Wednesday, March 21, 2018

I come up alone

It's 10:48 here in Connecticut and I came up the stairs alone to stop and write this and then go to bed.

Part of my 'alone-ness' is that our Puli, Bela, is not here.

But that, I realize, is only part of it.

We are always 'alone'.

Soon, I'll be in bed with Bern, the love of my life. We will be together but we will both be 'alone'.

There are parts of her I will never comprehend. And the same goes for her trying to comprehend me.

Even in a crowd, we are 'alone'. There are things no one can ever know about any one of us. We are each a planet around some sun--distinct and alone.

Our dog died with Dr. Matz, the best vet ever, and Travis, her assistant, a boy of 21 or less, and me rubbing him and talking to him. And, in spite of all that, Bela died alone.

His death gave me this remarkable and worth pondering insight: we are finally, completely, absolutely 'alone'.

Each of us has secretes and thoughts and realities no one else can ever know, even if they wish to know them.

Alone, we are.


I have to ponder the reality of that for a while.

I'll ponder it alone.

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some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.