The Last Time I Saw Marty

The last time I saw Marty I didn’t think he looked well – a little pale, a little pudgy. But he was his same sweet self. Our periodic reunions were always special, illuminated by warmth from the past, and unfulfilled connections we didn’t really understand.

Fitting In

I was always a child who fit in–at least I felt like it. I always expected to become part of whatever group there was, or might be, and for the most part, that’s the way my life went. Sometimes this had more appearance of fitting in; I only became aware of that when something was said that roused some discomfort in me, an awareness that distance was being created between me and whoever.

My Home

There was a time in Brooklyn in the 1930’s when, in the several square blocks in our neighborhood with which I was familiar, as an observing 10 year old I was affected by the differences in people.

Wanda

She first arrived at our front door when we lived in Albany at the top of the hill. Skinny and dark black, she looked like a Kenyan long-distance runner and seemed ageless. “Hi, I’m Wanda, your new housekeeper from Marvel Maids.”

Curiosity on the Beach

    I find myself curious about curiosity.  Curious about when and why my curiosity got shut down, and life turned to the pursuit of certainty, knowing and mastery.  I feel a new sadness for what I have foreclosed in my life, and an immense appreciation for this process of Opening.  This process: this process of psychoanalysis, of imagining, of belief in unforeseen possibilities.  This process of the unconscious, the surprise of discovery, the exploration of ineffable dark currents within.   My curiosity is awakening.  I wander into familiar spaces with questions, finding new thoughts, feelings, awareness.