my semester is thankfully over, i'm spent, worn out. just want to finish editing my poetry collection, and call it a wrap. all the original writing i'm going to do, is done, and i've left the verbiage just cloudy enough i can save my big momma essay for my culminating semester (which starts in august, hallelujah!).
i've clarity now on what i need to do next semester to finish up this journey. a clarity i've never known before. and i hope it will be as i see it in my mind. at the end of next semester, i'll have that belly dance taped, a poetry collection of my own (another, sigh--and hopefully a companion cd for each, if i can find a soul with a tape recorder and some free time), and a poetry anthology of poets i retreat with (and to), as well as that big stinkin' essay i've been working my way up to.
i'm just not ready to write it now. though if it came to me tomorrow, i'd write it down and be done with it, i know the value of waiting for the right time. right now there is still mist and shadow over the words i need to complete that work.
i'm tired, in the best way. just in from work where i've taken a decidedly more relaxed approach. though there is so much to be done, i just realize, everyone, every single one of us has to help do it. i cannot do it alone. never could.
i understand that afresh.
reviewing my semester in essay today, i see how far i've come. where did i begin? who was i then? i don't remember. that girl has slipped into the sea, never to return. but i like who i am now. today. this minute.
there is a zen koan that goes,
become who you are.
yes.
the best of times are coming my way. the worst of times have passed. and even if a few showers fall, it serves only to make the flowers bloom again in time. it can't rain always, or so i've been told.
and tonight, at the end of this path that felt, at times, endless and insurmountable, beyond my capacity--though never beyond my will, it just feels good.
so i will edit my collection, that may never be sold.
but since i finally broke down and gave the chief my poetry book with instructions that he bury it in his private collection. i had been waiting to see what he'd say, wondering if he still thinks there are things that i should not write down. i guess not because he said to me yesterday,
you're a powerful writer. a lot of people can relate to those poems. if you ever need a review, just ask.
he wants to sell my book, to help me sell my book.
but i am not ready, yet.
the time is drawing near. and i hope this second collection becomes more than i imagine it is in my mind. (i do not think it on par with the first, but i have been wrong before).
i am willing to accept it if it is good. i am willing to couple it with the first. i am willing to devote myself to it's keeping, if it is more than i imagined it to be.
long night ahead, lightning illuminating the sky outside, i'm tired, but this is the kind of work i live for. editing. it is my purpose. editing and poetry.
perhaps someday, i will also know peace.
aho.
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