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The essence of surrender is getting out of God's way so that He can do in us what He also wants to do through us.

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Mark Doty

It's unsettling, to lose the safety of the familiar, even when what's disrupted is an ordinary routine. When I began this poem, I was grieving for the loss of my old barbershop in Manhattan, and wondering at the strangeness of my new one. I didn't have any idea the poem would break into the underworld, opening a deeper subject: the continuing force of the old griefs routine helps to mediate, and my strange, sheer wonder at my own survival. Where's home now? In the contingent present, in which anything can disappear, and where we're sometimes granted some form of grace.

Deeper, Grief, Home, Loss, Routine, Wonder
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Being in grief, it turns out, is not unlike being in love. In both states, the imagination's entirely occupied with one person. The beloved dwells at the heart of the world, and becomes a Rome: the roads of feeling all lead to him, all proceed from him. Everything that touches us seems to relate back to that center: there is no other emotional life, no place outside the universe of feeling centered on its pivotal figure.

Grief, Heart, Being In Love, Person, Roads, Figure

Even sad stories are company. And perhaps that's why you might read such a chronicle, to look into a companionable darkness that isn't yours.

Chronicle, Companionable, Darkness, Looks, Read, Stories

Love, I think, is a gateway to the world, not an escape from it.

Gateway, Gateways, Think, Thinking, World

We long to connect; we fear that if we do, our freedom and individuality will disappear.

Disappear, Individuality, Long

Here and gone. That’s what it is to be human, I think—to be both someone and no one at once, to hold a particular identity in the world (our names, our place of origins, our family and affectional ties) and to feel that solid set of ties also capable of dissolution, slipping away, as we become moments of attention.

Identity, Names, Particular, Thinking, Ties
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