Clinging to the Invisible God

Can I hope that I am now in a new area, traveling more securely, and that my commitment to the hermit life will be something more than a comic gesture? Is the whole thing just a fantastic private comedy? I question myself and my whole life very seriously. The real absurdity of it all! The … Continue reading Clinging to the Invisible God

Summer

Tent tethered among jackpine and blue- bells. Lacewings rise from rock incubators. Wild geese flying north. And I can't remember who I'm supposed to be. I want to learn how to purr. Abandon myself, have mistresses in maidenhair fern, own no tomorrow nor yesterday: a blank shimmering space forward and back. I want to think … Continue reading Summer

To live or to recount

I've been thinking a lot about these words this week: This is what I have been thinking: for the most commonplace event to become an adventure, you must – and this is all that is necessary – start recounting it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives … Continue reading To live or to recount

The Slough of Despond

But then comes the dawning comprehension of all that a writer's life implies: not easy day-dreaming, but hard work at turning the dream into reality without sacrificing all of its glamour; not the passive following of someone else's story, but the finding and finishing of a story of one's own; not writing a few pages … Continue reading The Slough of Despond