Giving thanks in a thankless time

Happy Thanksgiving

I woke up this morning and it was raining so hard it felt as though water was pouring down the side of the building. It was still dark, and it felt a bit like being tossed in a boat on invisible seas.

In some ways, the whole year has felt like that. “Ride the wave,” someone said to me a few months ago. I felt they were channeling whatever they had been told. I had to admire their willingness to pass on bravery, even if it was clear they felt none of it.

Our emotions buffet us, and then events. Looking around, it all seems uncontrollable. Perhaps that’s good.

When I woke up, there were remnants of dreams floating through my thoughts, and they evaporated as soon as I tried to reach them, except for an image of a place I’ve never been to. Alleys and walls and a maze like feeling. Perhaps it was from reading all the tributes to Maradona. I shrieked when I saw the news. So young. Did I appreciate watching his brilliance? Not enough.

Then to think of what to be thankful for, there in the dark, with the water pouring down the windows.

The visions that come to mind are so precious, so condensed in their sweetness. Did the people know how much they gave me? Perhaps they hoped, for I was as unconscious and unwittingly cruel and distant as any person who has disappointed me.

I thought of things I’m grateful for that hurt me at the time. Passages that carved out their image on my skin, on how I view the world.

All part of the rolling sea rising and falling beneath me.

The light grew, and it was still quiet here, blissfully. No trucks, no jackhammering, no shouts. A bird called out that the rain was ending and it was.

I give thanks for all of you and all of the quiet thoughts that capture us.