I Don't Want to Lose
by Mary Oliver
I don't want to lose a single thread
from the intricate brocade of this happiness.
I want to remember everything.
Which is why I'm lying awake, sleepy
but not sleepy enough to give it up.
Just now, a moment from years ago:
the early morning light, the deft, sweet
gesture of your hand
reaching for me.
My hands are an archive.
What is archived is not the thing, but its existence, so its absence.
∆ Natalie Diaz, from The Hand Has Twenty-Seven Bones: These Hands If Not Gods
Food, fire, walks, dreams, cold, sleep, love, slowness, time, quiet, books, seasons – all these things, which are not really things, but moments of life – take on a different quality at night-time, where the moon reflects the light of the sun, and we have time to reflect what life is to us, knowing that it passes, and that every bit of it, in its change and its difference, is the here and now of what we have.
∆ Jeanette Winterson, Darkness is the time to think, to dream, to love …
October 31st, 2016
What was a god? A focus of belief. If people believed, a god began to grow. Anything could be the focus of a god. A handful of feathers with a red ribbon around them, a hat and coat on a couple of sticks…anything. Because when all people had was practically nothing, then anything could be almost everything.