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 That was one hell of a meeting. For those who missed out, and I put special emphasis on the "missed out," Augie made a bit of a surprise visit before his Thursday lecture. He read some brilliant emails, and the whole room hit on a "mood," a certain internal state, a common wavelength, that as Aug himself said is pointless to try to define. "You might as well ask," he said, "for a definition of Love," —or humility or joy, or that most poignant of all emotions, Nostalgia. The description is not the feeling, and I felt it Tuesday night, and so did everyone who hung out and talked.
These meetings always do something to me. I hate to leave afterwards. I stay and talk, although I never really know what to talk about. What else is there to say except, "Please don't let me forget." But I always have to leave. I gave Rachel, Duke, and Lisa a ride back to East Campus. We had some music on and our heads out the open windows of my car. I swear there was nothing more alive in the universe in that moment than the four of us. It is a gift, you know, to strip away the trivialities and unimportant concerns that bog us down, to touch on that deeper reality within. We are free then, and free of so much that we never knew bound us.
So I sit on a bench outside Kroger under the neon lights and concentrate on this moment. I try to remember the fifty tables I waitressed today at Elmo's, the two hundred people I talked to. I think about the sheer inadequacy of words. I think about the two hundred more people I will have to appease tomorrow, and I curse the fact that I have to expend precious thought and time on remembering drink orders. Because I will go to sleep tonight, and wake up tomorrow, and it will not be the same.
Jessica, my eyes filled with tears when I read this. I only hope that I was half as good as I look here. You also outline but exactly what I call "stringing the pearls more tightly together"—you call it leaving less spaces to forget. Somewhere along the line you reach critical mass and when that happens you are living the life and you begin to become what you are looking for rather than an occasional visitor. At that point you ARE the path and the path is you. This is also a top notch story that tells me that you—and I—are learning how to communicate what it is we are doing for the benefit of others that may be wondering. Finally, you are finding your "spiritual voice" and I am oh so very proud. Love,
Augie
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I have no solution for this. But I do have a certain solace in knowing that I will get to hear Aug again on Thursday, and that Georg is coming to this Friday Night Dinner, and that I can call Rachel or Eric or Ed at any time of the day or night. There will be more amazing emails in my inbox, and maybe a real letter from Mary Alice. This is what SKS is about: there are fewer spaces in my day to forget, and so many more ways to remind me that, yes, there is Hope, a path exists—I will forget, but I will remember too.