This isn't My Dramatic Life, part 2 - that entry is still forthcoming. Since time is short and battery is low, only a note for the moment.
I'm in Portugal (how I got here is My Dramatic Life, part 2). I'm happy, and I'm where I need to be. Today, though, I find myself being particularly contemplative. About how easy it would be to just *stay*. And about what that means.
I don't think the answers are obvious. I mean, there are the obvious answers, to be sure. But I think it's something else, as well; something about wanting to stay somewhere safe so you don't have to take on the world. These questions that have been plaguing me (and so many others) of late - what do I want? Where do I want to be? Who am I in the world? What kind of artist? What kind of art do I want to create? - are quieted here. Put off in the simplest way.
And it makes me want to stay. But it makes me question why.
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You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
-Mary Oliver
-Mary Oliver
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