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© 2004-2008 Keith Ecklund

June 14, 2004

All I had to do was skip one Monday to make today seem impossibly far away.  And yet, here it is.  A regular Monday.  A back to work Monday.  I like skipped Mondays a whole lot better.

I’m still trying to adjust to the pace and demands of life at home.  My mind seems hesitant to return, lingering somewhere in the past, leaving my body to fend for itself.  Yesterday I ate too much, out of boredom, I’m sure, as I sat around tired.  I’ve been very tired ever since I returned.  Exhausted almost.  The balance of the days and the nights has yet to level out.

But it’s back to work.  People are waiting.  But not an impossible amount, so there is hope.  The phone was relatively quiet while I was away - a good thing.  I’d feared there would be so much catch-up to do when I got back that the trip would end up feeling like a foolish decision.

It’s hard to get a grasp on how many things have happened in the last two weeks.  Randy and I both visited our grandfather’s graves - a first for both of us.  I saw my sister and her family after more then five years apart.  I watched familiar territory move past my eyes, thinking that time cannot erase everything.  I listened over the phone to problems happening back at home.  Divorce inched its way closer and closer.  A loan was approved for $100,000, that today I will deposit and spend in such a way that financial burden falls squarely on my shoulders and someone else walks free.  I will be 43 years old and $300,000 in debt.  I have no doubt which number makes everyone’s eyebrows shoot up to the sky and I think it is sad.  We measure everything with money, including each other.  I don’t like it.  I don’t agree.

It’s the first number, the 43, that has me concerned.  Numbers with dollar signs in front of them move both ways.  $300,000 will return to zero eventually.  But my 43 can only go in one direction.  Returning to zero with age means something completely different, and I think we are all fools for not measuring life on this scale.  Myself included.

I think that is where my mind lingers, back with my friends, talking and laughing, stuck in a place where nothing is measured with money.  Maybe my mind floats slowly through a familiar town, or stops along a lake, or moves down that abandoned, Minnesota county road over and over in an endless loop, at peace for all eternity.



This makes me think of a poem written by another Keith…

Death and the Flower

We live between birth and death,
Or so we convince ourselves conveniently,
When in truth we are being born and
We are dying
Simultaneously
Every eternal instant
Of our lives.

We should try to be more
Like a flower,
Which every day experiences
Its birth
And death,
And who therefore is much
More prepared
To live
The life of a flower.

So think of Death
As a friend and advisor
Who allows us to be born
And to bloom more radiantly
Because of our limits
On Earth.

Think of this until you realize
Eternity
And cease to need
The illusion of Death.

But do not do this
Before you lose
The first great illusion:
The illusion of Life.

Because
To do this
You must die
Many times
And live to
Know it.

~Keith Jarrett

Happy Monday (again)!

Debi on 06/14/04 at 10:28 AM

It’s so hard to come back after a trip. Too much to process at once.

Sounds like you got a lot of material for your biography, too. Eager to see it.

Jo on 06/14/04 at 12:01 PM

Debi: Thanks for the poem.  The illusion of Life.  That’s an interesting one.

Jo: My biography?  What in the world are you talking about?  I’m just planning on using one of JFK’s, with some slight rewording.  The Bay of Pigs thing will turn into a farming story, the presidency will turn into a self-employed story, and that whole Marilyn thing will be seriously reworked, considering that that is my mom’s name.  Ewwww.  We can’t have that.

Of course, there’s still that pesky assassination issue to deal with.  Perhaps a metaphor for me losing my mind.

Keith on 06/14/04 at 12:31 PM

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