My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
All-right-ness
I think of it as a voice when it is more a realization or awareness. It said this morning what it has said before and each time it is assured enough to convince me it is so. It said, "It will be all right." I suppose I want it also to say I will be all right, but that is not so important to know and in truth my idea of what might constitute "all right-ness" is not the best standard. Better to instead wait and trust, settling into the awareness once again.
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