I don’t have time to stand around here punching guts and folding fates and wrapping them up in paper and twine. I’m not the butcher. I’m not the baker. I will not create candlesticks, but I’m not above using them to fix my illumination.
I’m through pounding a beat.
We have moved from planning to preparation. We have put overly fine points on things. We have seized the bell rope and braced for the pulling. We have placed the candles in the tower: one if by land, two if by sea. We have set the table, and are sitting down to dinner.
Now is the time for the chewing and the swallowing. Now is the time for the idle discussion. Now is the time for the inappropriate broaching of that impending topic. Now is the time for the sweeping aside, the clamour and the clatter, the wob-wob-wob sounds of upended crockery spinning down to stillness on the tile floor.
I want to leave all of that behind and take you with me. I want you in that way, in that place, in that room, on that furniture. I want to set your toothbrush down next to mine in preparation for the morning that is to follow. I want those toothbrushes to rattle on their shelf until.
I would bear down on it. I would show you. We could take turns offering detailed explanations. We could convince one another, I’m sure of it. Progress would be made. Seating arrangements would get nailed down. We would sort the mail. We would dust and sweep, dusk and shiver. We would hash out who is going to wash the dishes and who is going to dry them after we work together to pick them up off the floor and stack them by the sink.
How can I explain it? I want it to be a big deal so that I can trivialize it. I want it to be trivial so that I can make a mountain out of it. When I was in college, I took a class on mountain making, but that isn’t important right now. What is important is that we step forward into the bringing.
Now. Before it’s too late. Before I reach the tree line. Before the last bite is swallowed. Before we drip wax all over everything. Now.
I mean, like, if you want to.