Like Magellan, let us find our islands
to die in, far from home, from anywhere
Familiar. Let us risk the wildest places,
Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.
...For what is life but reaching for an answer?
And what is death but a refusal to grow?...
..."Sail on, sail on!" he cried.
And so they did, carried the frail dream homeward.
And thus Magellan lives, although he died.
Oh Mary, you are giving answers today on how to live, which adds to the themes I see running in you that I summarized in the poem, "Answers" on January 19. To live, we take risks, seek the dream, and look for answers. To live, we die. There is nothing about comfort anywhere in the agenda. Yet here I sit in warm layers and a freshly brewed cup of coffee with dashes of chocolate, and to live I am to dash off from this domestic scene and step out into the dark that crowds my windows? I get what this poem suggests, but how exactly to do I leave home that smells of my identity, cooking through the long years? Ah, I see, in this asking I might lose myself and find those paradise islands.
Where in your life would you trade comfort in to risk living a wild, authentic life?
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