Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
Grant me a wish for something indelible-- an indisputable irrefutable incontrovertible certainty that I will be Fine.
What is fine? Fine are sand grains holding worlds, my daughter's hair wisps stretching for the ceiling in static energy lengthening the moments as I gaze through ephemera.
Fine time slipping through gathered hands— sifting sugar with my son in kitchen streaked with sunrise, a fine golden hue resting somewhere between honey and chicken broth— steeped in the luxury of hours unnoticed: standing by the stove, eating fast, washing dishes, folding laundry, organizing and awaiting what's to come.
Fine silences like sun rays settling on sturdy shoulders. I sit with my husband in the empty room of questions. Fine with quiet.
In the end we do have our fine reliable certainty— that there is none.
Ali Zidel Meyers grew up in Ohio and has lived in California for the last 10 years. She was diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 33. Ali survived cancer and chemo--partly by writing--which she considered one of the most healing forms of treatment through her cancer experience. She's the mother of two children and is married to Adam Meyers. For more information about Ali and her work, see www.meyerslearningcenter.com.
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