Where There's Breathing, There's Also Hope

Day 14, leading to Day 15, which will also be Day One of the second half of these 28 days.

Pick any number you choose, but tomorrow, Monday, March 26, 2008, begins the important "second half" of putting the words back into their proper and right order, of building and keeping up a daily discipline of writing, and most of all, of bringing all of the parts of Eleanor's story into a narrative that makes "sense." And a narrative that is, somehow -- "better than good."

Day 15 (or Day One of Part Two) may start out slowly, so be sure to check in at least later in the day -- I promise there will be words, about something. Or I'll have Eleanor do the talking. She likes it when the posting is all hers.

Once more, sleep is grabbing at me, and I'm trying to shake it off, telling it things, as in, I don't have time for sleep -- but in fact, I do, and I need the sleep, and the dreams that will entertain me, and the same dreams that will then wipe my mind clear of built-up stress and transform the brain cells into blank slates ready for the chalk -- ready for creativity.

"Missions Accomplished" Since Saturday:
1. Saw the sun, and took that walk
2. Traveled to Cleveland, and placed my hand around the sculpted baseball in Bob Feller's wind-up
3. Regained some balance and perspective -- it's going to be okay, as long as I stick to the task, and to the plan (stick to the plan, he cries!) (had to emphasize this to myself)

*
The Little Room is just as I left it, and is enveloping me like a baby blanket.

These are still baby steps, after all. Learning to walk again -- figuratively at least, and walking in the way I want to walk -- man, it's tough. Others have it much more difficult, yes, no doubt, but each of our journeys is different for exactly that reason. We need to be able to help one another along the way.

So, I'll throw my arm around you, and together we'll help up that person on the ground over there -- another artist has (almost) bit the dust; we can see, even from this distance, that there's still a breath in him.

Where there's breathing, there is also the necessary hope to continue.

Remember that, and you'll be fine, too.

*
"The Bridge"
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.
I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the gleaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.
Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away.
As, sweeping and eddying through them
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.
And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.
How often, oh how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!
How often oh how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.
But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.
Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.
And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.
I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!
And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;
The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.