Breathing space
 |
| Upsized, non-diagonal crazy quilt. Uh, sure.... |
After a book release, some necessary non-writing days are required.
So yeah. I haven't done more with the novel-gig than read a few chapters of A Love Story, which actually does need to happen, as I'm planning to publish Book 3 of The Enran Chronicles in March. Have to remind myself of the plot, lol, although losing the plot seems to be America's current theme, however Bishop Mariann Budde is a Christian ROCK STAR, not meaning to belittle her bravery. Sometimes rock stars don't wield guitars or drum sticks you know. Sometimes it's all about the heart.
My heart has required non-noveling pastimes, like throwing an obnoxious quilt onto the wall, pictured above. A bunch of smallish cuts I recently acquired hashed/clashed out with solids from my scraps stash, to be embellished with HEARTS! Dangit, why can't anyone in the new administration think with their heart right now?
Ahem, Future Me huffs, giving me a slightly understanding smirk.
What, I ask, a little more than righteously indignant.
This isn't the last crappy thing that's gonna happen, you do realize that right?
I shudder, roll my eyes, then give her a sharp stare. You can't be serious, I say in the most courageously snotty tone I possess.
She shrugs, then clears her throat. I'm just saying that shit happens all the damn time. Don't let this totally screw you up.
How the hell am I not supposed to.....
She glares at me for seconds, then her face changes to one of immense compassion. Stay the course, she says softly.
What course?
Rarely does Future Me approach Present Me, maybe there's some space-time-corporeal plane continuum she can't breach. She looks like me, weathered certainly, her hair gray; from how far in the future has she traveled so I can see her this clearly? She stretches out her hand as if to grasp my shoulder, yet refrains from making contact. Heaps of queries race through my mind; can she touch me, what does she know? How bad will the next four years be....
It may be that the day of judgment will dawn tomorrow; in that case, we shall gladly stop working for a better future. But not before.
Tears well in my eyes; that's a Dietrich Bonhoeffer quote. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German theologian who spent the last years of his life in German prisons for subversive activities and was ultimately hung weeks before the end of WWII for his participation in the plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. His bravery, wisdom, and of course faith are well known, but do we take for granted how terrible was that war, those years, that time? Are we so far removed from that horror that we look upon what is now occurring, fearing the worst? Yes it's ABOMINABLE that once again fascism is prevalent, no amount of facepalms to denote the massive, the massive.... Here I lose the words because Future Me does squeeze my shoulder, so briefly, and yet now I know. I know in a minute sense the courage necessary, not to merely wade through the utter shite that's coming, but to remain hopeful. Bonhoeffer did it, I can do it too.
Then as quickly as all that occurred, Future Me is gone. I'm alone in my office, wondering how real was that, but I guess it's as real as WWII, as America today, as the tears rolling down my face. This life is very real, at times too fucking real to be believed. Yet we are not alone, in that we have each other, we have saints from the past reminding us to stay the course. Stay the course. Stay the course.
Stay the course in whatever manner we can rightfully, safely, and sanely achieve. It's truly all we can do
