On being a yea-sayer
After one has looked at the host, menu lovingly planned, table lovingly set, and no guests arrived; and the tire burst along the night road and no help for it; and morning a long way off; and the lover in confusion at their lover, or the desolation and confusion of unrequited love; and the questioning eyes of the loved and suffering child, or the hard glance of the unloved child; and the abandonment and the misunderstandings, and the unexpected then lingering pains in the aging bodies; and the lies; and the adventurer frozen solid on the side of the beautiful mountain; and the merciless grind of injustice; and the endless list of disappointments and deprivations and sufferings; and the silent despair and the loneliness; and the weeping; and the desperate and unanswered prayer; and finally after one has looked at the constructed pile of skulls, and the gas chamber. And evil.
I do not mean passing glib acknowledgments of ‘the vicissitudes of life.’ I don’t mean temporary rage passing into politics. I mean looking long and square, until the whole terror of it passes into one’s bloodstream, into one’s bones, takes up permanent lodging in one’s heart and mind.
Then, if one can say yes to life. Yes, it is worth it. Yes, it is beautiful. Yes, I embrace it. Bring it on. Well, then, that is something, to me.