the mystery of ourselves

"And men go abroad to admire the heights of mountains, the mighty waves of the sea, the broad tides of rivers, the compass of the ocean, and the circuits of the stars, yet pass over the mystery of themselves without a thought.”
― Augustine of Hippo, Confessions

there is so much that needs to be said, responded to, shared.

the boston marathon.  bombings in my hometown, us far away over here, and watching 'lincoln' that night, and thinking about our country, then and now, both looking so different from way over here.....zoe as a teenager...trying to differentiate herself, as i try to differentiate 'normal' teen behavior from pathology (haven't i learned yet to let that go?)......rosie being with us for a year, and her birthday tomorrow.  what all that means, she's lived one quarter of her life with us.....the national mental health referral hospital that i visited today, one flew over the coo-coo's nest, boney patients lying naked on cement floors in urine, zombi like women in matching green gowns shuffling toward me to paw at me while staring through me....and the strange woman at our door tonight...

but i only have fragments, because some days are like that. because each piece is so full.  because each one is a story.  each person in those stories, a story, a world, a mystery. and there are more, and there will be more.  and because i need to go wrap rosie's presents, and research about anti-psychotic medications and schizophrenia  (for my friends sister who is at that national referral mental hospital), and check the news for any updates on the boston marathon bomb disaster.

and in our fragments and our days, let us not pass over the mystery of ourselves and each other.
good night.