Looks like I'm into a new thing. Seems like years. It's been months. Seems like forever.
The tip is that I have two pieces, poems, both unwieldy and really I have no idea where this is headed. For a time I concerned myself with solutions, with faith and religion and faith, and the struggle and finding was good. Then I came to a place of solutions, and it was brilliant. But dwelling in solutions is no place for a poet.
So, I have no solutions, and I carry them with me, a light baggage that is no burden, but I do not write from solutions. I tried it, and I was sent an angel of silence for my efforts. The angel sat there staring at me waiting for me to realize I was being stared at. When I prayed for words, I got the stare from God. Fine. I can take a hint.
You go through these things and at 56 you are glad you can go through something. You are relieved if a little shaken that you do not own your solutions, God does. You knew this from a book. Now you are a walking advertisement for it. You do your best, which is never good enough. You hope you do not hurt anyone. You hope you don't blow it.
Then you look back to when you were blowing things left and right like a birthday party clown, and whereas a few months ago you could feel gratitude and not unreasonable pride now you know nothing more than that you need to do the work in front of you. No reward in this life. And you asked for that too.
But I may get out and read some of my stuff for no reward there either, except not to make a special case by not doing that. If I lose my regret, will I lose my appeal to myself? Early returns suggest No, you will not. You are carried in this, what you do, as it is what you are called to do through no credit to yourself.
That is a strange, complicated pill I was not given the opportunity to swallow or spit out. And it feels good. It feels good like a doctor feels good when the baby comes out. The baby is screaming like a house on fire but the doctor feels good because the doctor knows what she has done is good. The baby is good.
I am not a doctor. I am a poet. I am other things beside, but I am a poet.