friday 9 june 02006 12:12pm
letter to a friend

there will be thousands and thousands of days on which we are dead. really. millions and millions of days in which the organization of this consciousness will not cohere (or so i think at this point) and our energy will be butterflies and redwoods and strange consumer goods and boogers.

today we are not dead. right now i just come back to this. whenever the fear comes, whenever the grief comes, i say: today i am not dead. today i am alive. and it's scary and complicated and everything else, but it's a chance. it's the chance i have.

we could toss aside our lives and build new ones. all this is ephemeral. and yet it is the stuff of living. happy days will follow sad ones. pleasure will come after the pain, and then pain again, but we are alive, and conscious, and this is a gift. a burden, too, because we think we are alone, we think we are in pain, we think we are not part of the whole shining goodness of being.

you cannot be separated from the divine whole. you cannot be alone. i, for one, am every single day thinking of your endless bravery, and your beautiful belly, and feeling a great fondness for our soon-to-be-matching scars, and so much relief that you will be reaching out for me and holding me when i go under and give myself to the knives.

i love you. i hear you expanding.

you are beautiful, sister. you are perfect.

you are the most adorable curl on the cheek of god.

the pain will pass.

kristie dahlia