I was just at Wendy’s in St. Thomas, having their yummy Asian cashew chicken salad. It’s freezing rain right now … our first taste of winter. On the way there, I concentrated like crazy. Slow, Bruce, slow. And gentle turns.
Emerging from the restaurant fully satisfied, I poked my way home. Sometime during the trip, my caution evaporated … and I sobbed for Jody while winter passed me by. Huge, gasping cries. How I miss my dear wife.
But where did this fresh grief come from? I don’t see any trigger. The last few weeks, I haven’t been crying for Jodiette every day – maybe every second one. But this, just half an hour ago, was a flood.
Last week I had lunch with my friend Lyrinda. We had two hours of great talk. Maybe halfway through, there was another flood. I was overwhelmed with an immense peace, such that I just sat there with mouth open. Lyrinda smiled. And the sublimity continued to percolate through me. [Oh, my. I just wrote this stuff and the peace and the tears are both here with me. Oh … how can they be visiting at the same time? But they are. I think I’ll just sit with them for a few minutes.]
Did my written words call forth the peace and the sorrow? If so, perhaps I can bring into being anything I want, just by saying or writing it. And yet a big slice of me doesn’t want to perform acts of will. It wants to let go. Aren’t the moments of serendipity allowed entrance by open hands, rather than clutching ones? Well … maybe both can create the sun bursting through the clouds; or 1, 2, 3, 17, 121 … ; or joy.