This Week

Sunday was like being inside a shipwreck. All sense of up or down was lost; it was just tumbling through dark, it was blindness through sea, it was being carried by a force much larger than myself. It was drowning, it was being tossed, it was being battered, it was being knocked unconscious and letting my tired body just be carried. It was brutal. It was exhausting.

Monday was waking up on the shore: confused, bruised, tired, but awake. I looked around me and saw pieces everywhere, but they were still. The sand was white. The ocean was calm. I was sitting under quiet sunshine. I gingerly picked myself up and tried to move. I could walk. Not well; but I could walk beside the pieces. I could look out at the ocean.

Tuesday was angry. The island fought against me. The skies quarreled and thundered. The waves were obstinate and proud. I kicked a tree until my foot ached, and then I dug a hole to hide underneath it and cried. I held onto the tree and cried.

Wednesday was the worst. I tried to get up and move around the island; I tried to pick up some of the pieces and make neat piles, but the task was overwhelming. I tried to make friends with the birds and the monkeys, but the biggest damn monkey threw a coconut at me. I raged at this despicable island, and missed my broken ship, and threw coconuts into empty space, and cried, and cried, and cried.

Thursday was a gentle sunrise. Woke up lying on the soft sand. Heard tender words in the lavender waves. I got up, and stood straight, and lifted my chin. I faced the horizon with square shoulders, and breathed deep. The birds were quiet. The monkeys behaved. I moved with sure feet, and I was confident, and I laughed.

Friday is today.

And Saturday is tomorrow.

And Sunday is the day after that.

I will survive this ship-wreck. I will win over this island. I will examine the broken pieces and I will name each one. I will get stronger and I will invent a new song to sing to this quiet, debris-strewn beach. The waves will roll over the sand and this all will become cleaner, and this all will become softer, and this all will be alright.

Obscure Metaphor Proverbs

If you have large monsters in your closet, you should call them out, have a conversation with them, and talk them down to size. Also, you should remember that you're in charge.

If a kid has a broken leg, you don't send him in to play a soccer game. You give him a cast, and let him rest a while, and wait for the bones to knit themselves back together. Making him play too early could ruin that leg for good.

If you're in a room that's filling with smoke, you should leave the room and take a big breath in. Then, if you really need to, you can go back in and deal with the fire.

Sometimes it's good to reckon with the storm. Other times it's good to be safe.

Cooking pumpkin seeds at too high a temperature burns them all. Better to cook them slowly and be quite satisfied, than hurry and ruin the whole batch.

Sometimes, if we are really serious about getting back home, we have to take a trip to Oz first. Sometimes going home means having to face witches, and flying monkeys, and talking things through with the Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly Lion. In other words: sometimes going forward, means going back. And sometimes, getting back means going through-- for a looong ways.

Apologies for the riddling. It's easier to put things abstractly today.