Clearing out the house, entertaining Michigan family, especially grandson, resuming normal work and life schedule, finishing up the spring's evening classes: no time to write (an excuse?) and only now time to think.
The point of view, the way of life, the principles and associated practices under examination in this blog are not just for contemplation but for action. Encounters are not just for thinking about but actually having. So, cracking open in early morning the door of the blacked-out room where you were sleeping, sweet grandson, to see your face in the gloomy shining up from among the many stuffed animals at the bottom of the pack'n'play, and to smell the sickly sweetness of a poop needing to be changed, and to hear your suddenly tranquil 'Hi, Granpere,' is pure and direct benchmark quality encounter. What happened thereafter--the management of noxious materials, the cleaning and clothing, the cuddling and reading of story books about animals and animal-like people, the 'Let Grandpere close his eyes for a moment,' and the insistence on another--was part of how we were each hospitable, exploratory and friendly.
Likewise, the negotiations for the conduct of each day--where to go, whom or what to see, what to get at the grocery story, when to take naps or have dinner, who to cook and who to clean up--all were I/you, sometimes we/y'all kinds of meetings. The little tensions, the disruptions, the awkwardnesses, the forbearances, the underlying affection, the urgency to connect in the short time we had defined the texture of the visit.
The stomach bug that came with you Michiganders occasioned in-house encounter for each of us, with purgings, expulsions and extreme fatigue that complicate our time and plans. The open house party for co-workers and neighbors, our very first, that I'd been so looking forward to for Mother's Day eve had to be canceled, based on your virulence, microbe.
Then friends of my daughter and their children, the aquarium and its wonderful denizens, the people that my son-in-law with his extraordinary facility for socializing with strangers brought into our circle represented encounters on their own, that is, meetings requiring me to be present and open to others and otherness.
This is the full court press of presence that now I am relieved to have some relief from. Encounters need to be digested and assimilated; at least, it's true for me. I have notes in my book of things that I want to think more on. Perhaps I want more time between my address and your reply.
Oh, people whom I wish well for, loving hugging, enjoy talking to, playing with, being near, now you're gone as if fallen through a trap door. A sudden drop in pressure left my heart thumping loudly. It'll be half a year before we can reach out to you and touch a face, an arm, or hold a living body.
Encounters are complicated and often bittersweet but also, I believe, the quanta of meaningful existence, never not worthwhile, always to be welcomed.
The point of view, the way of life, the principles and associated practices under examination in this blog are not just for contemplation but for action. Encounters are not just for thinking about but actually having. So, cracking open in early morning the door of the blacked-out room where you were sleeping, sweet grandson, to see your face in the gloomy shining up from among the many stuffed animals at the bottom of the pack'n'play, and to smell the sickly sweetness of a poop needing to be changed, and to hear your suddenly tranquil 'Hi, Granpere,' is pure and direct benchmark quality encounter. What happened thereafter--the management of noxious materials, the cleaning and clothing, the cuddling and reading of story books about animals and animal-like people, the 'Let Grandpere close his eyes for a moment,' and the insistence on another--was part of how we were each hospitable, exploratory and friendly.
Likewise, the negotiations for the conduct of each day--where to go, whom or what to see, what to get at the grocery story, when to take naps or have dinner, who to cook and who to clean up--all were I/you, sometimes we/y'all kinds of meetings. The little tensions, the disruptions, the awkwardnesses, the forbearances, the underlying affection, the urgency to connect in the short time we had defined the texture of the visit.
The stomach bug that came with you Michiganders occasioned in-house encounter for each of us, with purgings, expulsions and extreme fatigue that complicate our time and plans. The open house party for co-workers and neighbors, our very first, that I'd been so looking forward to for Mother's Day eve had to be canceled, based on your virulence, microbe.
Then friends of my daughter and their children, the aquarium and its wonderful denizens, the people that my son-in-law with his extraordinary facility for socializing with strangers brought into our circle represented encounters on their own, that is, meetings requiring me to be present and open to others and otherness.
This is the full court press of presence that now I am relieved to have some relief from. Encounters need to be digested and assimilated; at least, it's true for me. I have notes in my book of things that I want to think more on. Perhaps I want more time between my address and your reply.
Oh, people whom I wish well for, loving hugging, enjoy talking to, playing with, being near, now you're gone as if fallen through a trap door. A sudden drop in pressure left my heart thumping loudly. It'll be half a year before we can reach out to you and touch a face, an arm, or hold a living body.
Encounters are complicated and often bittersweet but also, I believe, the quanta of meaningful existence, never not worthwhile, always to be welcomed.
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