We’ve Bungled It

We’re coming closer, but of course never completely getting there. It’s so long, the chain of thoughts, that we’ve lost ourselves already. Is there any real sharing? Only on the shorelines? Still nothing will discourage us. We accept that things might get worse before better and we accept the complexities of the process. Time changes everything, even if we do nothing, and of that we can be certain if certainty matters to us. We’ve bungled it. It was better before. We survive, some of us sometimes gracefully, but resting is out of the question. We’re in this for the longest haul, and I don’t believe there’s any supervision or any end, but fading of course. We accept it, but it’s not simple acceptance and not peaceful, and we are beaten down for saying almost anything. And yet we are compelled to.

I’m not sure we can separate ourselves from the clouds or sky or earth, nor that we should. Even leaving pieces behind, I still have some faith and I know not to expect anyone to confirm it for me and yes, faith depends on doubt, lots of doubt. There’s plenty left to explore. No one tells us anything or eases our troubled minds. We have to do all this for ourselves and off we go. We’re grown ups now.

Anyway, it’s a bit like this for all of us. We sympathize. We take some actions. We have a drink. And by the time we finish our drinks, the opportunity is gone and we’re tipsy for nothing. Is this worth it just for the considering we’ve done? And then we might take a break. Most grown-ups don’t even recognize what’s happened because they are busy with other things they call “life.” Underneath is something sweet even if unrecognized. Should we do all the work that would be needed to see this? Can we soak in the bath instead? Of course not. The tasks are required ones, not optional, and we need not understand their purpose, though we each have our own justifications, explanations, belief systems about it. You know by now what’s meant by “it” even if you can’t articulate it. Most of the time, it’s background.

I beg you to listen even though I know the opening to our connection may have been missed somewhere. There’s plenty right here to occupy us. There’s religious belief, industry, rebellion, anonymity, hopelessness, loneliness, illusions of love, sports, the moon to observe, and our hair to comb, and endings to contemplate. We should sometimes believe the terrible predictions as they may very well have been made with not only good intentions, but plenty of solid moral character and evidence.

Perhaps each of us has a room or memory of a room or memory of something that happened in a room that lingers and impacts just about everything else although it may be pretty unconscious, unconscious as any dream. We may be sorry, but probably not deeply or often enough. This is slow going but still going. It’s late enough that all the stores are closed.

 I have to remind myself to accept or at least not be surprised by dreariness, the kind not dispelled by the magnificence of snowfields or rushing spring brooks through pine forests. The dreariness is bound to happen. People stay busy to avoid it but they know it’s there. Let’s shake on it. I mean we agree, right? We can at least say that. This is solid. 

Meanwhile, it’s like a party in the streets and if it weren’t for our confusing and ambiguous relationship, we’d be having lots of fun. There’s not much point in dwelling on this or calling friends to discuss it, but if we did, I think we’d find we all have a lot in common although getting through the chatter to the meat isn’t easy and doesn’t happen very frequently. 

Words are our tools, if not ineffective, perhaps limited, but what we have. What’s the worst that can happen by hammering and screwing with them? Do we merely forgo a better use of our time? Do we thereby ignore our powers of observation? Do we thereby forget to listen and merely speak with ambitious intention? For instance, we think that possibly we could resolve our differences, make a kind of general or specific progress, steer the future, deal with the past, etc. Other people have thought this before, and it’s not changed. Much animal life continues for now. But we have to do something! If we don’t try, we’re damned. That’s why we believe someone someday will do something that makes a difference. There’s nothing against trying because if we don’t, we fail. We take the words by their horns. When they are thrown, we throw them back. We are having a conversation at last.

We are kind of together and if it weren’t for that, I don’t know where I’d be. Terribly lonely anyway. I’d like you to like me or at least I’d like you to be paying close attention. “I would like to tell you how much I love you.” 

What is it about the seasons? Why do we say there are only four of them? Spring and the pear tree would bloom and my mother would swoon over the forsythia and summer we would play in the yard and fall we would rake leaves and earn our Chanukah money, fifty cents an hour I’d keep careful track of, and winter we would wear our snow pants. And for me too, there was the constant fear of dying. We didn’t live in a city but Cedar Lane was bustle enough.

No matter how tired we get, we’d rather be alive than not. Something might come of our lives, something unexpected and good: new playmates, a new twist in the plot. So if not complaining and just playing along can be counted as having worthy lives, plenty of us are having them. Plenty of lives pass without others taking much note and they are full lives nonetheless. There are others who do more bad than good, hurt people to profit themselves. When you wrote this, you still believed in the general progress of humankind and that there might be consensus about what such progress would look like. But now?

My dog knows with his nose plenty I don’t and can’t. Many changes are called for and it’s okay to feel okay about it. We can begin by looking up all the words we don’t know. The day gets going. The flow of it makes us think there’s also sense to it, but maybe not. Others think oppositely. It’s finally time to discuss these differences.

At the same time, what happens after we die is up for debate, though I’m pretty sure I know the truth about this that hardly anyone wants to hear or talk about. People would rather hold onto their theories and what harm is there in that? They think they will be excused for all their bad decisions and given credit for all their hard work. 

By April you say that we’ll see some way to continue, the best way given the circumstances. We’ll see how inclusive we need to be. We’ll see who needs killing. We’ll see if our loved ones have waited for us. We’ll see if people still believe in love. A way for people to converse or at least not hate each other could be, but won’t be, invented. Do you really believe we will be stronger for all this? You didn’t know about exactly this. Coffee, tea, beer, wine, sugar consumption goes on, and I’m not sure adjustment to the new terrible circumstances is what’s wanted. In fact I’m pretty sure, this will be as difficult as I imagine, and I’m not sure thinking positively in this case would be any benefit at all or even wise. We have each other and so many others to think of. Everything we can think of we need to think of, everyone.

What you thought to discuss is no longer a hot topic, your happy moments worth noting, but I hope you don’t give up your enthusiasm. I’m here as much as I can be for you. I am paying close attention to your loneliness, and if my attention is no help to you, it’s a help to me. I thrive, we thrive, in the uncertainty of our communications. Is it okay to take breaks from work? I’m more than okay with you taking a break. I’m also sorry for all your disappointments. Even if we know the limits of our personal perceptions we trust them for the reason of having nothing better. It’s like someone of authority has suggested it. It’s like there’s no choice and therefore you are relieved from decision-making. 

Lesle Lewis’ most recent book is Rainy Days on the Farm (Fence Books 2019).  Previous books include Small Boat, Landscapes I & II, lie down too, and A Boot's a Boot.