It occurs to me, now over nine months later, that in effect my last post was a goodbye. I was very aware that in the months previous to that post I had thrust myself into blogging with an intensity that I both enjoyed and was vaguely suspicious of. In my frenzy I found myself creating a blog about my dog, and a blog about the vice-presidential candidate at the time, and even a blog about why I was blogging. I knew that there were small and some larger griefs I needed to face, and even thought to a certain extent I was facing them by writing about them. But eventually reality forced my hand. It was time to stop writing and to finish feeling. And finally I fully faced the depth of my grief over the suicide two years ago of a student I was close to. She was a lovely and smart young woman, and the world is less bright in her absence.
In the meantime, my life in the blog world has felt suspended, like the bit of Douglas fir sap in the photograph above.
So I stopped blogging, and started feeling. And Karma and I kept walking. And walking. Each foray into the forest continues to offer miraculous moments of beauty, but instead of translating my experience into posts and photographs I have gradually allowed my grief into full consciousness.
The illimitableness of grief. I don't think I had ever fully understood that before. It is impossible to conceive - and nearly unbearable to imagine - the depth of grief my student's mother must endure. I can only hope that all the healing in the world is offered to her. Though I suspect there are some things from which one never recovers.
And so my life goes on. A poem of mine was published - the first (and probably only) one I ever submitted. My son and his two best friends/business partners moved back to Washington state, having been in Arizona just long enough to realize they missed their families. They live on Lake Desire (and how sweet is that?) about forty-five minutes away from here. My daughter continues to blossom, in love and in life. And Karma and I continue to explore the beaches and forests of this paradise where we reside.
It turns out that Douglas fir sap has a very unusual quality. I've always been struck by how it has a faintly blue hue, like an early dawn sky, when it dries. But even more remarkable is that if a bit of Douglas fir sap is dabbed on the end of a twig which is placed in water, the twig will be propelled as if it had a little engine. Walter Muma, the gentleman I learned this from in my Google search, made a short video of it here that demonstrates this charming feature.
I'm hard-pressed to figure out what the practical application of such a capacity is, and immensely curious about what inspired Muma to discover this in the first place, but I think it nonetheless serves as an apt metaphor for the blogosphere. Each of us bloggers in our little twig selves are probably propelled by forces we both know and perhaps sometimes do not entirely understand. And so our paths cross and diverge, in ways both nameable and mysterious.
I don't know if or when I will return to blogging. I miss many of the blogs and bloggers with whom I came into contact, and yet it also almost aches to return, like visiting the site of a once-beloved home that has been razed. It feels untoward to have a blog but not engage with other blogs and bloggers, but I'm not certain that I can make that level of commitment again and still maintain the focus on my own life and work. I've also recently been working on a website to address aging, figuring in my usual compulsive way I might as well try to understand everything I can about the next developmental phase ahead. I'm not sure where blogging can fit in.
In the meantime I continue to hold my former readers in my heart with affection and gratitude. The blog world was a refuge for me when I needed it. You were each part of its consolation. Blessings to you, wherever you are.
