silences
silence around here generally implies one of two possibilities: either a great deal is happening, or not a lot is happening. infer as you will. but my thesis is staunchly refusing to write itself, which is causing me anguish & irritation.
and I've been feeling fragile of late -- a ferment of idiocy slowly eroding at the shreds of patriotism I have left; the exhortations of history and the repercussions of 9/11 crystallizing into terrible focus; senseless, needless sorrow -- I am beset by a sense of inevitability, resignation and smallness.
well, and who is to say one should not be uplifted by small things? -- grapefruit in the morning, strawberries cheapening in the marketplace with every spasm of spring, tea and skinned knees, purple night skies, a lone piano echoing purely in the chapel -- all things particular, like small bastions against the icy enduring general. but must one really capitulate & grieve in stillness, helplessly? is it all one can do, to turn such things over in one's mind upon waking, before sleeping, as though the world's problems might be solved by the diligent silences of undirected prayer?