Over FaceTime,
my daughter and I
study for her
college philosophy class.
She has a list of quotes
she is supposed to evaluate,
explain in context.
I squint at her face,
listen to her voice,
amplified through my computer speakers
from 1800 miles away.
I look for clues:
how is she really doing?
Epictetus,
she tells me,
was a Stoic.
He believed in
non-attachment.
If, instead of an onion
or a shellfish,
you are given a wife or child,
that’s great.
Be glad.
But don’t get attached.
Epictetus,
I tell my daughter,
is trying to get us to fake ourselves out,
to pretend that the people we love
are as replaceable as onions,
as numerous as shellfish,
which back then,
in the first century AD,
were more numerous than they are now.
Yes, she says,
he taught that you shouldn’t wish
for things to be the way you want them to be.
Instead,
you should want them to be the way they are.
You should never say that you have lost something
but that it has been returned.
It wasn’t ever yours.
Don’t view anything as permanent,
but as a traveler views a hotel.
Epictetus was a slave
and couldn’t walk very well
and adopted a child when he was an old man,
and when he says not to wish for things to be
the way you want them to be,
I assume his advice is well-meaning
and that he took it himself.
My daughter smiles,
sighs,
moves on to the next philosopher,
but I am still evaluating,
explaining in context,
realizing once more
how far away she is,
and that she stayed in my home temporarily
as a traveler in a hotel,
and then swam away like a shellfish,
realizing
that I have a little tear in my eye
as though I had been slicing an onion,
realizing
how attached I am to her,
Epictetus notwithstanding.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Epictetus, Source: Wikipedia.com
I had already written this post when I found this poem by Alice Walker called "How Poems are Made." It was such a perfect description of writing "Philosophy," and others I've written this week too, that I felt I had to include it. How often have I felt I love too much? It's embarrassing. What a relief to be able to put that "leftover love" into a poem.
How Poems are Made
by Alice Walker
Letting go
In order to hold one
I gradually understand
How poems are made.
There is a place the fear must go.
In order to hold one
I gradually understand
How poems are made.
There is a place the fear must go.
There is a place the choice must go.
There is a place the loss must go.
The leftover love.
The love that spills out
Of the too full cup
And runs and hides
Its too full self
In shame.
I gradually comprehend
How poems are made
To the upbeat flight of memories.
The flagged beats of the running
Heart.
Here's the rest of it. (You should click over and read it. Go on. It's short.)
And here's today's roundup.
And here's today's roundup.
8 comments:
Beautiful and moving poem, Ruth. Thanks for Walker's poem too, I can see why you thought it relevant to writing "Philosophy." Nice touch bringing in the onion detail again towards the end.
I do love Walker's poem, and it does explain a reason we write, but I love your poem more, Ruth. Maybe it's because you show your heart every time & maybe it's because I also have a daughter, and she swam out into the world, too. Thank you!
I love your poem, Ruth. It brought mama tears to my eyes (and my son is only 13!). The setting itself, where you two are in different places connected by technology, is evoking. And I love how you weave the thoughts of Epictetus, your daughter, and yourself together.
O my mother's heart, Ruth!
your heart-pour "Philosophy" is so perfectly poignant and also, potent.
I am in love with your kind of Mothering, which is mine, too.
And of course, an enslaved person would be understood to
hold back, self-preserve their heart, but hoping to feel
less attached, knowing all would be taken in a second.
And of course the person, not enslaved, me, you, can lose
it all in a second, too.
I don't know if you will show your daughter this poem, but
some day long down the trail, she will absolutely hug it
to her heart.
Appreciations.
Your poem made me a little teary-eyed. What a perfect way of bringing your Epictetus discussion into your own world.
Oh yes, I can relate to your Philosophy poem. I'm enjoying a brief visit from my daughter this weekend, but the stays are fleeting. Thank you, too, for sharing Walker's poem.
What incredible connections you made and enjoyed this week. Bravo for you....I think you passed the test in spades!
Wonderful poem, Ruth! With my son off to college this year, and my daughter testing her high school independence, I too am feeling like a temporary worker in this hotel we call "home."
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