So, it's 2010 and we don't have jet packs. I can't say I feel I'm missing something there. January has come and gone. The new year is underway. I've spent the past couple of months in a strange state overt sociability and also rather, well, I want to say hibernatic (Is that a word? Interweb check inconclusive. It should be) behavior. I have just entered my tenth year in Portland.
In this past year I have managed, against all odds, to keep my heart open. Moreover, I have deepened that openness and can see into it with savage clarity. And I have discovered that my love is infinite. It is positively incorruptible. I'm not exactly sure what to do with that, but I think it is a good thing. It's progress.
A year ago I wrote that being moved by simple joys and laughing more than I cried was progress. With that as my measure, then I am successfully progressing still. There has been plenty of chaos. There will be stories and poems to come from the carnival of my life, for sure. Perhaps there will even be some peace. I don't have an agenda.
I only know that I love and love fiercely. I am taking care of myself and taking care to mind my creative impulses. I may feel alien, but there are moments I can breathe and moments in which I feel whole. I feel humble, devoted, unassailable. I suppose that's not a bad start.