Fresh Look

Dear Eugene,

This morning in half darkness I reconsidered the pattern on Sumi's back.

I wondered how the pattern came to be in its present form, cosmos expanding since we first cradled her universe five-and-a-half years ago.

There, a little brown spot that doesn't fit, a strayed star, wayward, like a speck of blemish, a specter from the past we failed to notice since...the beginning?

Yes, and thanks, 
for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good
so I never tried

I recalled this line from a Cohen song, a favorite.

Thanksgiving weekend.  I don't think we can ever be truly thankful without taking a step back to reconsider, to take a fresh look, like a child in wide-eyed wonder.

Reconsider things.  Simple things, big things.  Life events.  Patterns discerned and still hidden.  Tangled threads.  Badly tangled.  Line-up at grocery checkout.  Bus trip exiles.  Facebook "Likes."

Reconsider thoughts.  Prejudices.  Ulterior motives.  Superstitions.  "Science."  Self-talk.  Sermons.  Hate manifesto we secretly live by.  Faint praise given and received.  Lust.  Fear.

Reconsider people.  A glance.  "Trouble in her eyes."  An accusation.  A book on her shelf.  A book not on her shelf.  Lip curled at the corner.  Scorn.  Mirth.  An embrace that almost was.  A trigger that was pulled.

When there is no fresh look there is no hope, no energy to break free from patterns of despair.  No revelation to receive; no capacity to give.  No point in trying.  Coffin that smells of mahogany and walnut.

To give thanks is to give away pieces of ourselves.

Thank you, Alex


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