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The sun and blue skies of the San Francisco Bay welcomed us to the New Year where we still find ourselves in a “holding pattern,” waiting for our next step. “Recuerdate, mija, que Dios dice, “ayudate que te ayudare”. Help yourself and I will help you. It’s good we kept our home in Oakland for incremental weathering of storms and transitional periods. It’s been our life raft, our vessel of sanity, that unlike planes in the air, has provided us a harbor where we can still have some will over our destiny. Planes in the air, hover, run dry and eventually must land regardless of the terrain.
Can a dream drift and float away? Can you watch it fade away with the passing of each day and then suddenly one waking moment notice its distance like the spec of dust on the outside of that bus — the same bus you take to work each day and look out into the now gray horizon of winter where sea meets land and sky? At what point did you go from “holding pattern” into “passing pattern”? How can you tell the difference when you’re in between? Fear and anxiety grip your insides and your next breath is like the shutting of a door. I think of “The Great Gatsby” and America rising from the ocean to the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock and that mysterious green light. Lucecitas.
We power the dimming of our lights, illuminating our own paths. Just sometimes the mire of obstacles makes the dock look much longer than I imagine it is. One foot in front of the other, one breath after the next.
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