To love a
stranger as oneself implies the reverse: to love oneself as a
stranger. One
day she wondered who looked
back at her from the bathroom mirror. The fragile yarn of knowing, how it
enters the cat's mouth. She
sits inside the window at
once behind and before me, doubly framed. Now wanders into the
kitchen to eat. To be abject is to consume oneself. But to lose
yourself
in the mirror is stranger yet. In
photos of herself, my mother
saw only her mother.
We own what we use, but when usefulness drops like a shift to the
carpet, we exit our chrysalis scathed. “It was as if, without even
trying, she'd become a Buddhist.” There's no irony in the
newspaper, only revision, where
to re-consider seems more
crucial than consideration. Compassion knows no drafts.
2 comments:
Wow, I love the borrowed line, the "fragile yarn of knowing," "In photos of herself, my mother saw only her mother," and more. I'm having a harder time making the carpet/chrysalis sentence work. "Compassion knows no drafts" - I have to sit with this line for a bit. Is it true? Is compassion always without premeditation and revision?
Looks like I can write here on my computer in the office. As for your question, my sense (with Weil et al) is that compassion is best when unpremeditated or "revised." Part of this comment comes out of a discussion about revision at our book festival. But also out of the notion of "grace" as accident. Thanks for reading--
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