Contemplating 2010 by Janine Canan | I Should be Dead
Fortunately I should be dead by the time there is no longer any ice at all on the Alps. As a girl, in the desert of the Angels, Heidi was a book of pure magic— chalets, cows, fresh cream, and snowy peaks. It’s all gone now—a whole civilization melting. I can see a piece of paper with these words floating downstream into the Ocean. A Blessed Life
All complaints aside, I can’t believe how blessed I have been in this life. First, I was given a human body. You might say, doesn’t that mean an awful lot of suffering, but I say, Would you really rather be a cow or a lizard? Then I was born in the richest country on earth where I would want for nothing materially and receive the best education available—and wisely I appreciated it. As a result, I became one of the first free women in the world in thousands of years. Freely I wandered, observed, studied and pondered, enjoying the greatest thinkers and artists. Sure, I was insulted, mugged, raped, beaten and glared at homicidally, but it was worth it! I sang my poems, wove my stories, elaborated my essays, as I sought out the supreme spiritual masters who taught me to open my mind and heart, meditate and pray. I am still learning, becoming ever more childlike and candid. Yes, I have suffered, I cannot count the ways. But even I cannot imagine the good Fortune that granted me this blessed life. Lunch at the Depot Hotel
I love this crazy world and I am not without hope. Sonoma lettuces, Sicilian olive oil, a few remaining shrimp, bread from the grasses, invented by women eons ago, Dubonnet from the red vine of the French, lovers who honor the Blood, coffee from beans of the South— this soulful feast inspires me to share with you, while provincial voices on money and strangers rise in the next room amid laughter and heavy home-grown wine, to share with you that no matter how much change, no matter how fast, no matter the winds, spreading viruses, unexpected explosions, rapings of women and babies, grand upheavals of the Earth—no matter how annoyed Mother Earth becomes, Life does survive, oh inexpressibly beautiful, that makes dahlias maroon and huge open their faces to us with—what else can we call it?—Love. And if there is a better word, let us use that. Love flowers no matter what, rest assured.
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