Wednesday
4 March. Tara and Pasqual to London with
Cathy.
Friday
6 March. Tara and Pasqual back to U.S.
Sunday
8 March. Sunday afternoon lunch with the
parents of Mara's friend, Katie, George and Liz Hill, in a small town north of
Cambridge. The St. John's boys (Robert
included) practiced their rugby. Met a
number of very nice people. One told us
of being mugged by a gang of kids in one of these small villages!
Monday
9 March. 10:20 p.m.
Chopping
down the branches in the graveyard
Burning
them before they bloom,Smoke rises wickedly, smothered in the air.
Worked on poetry today. Seventies section, will be eighties section too. How many?
I
have dreamed of Venice about five times since we returned. Nothing monstrous or mysterious, it just
seems to form a new background for my thoughts, little did I know what I was
missing!
Not
sure where I'm headed now. I sat at the
desk all day today. Cathy asked me if my
creative energies were on hold while the book is under consideration, poor
dear! Of course not, but where do I turn
now?
One
thing I have probably learned is that I am not so much a philosopher about life
as an observer and a describer. Although
I subscribe to the Christian point of view of a universe governed by God, that
seems to be such a natural part of things that I am hard pressed to call it a
philosophy of life. Instead I find
myself continually in awe of this world around me. Knowing there are many mysteries to this
world, I am ever on the alert to find another connection and relation. There are so many things we do not
understand. Somehow memory ties into
this as well: something with which to appreciate this world: enhancing the present
through story telling.
I
decided the other day that I should think of death as a changed form of life,
not an end. Sometimes I feel so attached
to all the magnificent things I see, from the birds in the skies to the little
children skipping down the street, my own children, the way Cathy looks
sometimes, the way women look sometimes!—that I feel I would be very sorry and
sad to say farewell. Yet God created
this world, we are His creatures and have been given this kingdom, it must be
to some purpose. It must bear some
relationship to the heavenly kingdom.
We
had an interesting discussion at Jeffrey's first communion class last
Thursday. Father Edmond explained the
Eucharist to us, the best explanation I have heard in many, many years. He explained how Jesus is present in the sign
of bread and wine (in the same way that, to believers, miracles are a sign of
God) and that His presence is of His glorified body, which, in turn, relates to
our soul. As an experiment, I
consciously tried today and yesterday to feel my soul, but it's hard to
tell. It can't just be consciousness, it
has to be far beyond that; then, too, we inhabit bodies, which must also tie
in. Against all of this is the doubt,
the fear that maybe this is all there is and death is it, which could very well
be the reason I have a problem with thinking about saying goodbye.
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