Thursday, September 30, 2004

Headcold, so thinking has gone from bloggy to foggy. The season is joined, and I have to adapt with all the seriousness of survival. David Wagoner (I took a poetry class nonmatric with him when I lived on Vashon) liked to say "Birds live extremely difficult lives, and everything they do, they do extremely well." And point out the minimal margins of error within which they lived. He suggested, of course, both watching them intently as well as approaching your poetry with a like attitude.

So I've explained my difficulties with cold weather; there's some metabolic sluggishness on my part, and maintaining body temperature in anything but temperate weather comes at the expense of other metabolic functions any healthy person would take for granted (ex. immune function, digestion). The past three winters, I've hit a serious wall around the second week of December. Not a wall, really, that's just when the water finally stopped the car running through it, stopped by dint of inertia or flooding I guess I'd say both. The run-up, through Autumn, was gradual erosion and denial on my part of what was happening. And then had to go total hermit, avoiding the outside at all costs except where essential, like dropping Jonah off at school and picking him up, which was, the past two years, almost all my life from December - April (& the bulk of it otherwise anyway). This year I do not plan on letting that happen. I am healthier, physically, than I've been in years and mistakes, like yesterday, when I sat without a hat on on the playground and read while Jonah played, are not going to happen.

So I up my meditation, and keep my body strong, and move within its movements. Like I was saying regarding Milton, if you follow a natural law, you will prosper, and if you don't, you won't. Not a social morality, but a matter of living, like the birds Wagoner preached (and yes, he preached like I imagine an Old Testament angry one would). My body wants to be a tree (i.e. drop leaves come cold, and send sap underground) and hibernate, fine with me, I'll turn inward and build energy, gather energy, and come out of it healthier than ever. In a natural rhythm. That is a good thing. Patience comes easy with hope.

Anyway, back to poetry & its concerns. Just thought I'd say.

Oh, and I suggest you read this, if you haven't. I get the impression it'll be good prep work for the debates tonight.

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