Ten Years More

However you measure the gristmill of time.

An ocean between, or eight miles of it, at least. Lapping at concrete shores, spraying the pylons and the sea lions. An empty stretch of sky. Blue today, thank god, with the conveyor belt turning in the fog, gulls swooping from the towers in the hazy distance.

Across our brackish eight miles of ocean, St. Frances insisted this come back. No need to ask why it stopped, I'm left wondering why I started. What hopes launched this blog, and it's pleased-to-be-here prose. Where have those dreams - from ten years ago - where have they washed up?

The pain is sharp. A tight piercing in my chest, and a sinking in my stomach. The pain of trying to take in the scope of the last ten years is frightening. I want to look away.

Who we dreamed we'd become, and what life would be... Lost to the mist of memory. The joyful, sun-soaked moments, those memories are the most painful. Leaping into the Andaman Sea, spilling beers at Rogue, putting a tray of enchiladas in the oven, chasing Kerstin down the dunes... All of Oregon behind us, the red sun slipping beyond the sassafras... It makes my heart heavy, recalling such light-hearted moments.

And those are the wonders. The glittering jewels on the cave walls. Here too, in this capacious black, fangs and hungry eyes glint among the jagged rocks. There are horrors, not so much lurking in the past ten years, more like breathing their hot soupy breath against our face.

The swirl of joy and sadness, beauty and pain, times lost and reclaimed, that maelstrom crashes in with the tide. And it burbles back. Receding... always receding. In. And out. In and out. Focus on the breath. Here, and gone.

"You should take up that blog again," St. Frances texted the thread.

Group texts became a really big part of our lives. That's one thing that happened in the last 10 years.

"I second that," added Ash.

Diego sent a news story about a 100-year-old man getting 100 pets for his birthday from neighborhood dogs.

I met Kerstin. That happened, too. I fell in love. Wondrously, surprisingly, simply. She sang a song, I asked her to marry me. I didn't really ask. I was speechless, but I showed her the ring. She was speechless too. So we sang an Elvis song to each other. The piano man knew what to do.

I'm so lucky to be here. It's so terrible, and I'm so afraid. My sight fixed on the fangs in the dark, my eyes filled with jewels. My heart bursting but still unburst - heavy, then lightening, and once again heavy.

We've been in the dark before. We found our way out. We found each other. Deep breath.