Resurrection

One of the first warm days of spring, and we're sitting out here on the deck, soaking up the sun, Zoe and I. Every now and then a rustling disturbs the otherwise quiet day. Well, quiet except for the distant buzz of the nearly empty roads.  One car passing by every now and then is somehow harder to tune out than the steady stream of traffic I usually hear wafting over from Aurora. And that intermittent rustling? It's hard to tell whether it's Wash shifting in his sleep or just a tarp moving in the wind. As I listen, trying to discern one from the other, I notice other easy-to-pass-over sounds: mostly birds I think, some more distant and some much closer. Perhaps they are talking to each other.

It's been nearly a decade since I last posted anything here. I don't think I had many readers to begin with and I doubt any of them will still know how to find this page.  This was always mainly an exercise for myself and it will remain that way now, all these years later. It's Easter week and thus it seems appropriate to be resurrecting this old part of my life (myself?). Resurrecting and transforming, I think, since the muddy waters I swim in are made of different stuff these days. Or at least, I swim through them differently. Maybe both.

For one, I've gotten used to the muddiness. After five years in Seattle, my vision has grown accustomed to the grey. Even looking at these words -- the harsh contrast of black typeface against stark white -- I have to squint to see past the glaring brightness of both screen and sun. My tolerance for ambiguity feels immense most days, to the point where I prefer blurred lines, handwriting that is hard to make out, walls that may or may not even be there.  This writing -- its tone and opacity -- are a case in point, a counterpoint to its physical appearance.

But then, maybe this isn't that different from what was always my truth deep down: a devotion to indecision, to seeing all the angles and wanting one to be right but not being able to settle on which one in particular that is. It's the old story, told again. Resurrection.