Descent into the oceanic dreamworld. A fuzzy space where I think I’m doing everything the way I do in my usual orderly slightly anal fashion only to discover that though I think I have, it’s not true. Case in point- I was outside of the city for an interview last Wednesday armed with maps, papers, schedules, only to discover I had a Saturday bus schedule in a territory with blocks that stretched seemingly for miles and almost no way out. Two days I’ve mixed up schedules for the TOEFL testing online that I do. By luck I was checking my e-mail yesterday and discovered I was supposed to be working. Missed a meeting at my other job. Sent a letter with no stamp. I keep repeating the same poems on this blog. How is this happening? The list goes on.
Fuzziness- a Neptunian transit to everything in my chart or menopause? Hard to say. I want to put a big post it over my desk- Pay attention! Now!
The other side of fuzziness is a vague love of everything. I’m enjoying my teaching immensely (for however long that lasts). A roomful of students from 20-75 (the older ones I call the lifers) from about 14 different countries and I am happy with simplicity. My idea is that calendars, weather, and goals can give them a hold on life. In that contained world it may be enough. I used to teach university students so I am sometimes surprised this is enough.
I love the green of the park, the last of the summer sun touching my skin. I love this life stripped of so much of the activity and excitement that once defined it. So, for however long it lasts- love this summer stretching into fall.
An old poem. Am going through files.
Sun and Moon Struggle
The sun and the moon struggle
on opposing sides of the sky
which tugs more
orange red dissolution
or the slow silver dance?
Full moon morrow,
my own wars
like the world's multiply.
No remorse,
I still search for a pen,
delight in floral innocence,
and in what brings the body
a smile.
Very nice!
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