Let's go do our taxes. Get drunk. Smoke a big cigar. Drive Jack's big car. Clean up the attic. No, there's no money this month either to pay the bills, but who the fuck cares. Do you think I'd actually trade my life for the lives of most of those people out there who WILL pay all their bills on time this month, have plenty of extra money in the bank set aside for retirement, a three car garage? This old towering grey house we call home is drafty and leaning, but it's home and look at that old clawfoot bathtub full of steaming soapy magnolia water. Let's build something good that we can't see with our eyes, and be surprised when it's our turn to die, realizing that we actually did most of the stuff we truly care about. Gave ourselves permission to be curious. Actually became the people we were born to be. That we discovered our true place of birth and leaned into the harness of the dark and helped the sun come up a few times without having fallen asleep. Gave the sun no choice but to rise: even it had to find out what would happen next.
I'll be seeing you later,
Under Dog
. . .
copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler
photo credit: ryn
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