Thursday, July 10, 2008

What I Went and Wrote

The Evolution of the Heart

(or you could go out and buy one)

11 comments:

Kimberly said...

Fabulous... as always!

Deanna said...

What an amazing way to begin. A glorious way. With a truth people need to see, or be able to express. It doesn't take away the hurt, but there is love casting out some of the fear.

Just don't let anyone tell you how to write the rest.

Go be refreshed in England and then do that motorcycle mama thing. You'll wear a helmet, won't you?

Shannon said...

Wow.

Really. Wow.

Cecily said...

Incredible Angela, incredible. Would that we all had so much insight and depth in our processing and becoming!

And, oh, please don't cover that hair with a helmet... please no!

Oh OK. Wear a helmet. Better that way I suppose. But I do so hate hat hair.

Phil said...

What a beautiful piece of work...changed my whole day ( maybe more!) just to read that...

Ramón said...

Profoundly and painfully beautiful. You've got a new fan.

Angela said...

thanks for the kind words, all. and hey, ramon and phil - thanks for finding me.

JB said...

You really are a gem. I admit I've been a little envious of the way you can play with fantasy and imagery. But here is just straightforward truth telling, and it's completely compelling. Bravo to you for sharing!

Stephanie said...

I agree with the others.

A joy to find you at all, and how wonderful to be able to return.

This truth about loss that you work with so lyrically is one I struggle to understand even as I embrace it -- in the face of all the hogwash about closure and moving on.

Exquisite!

Mike S said...

So insightful, so true, and so well written. Thank you.

Greg said...

Someone sent me this awhile back (unsure of author): "You can never lose something if you never had it to begin with.  You were never in control and never will be.  Let go of the illusion so that you can cut your losses and move on." Seemed like a bit of hooey.

Then I read you piece while flying somewhere last week and it immediately resonated in that bittersweet pull-apart-your-heart kind of way.

I read as though hearing a eulogy, where you listen and as hard as you try not to, silently imagine one for those you love dearly (or your own situation). Words formulate, tumble out... pathetically attempting to do justice to years that are really beyond articulation. You've come as close as I've seen yet...

Beautiful. Painful. Well done.