Beate Sigriddaughter
Ambivalence
Contrary to excellent advice, she decides to continue to take life personally. Selectively perhaps.
A friend who simply forgets—that can go as nothing personal. Likewise, the tree stump off trail
that tripped her weeks ago. And recently she formally forgave the music a careless seducer
played for her some decades ago. The music enchants her again.
Then there are things worth keeping. Once at the end of an argument, three butterflies landed on
her lover’s hand and shoulder. How could she not take that personally? And when a flower made
the effort to fall into the Buddha’s meditative hands, she hopes even the Buddha took it
personally.
her lover’s hand and shoulder. How could she not take that personally? And when a flower made
the effort to fall into the Buddha’s meditative hands, she hopes even the Buddha took it
personally.
It’s okay, she decides, to amble in ambivalence. No one is waiting. She can safely continue to
build bridges, walk across whether there is water or not, allow herself to be a little careless with
reality, always in a rush like a young river filled with wilderness.
build bridges, walk across whether there is water or not, allow herself to be a little careless with
reality, always in a rush like a young river filled with wilderness.
Other work by Beate Sigriddaughter