Journal of an old woman two.

Soft light from the morning sun streamed into Eremita’s living room. Peace and joy, a new day. Surrounded by trees and silence, her inner atmosphere was bursting with excitement. With no plan, anything could happen. The previous day, a name suddenly came into her mind, Gunter Grass. She went out and bought one of his books, The Tin Drum. The young bookseller asked her if she had seen the movie and when Eremita said no, she was advised to, “Read the book and then see the movie.”

Did she hear the name or see the name? Neither. It came as a thought and thoughts are fluid and invisible. Who knows where they come from or where they go? Maybe she heard this name twenty years ago and it floated back to her. She could have said, “thought” and forgotten about it, but instead she let it prompt her into taking action. She knew where she could find a book by Gunter Grass, and after finding the book, she learned that there was a movie with the same name that a bookseller liked.

A snakey path, a meandering road. Sharp points dulled by time, age as the knife that pares away the edges. Thoughts that once came too fast, that collided into one another, smashing, crashing, obliterating, were dust in a wastebin. What had caused her so much pain was just a wispy cloud floating in the sky of thought.

Eremita vibrated with potential. Unmoored from its familiar anchor, the capacity to become, the potentia ‘power,’ was rising, sending out rays, waves, vibrations, colors. The light that surrounded her was not just a day with a name in a calender attached to month. The hour was not time in a linear march to its dissolution. No, the time/space continuum around her was dancing in potentiality.

Laughing with the trickser is preferable to sitting on the stone precipice of the judge. Freed from the straightjacket of her humanality, she soared above the chaos and debris of culture.

I took Laura on a walk since she didn’t seem to want to be in the condo. When we came back she was practically racing to get away, in too much of a hurry to do anything other than grab her purse. She brought me some red flowers in a pot that will add color to the patio. Her comment about my place was, “Well, I might consider this as starter home.” A nasty judgment from a woman who cannot even afford a downpayment on a car. I’m glad she’s gone and I am lone. Vacuumed the downstairs and will vacuum the upstairs tomorrow and do laundry. I will put the red flowers in a bigger pot and continue to write about my life.

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