Hope and fragility

I'm home, now, and borrowing from my friend P, I think my aura is a couple of time zones behind me. A lot of life between now and the last time I blogged, including Santa Barbara space, Pamela space, school space, flights and questions and frets and landings. And then a long weekend of F-space, on highways and in the hills of Vermont, filled with openings and silliness and lust and hope. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed an 8.5 hour car ride so much, had such connected and intimate conversation that seems so full of possibility. Not for a long long time. The person I am now -- that person has never had it. It feels... rich, still fragile, still complicated, but so... possible and real.

And against this -- along with my own qualms and tremors as I flew eastward on Thursday -- my friends seem to be in a vortex of different kinds of fragility. Health pronouncements and shadows, breakups, despondencies, doubt, running face to face with the results of inertia and a loss of yearning. Lots of worry and loss and fragility and restlessness, in several realms. And I'm just trying to hold it light.

It's good to be home, rain falling outside my window, a quick dinner with my dearest friend at my kitchen counter, work in front of me. Focusing my hamster mind to really writing, still a little spinny with the dancing whirl, the quiet side-by-sideness, the guttural connection, of the weekend. Looking ahead with hope.