I was reading one of my old notebooks this morning - no, not for a past December, but a November issue from 2009 and I was rambling in it about "Living the Question" and I found my now self sneering at my old self. "Drivel, Julie, drivel. We know you love Rilke and all, but seriously. Must you write the same basic stuff so redundantly?"
That's the thing about notebooks: they aren't meant for public consumption so drivel is at times most welcomed there, safely tucked away on the blue lines which I foolishly think may want to be read years from now by a descendent of mine. What I found that surprised me was amidst the dank, vague, uninteresting ramblings there were also moments of clarity and word combinations the now me found to be quite delightful.
I wrote, "Almost noon at my cluttered kitchen table... I return to the page, my pencil leaving its non-xeroxable faces against the paper truths which refuse to be replicated."
A smile covers my face upon reading that run-on lovely. It is difficult to photocopy pencil, I have found, though digital photos work well.
A couple days later I mused, "I wonder what would happen if I treated each poem I finished as if it would be the last?"
Rilke would undoubtedly agree that is a question to be lived.
I created a block for myself this morning when I pondered writing "D is for Death" and thought it would shut people down. They wouldn't read and might not come back. I couldn't lead with "D is for Death" but perhaps I could lure them in with "drivel". It would be even easier to use some chipper word like "D is for Delight" or the non-specific "D is for Dancing" but that is not what I wanted to say.
I want to say, "D is for Death. In April, I celebrate the memory of five people who I loved who died in May. My brother John, My beloved friends: Tom, Kevan, Berni and Kathie. All in their early forties or younger when they died of cancer.
I could say it is unfair to have so many friends who have died so young.
I like to look at it differently. I say I am blessed to have loved so many people. I am privileged I knew these folks, even if it was too brief.
When we forget to remember death, we forget to remember the power of a life well lived.
If this is the last bit of writing I ever put on my blog, it would be enough.
The giggles about drivel, the speaking my friend's names, the question I raised?
Delightful. Daring. Not the least bit Dainty.
I am grateful for what I have said today. It is enough.
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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott
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