Ives at the end of his life. He has overcome his grief and anger. Finally, for the first time in decades, he is at peace with his life. Yes, he still misses his son, Robert. But Ives is no longer paralyzed by sorrow. He can enjoy his wife and family. Church once again brings him comfort and happiness. Ives has reached the final stage of grief. Peaceful acceptance.
Well, I made it through the first week of teaching without killing anyone or getting fired. Yes, I still am pretty angry. However, I have decided to approach my situation at the literary magazine in a very healthy way: I'm going to exist in a state of denial. At least until next week. (I really don't have a choice, mind you. The decision has been made, and I am no longer going to be the poetry editor of the magazine. So, what I need to work on is peaceful acceptance, which may take a few decades, like Ives.)
Much in my life has changed over the summer. Two years ago, I was the youngest of nine siblings. Now, I am the youngest of seven siblings. A year ago, I was scheduling my first meeting as poetry editor. Now, I am a poetry editor in search of a job. A month ago, I was planning my vacation. This weekend, I am going to the funeral of my sister.
I can't change any of the facts in the preceding paragraph. They are beyond my control, as most things are in life. There are two options available to me. First, I could calmly accept my situation and try to find some peace. Second, I could remain in a constant state of pissed-off.
Guess which option Saint Marty is choosing tonight? Hint: it involves alcohol and not a small amount of cursing.
Testament
by: Wendell Berry
And now to the Abyss I pass
Of that Unfathomable Grass...
1.
Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath
Grows large and free in air, don't call it death --
A word to enrich the undertaker and inspire
His surly art of imitating life; conspire
Against him. Say that my body cannot now
Be improved upon; it has no fault to show
To the sly cosmetician. Say that my flesh
Has a perfect compliance with the grass
Truer than any it could have striven for.
You will recognize the earth in me, as before
I wished to know it in myself: my earth
That has been my care and faithful charge from birth,
And toward which all my sorrows were surely bound,
And all my hopes. Say that I have found
A good solution, and am on my way
To the roots. And say I have left my native clay
At last, to be a traveler; that too will be so.
Traveler to where? Say you don't know.
2.
But do not let your ignorance
Of my spirit's whereabouts dismay
You, or overwhelm your thoughts.
Be careful not to say
Anything too final. Whatever
Is unsure is possible, and life is bigger
Than flesh. Beyond reach of thought
Let imagination figure
Your hope. That will be generous
To me and to yourselves. Why settle
For some know-it-all's despair
When the dead may dance to the fiddle
Hereafter, for all anybody knows?
And remember that the Heavenly soil
Need not be too rich to please
One who was happy in Port Royal.
I may be already heading back,
A new and better man, toward
That town. The thought's unreasonable,
But so is life, thank the Lord!
3.
So treat me, even dead,
As a man who has a place
To go, and something to do.
Don't muck up my face
With wax and powder and rouge
As one would prettify
An unalterable fact
To give bitterness the lie.
Admit the native earth
My body is and will be,
Admit its freedom and
Its changeability.
Dress me in the clothes
I wore in the day's round.
Lay me in a wooden box.
Put the box in the ground.
4.
Beneath this stone a Berry is planted
In his home land, as he wanted.
He has come to the gathering of his kin,
Among whom some were worthy men,
Farmers mostly, who lived by hand,
But one was a cobbler from Ireland,
Another played the eternal fool
By riding on a circus mule
To be remembered in grateful laughter
Longer than the rest. After
Doing that they had to do
They are at ease here. Let all of you
Who yet for pain find force and voice
Look on their peace, and rejoice.
Adventures of STICKMAN
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