Wendell Berry
Real Work
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
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Ah the arriving at our real work, the departure, the awakening on the roads of the real journey, the unknown.
My dear old house of the knowings and comfort, you are better to me than I am to myself – I love you, yet I must get busy with my real work, and I know too much here to be able to that!
Walt Whitman, hold tight I am coming after you, this time I will put me hand around your waist and we’ll follow the direction my mustaches shows us. I am coming with a note from Allen, smell from Oscar, and a flower from Suzanne on my hat!
On our way, we ought to stop by the field commander Leonard’s house for a cup of tea from china! (Side note, the other day as I was cooking, I almost cried remembering Leonard Cohen is dead…)
Am I afraid? Well, yes. Afraid, like the person who is about to jump of off a 30ft high diving board. Afraid, like a child opening a chest for the first to discover grandma’s treasures in the basement. I love you, yet I am not afraid to leave!
Here’s to moving, to the journey, to unknown, to singing, to be baffled, to you
One Poem At A Time 