Little Gidding:
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one."
-ts eliot

Warning: Fritz is waxing philosophically.

I am swimming in Lake Superior. My grandmother is at the shore, washing clothes. The longpierr stretches back to Starboard, the family cottage. The great pines are switching in the breeze. The water is pounding the sand. The little fish are scurrying in the undertow. I am eight.

I am visiting a client's home. He has Down's Syndrome and diabetes. He tells me he misses his father, who died when he was fourteen. His mother is in the garden, worrying her azaleas, speaking softly to the koi fish dawdling in the pond. The house is quiet within, except for the missive the man speaks for his father. I am twenty-six.

I am wandering through the aisles of Westminster Abbey. My parents are behind me, muttering over something significant written in Latin. I look above to the floating buttresses and the stained glass windows. I am transfixed by the light and the sounds of holiness. I am ten.

I walk through the damp, fetid hallways of Cabrini Green. I pass a tenant's door, and on it, in bright red spray paint is written "This whore is dying of AIDS". I take my paint brush, handed to me by the social activist group, and paint her door white. It takes many coats to cover the red. The door gleams in the Chicago sun, and I hope the tenant is given a fresh start. A clean entry. I am nineteen.

(and as the great waves become stronger, and wash my tiny legs under the surface of the lake, I becomebuoyantt, then weighty, and Grangie bounces in the distance. She is waving from the shore, un-worried. The waves are gray and black and green and blue. I am startled with the new strength of water carrying me farther and farther out from shore. And then, a great wave pulls me under, and I am in Lake Superior, alone and afraid. I cannot breathe. I struggle, and then open my eyes. Suddenly, it all becomes very clear: I see the seaweed dangling slowly in the watery air. I see the fish dancing in schools. I see great white rocks far beneath me. I hear the lull of the water above my head, pounding my ears. How peaceful it all is beneath the air, where life begins anew every moment. I am a ragdoll, being rushed and slowed by the tides. And in this space of time, I am caught breathless and amazed. I am just one tiny life stuck in-between waves of time. Yet, as I am danced beneath the waters, I find myself. Every inch of myself is discovered andreveledd in, and I know that life is truly the moments of clarity betwixt the rushings of great waves)

I am expelled, gasping for air, and slowly swim back to shore. My legs ache. My arms feel battered. I feel crushed and rejuvenated, for I have seen the end of my brief life, and have not feared it. As I stumble upon the beach, Grangie bends over and retrieves the laundry.

"Did you have a nice swim?" she asks.

Yes. I have had the best swim a woman could ever imagine.