realities of your normal scheduled life....there is no way that this ever feels good..no matter how wondrous your normal life...you've invested too much in the dream of that few days of vacation for anything else to ever fell nearly as good, Well, at least that's where I am this early morning, as I watch our final hours here in the mountains fade away into the normal and nearby future....we drive back to Abingdon in a short while, and i feel sad and blue.

It also means saying goodbye to Paul , who has been spending the last few days here with us while Stephen has gone back to Nashville to be with his ailing Dad. I will miss these times with Paul. But then, I always miss Paul when I am not with him. Nothing new there. Soulmates.

So, what good is vacation, if at the end of it you feel sad and bad? Has perspective been restored? And is our life so bad that the yearning to be on perpetual vacation is a true response to a genuine need? AM I THAT TIRED?

The good fortune of my life has been , and seems to remain, that I am more often than not, engaged in work that not only suits me, but nourishes me as well....and work that I can somehow exist in to help others . This is good. Another fortunate thing: I have never suffered for want of anything, because I've earned my living at a pace that keeps up with my needs and desires. Also, I have been surrounded by generous people always. So, why am I sad? I am going back to a theatre and a job that excites me most of the time, and where i feel effective and creative. I am married to a man I truly love. And we live in a nice home. What am I so damned scared of?

The passing of time? The certainty of Death? Without doubt. So the end of vacation signifies the end of another section of time cordoned off to be "special", and as it passes, so does another little piece of my heart (didn't meant o lapse into song lyric there, but it was so right)....i am nauseous with the notion of the passing of time.

One amazing thing this trip: I discovered the poetry of John Ashbery. Paul gave me a volume of his later works before we came here, and I feel like I've discovered another country to explore. Reading great poets helps me in my life, even more than reading Buddhist instruction...at least at this point. Though we did real a deal of haiku this vacation, and I have to admit, it's powerful stuff. Simple, yet not. Profound, unquestionably. Requires relaxing into, not struggling with, as Ashbery certainly does. Is it possible I enjoy the struggle because it keeps me engaged and away from thinking about the simpler , more inevitable endings we all come to? Or do i think that if i struggle with it, I will face it all more consciously than by letting myself into a simple haiku? Maybe I love to engage with the complex poets because the struggle postpones the inevitable: the letting go. The stepping off the edge of that cliff i have always been afraid of, but have never injured myself in stepping off of all my life?

Maybe i like to figure things out by engaging with language because language is familiar ...and beloved.

Bye to the Mountains for now.