“Give birth to them and nourish them.
Give birth to them but don’t try to own them;
Help them to grow but don’t rule them.”

- Lao-tzu in Te-Tao Ching, Chapter 10

A blanket, two chairs
become my child’s tent-fortress,
her royal domain.

The sunbeam warms me,
thawing out my frozen heart
in spite of winter.

I laugh out of pride,
but the thorn beneath my foot
transpierces my skin.

“Muddy water let stand will clear.” -Chinese Proverb

Venus has big, dark, sad eyes and a playful disposition, as black labs often do. This afternoon, we bolted from home at top speed and ran along the road, as if trying to escape from something, dodging the cool raindrops that had begun to fall. My feet were wet in my tongs and made squishing noises as I walked; her paws clicked along the warm tar that had begun to release its earthy rain smell. The freshness of the water falling on my head felt like a soothing balm.

We met another dog along the way that was within the confines of his yard. They touched their wet noses through the holes in the fence in greeting and tried playfully to find a way to be together, excited by this moment of complicity where they perchance found another being like themselves.

Several small tugs on the leash reminded her that we had to go on, but she kept stopping to look back as the other called after her with painful yelps. We made it back just before the deluge. Venus curled up in a ball and fell asleep, dreaming of sunbeams in wide open spaces.

“Our situation on this earth seems strange. Everyone of us appears here involuntarily and uninvited, for a short stay, without knowing why. For me, it is enough to wonder at these secrets.”

-Albert Einstein

Elle est assise sur un banc dans le parc
Elle reste dans l’ombre d’une porte
Elle regarde le métro qui passe
Elle dort où elle peut
Elle mange des restes
Elle s’habille en haillons
Elle manque d’argent
Elle a l’air triste
Parce que personne ne la connaît
Et personne ne l’aime
Mais tout le monde la connaît
Car elle est partout.

“Don’t be dismayed
at good-byes.
A farewell is necessary before
you can meet again.
And meeting
again, after moments or
lifetimes, is certain for
those who are
friends.”

Je ne t’écris pas pour moi-même, mais pour ma cousine. Moi, j’ai tout ce qu’il me faut—une jolie maison, deux adorables enfants, un travail, de belles vacances au soleil et la santé…surtout la santé.

Pour ma cousine, celle qui a un an de plus que moi et qui est enseignante, je voudrais te demander quelque chose.

Elle a perdu son enfant il y a six ans; elle n’a pas pu lui donner la vie à cause de sa maladie qui l’empêchait de grandir dans son ventre. Je ne peux même pas imaginer sa douleur. C’était déjà miraculeux qu’elle ait pu avoir le premier. Mais je ne te demande pas de lui donner un enfant—non, ça serait trop cruel.

Je te demande, cher Père Noël, que son mari survive. Sa tumeur cérébrale a recommencé à pousser et les médecins n’arrivent pas à retarder sa croissance. Ils l’ont prévenu, suggérant de mettre toutes ses affaires en ordre, notamment son testament, avant son intervention qui est prévu une dizaine de jours avant Noël. Oui, Père Noël, s’il te plaît, fais qu’il vive. C’est tout ce que je te demande pour Noël.

D.