If you read my previous post, “The Loneliness of the Dying” you will know that my thoughts have been focused very deeply on life and death this week. Friends from my wild youth have succumbed to cancer and other male friends in their late forties and early fifties have been diagnosed with cancer.
Everywhere I look this week there is cancer. I am surrounded by it.
Amidst all this death my newest grandchild waits to be born.
Life and death, death and life all messily entwined in this existence of ours.
I can’t settle to anything, I cancelled a class I was teaching, I have swapped my days at work and I am here impatiently waiting.
Tap, tap, tappity fucking tap.
I don’t do waiting very well, I like to be doing.
The Spouse read these words over my shoulder and scoffed at me.
He asked what I was doing the other day when I spent an hour focused on an eagle in a tree? I was waiting for the eagle to fly I responded. As I was waiting, I was also doing, it was a busy kind of waiting.
I was active in my stillness
Waiting for an eagle to launch itself from a tree is active waiting. Waiting for a loved one to die or to be born is passive waiting.
I am not passive. I cant ever seem to manage passivity in any form.
In my agitation the other night, I was distracted by the sky.
I am always distracted by the sky.
I saw a skull in the clouds and photographed it for my friend who likes skulls.
I am still agitated.
I am impatient.
I give you the sky.