I know I am designed “to go on being.” And to “go on being” not just anybody. Not an idealized, cleaned up version of myself. Nor an aspirational version. But a plain and quirky, occasionally brilliant, more often ordinary and flawed Sara: one-of-a-kind.
Yet I forget. I forget to trust my design.
Life itself provides the reminders, as well as the support and pleasures of “going on being” in the company of other one-of-a-kinders.
recommissioned in perpetuity
by Sara Eisenberg
a wisdom-mechanism within
moves inexorably towards wholeness,
around, over, through the
barriers I have erected
(put in place for the Highest Good at the time: survival.) I
study myself to know I
am alive, have a place. I
push myself. I
push against myself
unforgiving towards my
self as a flaw in creation. I
move out of the center of my attention,
move towards you: I
push against you or disappear
(Reb Nachman said, ‘All the world is just a narrow bridge.”
Just so my bandwidth for connection.)
in my 02 Honda the check engine light comes on.
Gary the technician reminds me it could be nothing, again, or one
of ninety-two possible malfunctions.
Brenda the healer reminds me I can bear the incompleteness I
the battery of the loaner car, parked
in front of my house
Daniel and Leah bear witness to the day’s
recommissions: I trust
my existence, relax
in my skin, dance
as I wash dishes,