branches up, roots down

There should be a name for that moment right before you get news that could change your life. Don’t we all know that moment, know that feeling? The phone rings in the middle of the night, and before we pick it up, we have it. We hold the envelope in our hands and it comes on strong. It is fear, but also something else, particular unto itself. Many times that moment is actually hours, if not days. We wait for the results of the biopsy, for the results on the big test we took, we wait to hear if loved ones survived when disasters hit. We wait for friends to come out of a coma, we wait to see if a surgery is successful, we wait to hear something and we hope that it is good, that it won’t involve loss or suffering. That moment, whether an actual minute or a stretch into days, is the place where no matter the faith, no matter the religion, we all tend to enter the same psychic space. Whether anxious, shut down, self-medicating, or stoic, most of us are emitting a mighty PLEASE...

Poetry has been the backbeat of the last few days, and I am still following strands to new poems on this mighty web of poetry that has been spun. That, along with the hints of spring that I see in the emerging buds on the fruit trees, has uplifted spirit and soul. And, there’s that other thing. The election is today. Many of my friends are for Obama. Macha is wearing a giant button for him wherever she goes. Others are for Hillary, excited that a woman is finally being taken seriously as a candidate, or impressed simply with her experience. The last couple of days I’ve felt the excitement growing, and I’ve told friends from both camps how I envy them. Because I do. I wish I could feel solidly behind someone. I know whoever wins the Democratic nomination I will vote for, and maybe even campaign for. I’ll put my shoulder to the task of putting Hillary or Obama in the White House. But I still envy my friends who are ardent in the support of one or another. I can’t get there, an...