Thursday, March 05, 2009

Red Thread

If you look at the time stamp on this post you get an idea of the kind of night it's been.

Mojo had to work at home until almost 8pm, so I took the kidlets out for dinner and a mall-crawl, to ride the carousel (which was closed Wednesday nights - who knew?) and generally stay out of Mommy's hair until she could get her work done.

Then, after everyone finally got settled in and the lunches were made and the laundry in and the toys picked up, I went to bed. Not to sleep, mind you, at least not for long, because about 1am the Peeper yacked up his dinner all over his bed friends and his new Star Wars sheets. We cleaned him and his bed up; he went to the couch, the sheets and blankets and bed friends (except Ollie the Elephant - sorry, Ollie, de vomite nil nisi bonum and all that but you fucking reek, man, and your plush will never come clean. Ave atque vale, dude.) went into the washer and I am still awake, because every so often I get freaky about the washing machine drain plugging and flooding the basement as it did in 2006.

So as I am sitting at the computer in the basement feeling that harsh, No-Doz kind of ratcheting you get from too little sleep and, frankly, a little sorry for myself, I checked Teh Facebook to find to my horror that an e-friend's little girlhad had problems post-op and had stopped breathing.


Now she's stable and is home with her mother and father, once again her happy, adorable self.

But I've said this before; we amble through life taking every day, every night, each breath, every sunrise and birdsong and hug and kiss, each breathless moment at the height of lovemaking, every rich explosion of flavor on the tongue...every single warm cuddle from little bodies fitted to our chests, every syllable of happy babble, every tear, the good pull and stretch of strong muscle worked hard, each and every lingering glance of greeting and farewell with the casual acceptance that we give a yawn or a passing car or a flickering light. We expect life to rise to greet us every day, every heart to just continue beating, every automobile to track smoothly, every breath to begin as the last one ends.

The fuzzy-huggy-bunny-wuffy-ladybuggery adoption folks have this thing about the "red thread" that connects you to your magical baby that God (and it is usually God) has picked out for you and how that means that everything will work out for the best; you will always be tied to your love by this mystic invisible red thread.

But if there's anything I've learned in this journey towards the grave, it's that life itself is a tenuous thread, a spindly, blood-red thread that may break or fail at any time. One minute you'll be fine, the next one of you will be gone.

On the one hand, this is terrifying. The body that feels so sturdy, the life that seems so complete...a flu germ, a layoff, an affair, a little too much anesthaesia, and it is gone as thoroughly as the dream of a dream. Nothing is certain. Nothing can be counted on. All is vanity and striving after nothingness.

And yet...tilt your glance and it isn't.

Everything we humans build and are; every house, every love, every layer of fat, bone and muscle, is ephemeral. We are all doomed from the moment we are born. And yet in those moments between darkness and darkness, what towers we can raise! What loves we can lift, what momuments to strength and caring and honor and passion!!

If we choose.

So every day a little death...and yet, every day, every day, is a gift of life. Each time we hold our children, each day we tell our lovers we love them, each day we work and laugh and cry and love and hate...each day is a goddam miracle, and we live and move through them like gods, like heroes.

Or we can. We should.

So today, take a moment to savor your life. LIVE it. Listen to the rain. Meditate. Do a kata until it's as perfect as you can make it. Make a great cup of coffee and a buttered croissant.Hug your daughter extra tight.

The night is dark and long. But we can fear the dark, or we can bask in and savor the brilliant daylight that is all the brighter for coming between the sunrise and the sunset.

And I hope you're waking to a sunny day full of love and happiness, little Q. Live. Love. Thrive. Every day you live you are a gift of love.


Lisa said...

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player/That struts and frets his hour upon the stage". . .

But you have provided a poetic challenge. Life is what ya make it, basically. No matter where one finds oneself, to be alive is a precious gift. We must give the best we can if we are to be the best the we can be.

Thank you for the whiff of fresh air you've given.

Anonymous said...



sheerahkahn said...

Two things..., you have pointed out the absurdity of how we think about our lives...we revel in its wonderous glory, and when things go horribly, horribly wrong...we question our reality, and the beauty around us no longer carries a charm.
We sink into a funk that we refuse to work through...we allow the "bah, all things!" to guid our thinking, and then, somehow, someway, something snaps us out...and we're back to the wonderous beauty of it all again.

Brother, these thoughts... at 3:45 am?
You need to some catch-up sleep!

Here's a lil lull-a-bye for you...

The singer is Connie Dover, the song is a very, very old chant Ubi Caritas, but her'll feel like you're back in your mothers arms being rocked to sleep.

Pluto said...

Well and truly said, Chief, you've excelled even your high standards. And at 3:45 AM at that!

I've had a few nights similar to yours and the following days were ghastly. I sincerely hope your following day went better than the night.

FDChief said...

The next day WAS better. The Peep felt crummy, so we stayed home together, watched lots of TV, played "tanks" (wargaming with little microarmor) and napped. Not bad, after that wretched night.

srv said...