the only way to leave the gallows is by flying,
<
by Ben Shahn
Only a soul full of despair can ever attain serenity and, to be in despair, you must have loved a good deal and still love the world.
- Blaise Cendrars
Time in Berlin fell with the snow, gradual and soft, the days almost infinite. I sleep for twelve hours and wake as if from underground, inside myself. The eyes of this city leave me enchanted, powerful beacons of light through the thick, hard winter. I anticipate exploding. I wait, and I wait. For my heart to lurch out through the windows of candlelit slick graffiti bars or into the arms of a ticket inspector of the metro we hop on without tickets. But nothing. Just absence that grows stronger and stronger the more solitude that comes.
God, I'm so so sorry. I have not been enough. Not for you, not for I.
Too - I have not written enough and my life is not a transformation any longer. All the clarity that came in summer migrated to confused, foolish lands in autumn. And now winter.
But enough is a ridiculous notion.
Berlin, an energy of rebirth. A coat and a sweater given to me for the trip east. Blessings everywhere, despite all this.
Wroclaw - baked bread, tea, all day cooking a Christmas Pudding from my grandmother's old recipe.
Here the time hurtles by and I don't know what to make of it all. Deep, relentless confusion.
Be as light as the first snowflakes, I tell myself. Be the breath that came out of you when you saw your first moose in North America. Be excitement itself and curious even for the things that are already known. This must be the core and sweetness of what it is to be alive, I'm sure of it.
To rediscover instinct and to be led on whims and passion.