Year’s End

I come here thinking that this blog is nearly two years old. I began this project with a very hopeful and dedicated post:

I think this blog lived up to the expectations I had for it, and I wrote some really great texts here. Book reviews, expositions, poetry, prose, reflections, letters, and unwritings. This blog, like the rest of the pieces of my life, had a really good run.

I wish I could say the same about this last year. Some good things happened:

– I graduated finally.

– I have very temporary financial stability and health insurance.

– I met a few new friends.

But the bad definitely outweigh the good:

– I lost my feline best friend Wylie last January.

– I lost my grandmother in July.

– I lost my home in a move my son and I never wanted to make.

– I lost my best friend.

– I lost my partner.

– My son broke his leg in an injury that will take away the next three months.

In all of this loss, I lost my heart. My faith in the good will of the world is shattered. I have no hope; I don’t even believe in hope anymore. Rather, I think hope is dangerous. Instead of lying to myself and saying “things are going to get better,” I’ve decided a new mantra:

No matter what happens, I’m going to endure it.

Unfortunately, this enduring is going to be in silence. I have no desire to write anymore. I still plan on reading, but I won’t be sharing my thoughts in the public spheres of the Internet any longer.

Compie Peter Elbow wrote about how sharing our writing is an act of giving. Of course, I look to Derrida’s definition of the sacredness of the gift (and there are posts here on that). Writing has always been a sacred act to me in all of these definitions. I wanted to give my voice as a gift of myself. And I know I have done this here. So I leave you all with two prayers:

May this blog always live on in its lexical giving.

May this new year bring me to new places where my voice won’t be stolen.

With love to you all always,


3 thoughts on “Year’s End

  1. I, too, come late to the party, but understand your lot having lived it for many years. In some ways Noir fiction gave me the tools to continue; or, as you say, ‘endure’, and with a little of the humor that comes from a deep knowledge of despair and death. Those who cannot acknowledge their own death cannot begin to feel again, to rise out of the ashes and explore life again through dead eyes. Yet, the other side of death is ‘eros’, death’s twin. She brings forth that ancient practice of human capacity, the capacity to challenge and rechallenge one’s self each day to continue, and not only to continue but to thrive in the midst of the slime-infested regions of this habitation we call life. May you, too!

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