poof

that's the sound of me blowing a little air into the wind, where it will be carried off instantly as tiny particles, mingling with other tiny particles, more numerous even than there are harry potter fans. there won't be any proof of that poof, no record or memory, except for this.

sigh. i love the internet so very much, to borrow one of my daughter's current phrases. because, though less than polished, the things i write here are more than journal entries. obviously. if i were journaling, i would be writing in my padlocked diary [blog] that is TOTALLY PASSWORD PROTECTED. i write here because, even though i am pretty sure i've got a teeny, tiny readership, mostly made up of family members who are obligated to read, i still know i'm not just talking to myself. does anyone really write without hoping to be read? even my actual journal is intended to be read someday, after i am dead.

:: :: ::

i love Sunday nights. the girls are sleeping in their beds, i have Li-Young Lee's latest collection on my lap, and there are at least three hours before i absolutely have to shut 'er down. i can think. i can write down my thoughts. i can feel cool air coming in through the window. and i can forget about the messy house on the other side of my door {sufficient unto tomorrow is the evil of that. if you know whaddamean}.

:: :: ::

Li-Young, where was this book in 2002 when i was writing my master's thesis? my title was, "a witnessing to magnitude: poems of spirituality in form and free verse." and i struggled to find any in the contemporary canon. really struggled. since then harold bloom has written a whole book about it and it's suddenly a cool thing for poets to sincerely explore their religious roots. oh, well. i found that paper of mine recently and read a few excerpts. who is this person?, i wanted to know. i could go 50 pages through that thing without recalling a single sentence. it didn't teach me what i wanted to know.

this collection, on the other hand, is full of moments you find in poetry when you hear your own voice ringing in the words--only not your voice as you speak it to others, but your authentic voice: the one that can really only be expressed in this strange medium. poetry lovers, do you know what i mean? {are you out there?}

i find myself wanting to finish the sentences.

:: :: ::

from "Cuckoo Flower on the Witness Stand" by Li-Young Lee

When asked about my religious training, I answer,
"I seek my destiny in my origin."

Most of my life, I've answered politely
to questions put to me, speaking only when spoken to,

a sign of weakness
unbefitting of any free human being.

. .

Therefore, for the sake of free human beings everywhere,
and because no one asked, I now say:

:: :: ::

well, i have several things to say, but here is just one. this post is alternately titled, "in defense of public badness. also public goodness."*

THE IMPETUS
i've long followed the admonition that bad behavior, yea even the appearance thereof, sets a bad example for the youth and other impressionable folks. i know this to be true, as a member of the latter category. be careful what you smoke around me because, chances are, i will really want to smoke it too.

but i have been more helped than hurt by good people who are also bad. likewise by bad people who are also good. if you're a baddy of my acquaintance, consider this a thank-you note on cyber-stationery.

THE ARGUMENT
if someone tells you that stealing is bad and then you see a person steal, isn't it logical to connect the triangle {person=bad}? i reasoned this way as a child and probably still do, sometimes, although i know better. mostly we overcome deductions like this as we age and get wisdom. we realize that human motives are complicated and defy simple categorization. we desire grace for ourselves and extend it more willingly to others.

THE CONFESSION
and we want to kick the crap out of people who don't fess up to their own badness {hyprocrites! no grace for you! no soup, either!}.

THE ARGUMENT, WITH NUMBERS
that reaction is not super helpful. what is helpful: listening to lucinda williams. also, an exercise in observation. i observe that people i know and trust do things that i have been taught are bad-to-do. my deductions? (1) sometimes people fail. (2) not all things that i have been taught are bad-to-do are actually bad-to-do. do you hear what i am saying? not everything i was taught is true. accepted truths are not always true. i know. FRIGHTENING! RADICAL and DANGEROUS! believe me, i know. and i am now two steps closer to enlightenment, no joke.

LIKEWISE
sometimes people who are trying to do everything right are just people trying really hard to do right. if that's not okay with you, you'd better run and hide from me. because i am officially claiming that fundamental {excuse that word} right for all the goodies. keep it up, goodies. you are okay.

THE POINT
i am a little bit bad too, and i resolve to show it. not because it is cool, but because it is human and human is a good thing to be.

*can you tell i've been reading a little bit of michel de montaigne here and there? it makes me want to go around defending things, treatising and manifesto-ing. and don't be impressed. reading a few paragraphs does not a scholar make. but oh, i just found a cheerio in my bra. i so deserved this evening of solitude.

THE END

now, if you made it all the way to the end of this post, hi! leave a comment. i want to know how far my poof reached. for science.