Might, even, join.Īnd what if the wilderness - perhaps the densest wild in there - thickets, bogs, swamps, uncrossable ravines and rivers (have I made the metaphor clear?) - is our sorrow? Or. That the body, the life, might carry a wilderness, an unexpected territory, and that yours and mine might somewhere, somehow, meet.
“Among the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say came from my student Bethany, talking about her pedagogical aspirations or ethos, how she wanted to be as a teacher, and what she wanted her classrooms to be: "What if we joined our wildernesses together?" Sit with that for a minute.
Or the woman stepping in and out of her shoe, her foot curling up and stretching out and curling up.” Or the sweet glance of the man in his stylish short pants (well-lotioned ankles gleaming beneath) walking two little dogs. Or the light blue bike the man pushed through the lobby. A fly, its wings hauling all the light in the room, landing on the porcelain handle as if to say, “Notice the precise flare of this handle, as though designed for the romance between the thumb and index finger that holding a cup can be.” Or the peanut butter salty enough. On my way to the Flatiron building there was an aisle of kousa dogwood-looking parched, but still, the prickly knobs of fruit nestled beneath the leaves.
She called me honey first (delight), baby second (delight), and almost smiled before I turned away. “This morning I was walking through Manhattan, head down, checking directions, when I looked up to see a fruit truck selling lychee, two pounds for five bucks, and I had ten bucks in my pocket! Then while buying my bus ticket for later that evening I witnessed the Transbridge teller’s face soften after she had endured a couple unusually rude interactions in front of me as I kept eye contact and thanked her.
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