Protected: haibun: presence

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:



even the moon sees me, part i

So it’s Sunday, and I’m following my usual routine. Coffee shop. Americano. A ready laptop and Mum streaming into my ears.

Sundays are all about sifting through the archives, finding old journal entries and exploring what is there, what is possible, what might be spilled over into Acceptance. This morning I ran across an entry that is, in a way, prophetic. As I’ve said before, I’ve known for years that I was meant to write this book. I’ve come close to beginning it, only to see my own fears staring up from the page, telling me it’s too soon to go there, too soon to share.

This morning I found this, written November 13, 2008. I couldn’t figure out who the audience was until I found part of this entry on my old LiveJournal blog:

I have thought a lot lately about writing about that time, or of writing about the time that stands between here and that moment, or set of moments, five years ago. But while I am able to go there in my mind, sometimes without willing it, I am not willing to write it down. I do not want to tell you about it all.

Some of it you already know.

But most of it you will not be able to understand.

So I try to steer my thoughts away from those moments and instead let them settle on something else. Those words that need to resonate are not coming and I cannot find that something else.

Tonight I am remembering and the remembering is so strong I cannot will it away. I have been able to will it away when I am at work. I can throw myself into meetings and email and make it all dissolve into my day to day. At least, temporarily.

It is when I am at home, after my day has ended that it comes to me. Here is when it is so powerful it seems, in some spaces, all consuming. Like it could pick me up and carry me away. My memories are that strong.

But, as I told you, I do not want to write about them.

So I go back into my mind and push the remembering aside. Push aside the memories and the act of remembering. I go back into my mind to find the now, to find what is more pressing, what it more welcoming. What is easier to write about.

I have thought a lot about writing these past few days, but haven’t made time for it. I have thought of several things to write. About Veterans’ Day, and being a veteran. About my mother and her many illnesses. About my dog and his lack of hair. About puberty and fall and eagles and deer. Some days it seems I could pick a topic and run with it. Some days it seems so easy I almost do not want to do it.

I have been thinking about my place in the writing life, how I came here and if I belong here and where I am going with it all. I have had several dreams about grad school and searching for a place to write, for someone who will show me how to do it, for someone to model myself after.

I have been thinking about my place in this life, in my day to day, in the way I enter my office and the way I leave and the things I do when I am in there, at my desk.

I have been thinking about my place at home, my house that I rent, the things inside it and how it can seem so full and so empty at the same time. I have thought about buying a house and how that cannot happen anytime soon.

I am in a good place, really. I should tell you that I feel fortunate, that I have a good day to day and a good house and a good life in general. I should tell you that I will incorporate writing into all of this, that I will push myself and do more and do better and write more and write better.


I want to show you some things I wrote two years ago when I was doing some of my darkest journaling. I want to show them to you but I do not want you to see them.
Perhaps it is this: perhaps it is that I do not want you to see me.

(to be continued)