The full moon is due on Friday. I love to walk under its light. And when the clouds cross it it is so magical. The sea responds and churns and tosses. I am always glad to be out by the time I reach the Perygyl and stand on its end for then the world stretches out before me and its huge.
I found it hard to challenge her. She scares me a little. I know that there is an element of transference going on, I can’t help it. And sometimes, in repose, she can look quite sharp. She cried when she spoke of how she’d spend Christmas with her mother. There were just the two of them. I don’t mind that. Her emotions are near the surface and I like that she feels comfortable enough with me to let them show. I watched her as I spoke. She was defensive, naturally and the blame was mine. Or so it felt. So be it, my shoulders are broad enough. But it no longer makes me happy, hasn’t done for quite a while. We will try again next week. It will be boring, she said. Must it be? Isn’t it the teacher’s job to make it not so? We shall see.
He reported back. They’d told him what is wrong with him. And it is fatal. I hope he isn’t in pain. What must it be like to be dying and know you are? Of course, we all are, but for most of us it isn’t imminent. I imagine peace, a yielding but forget about the possible pain and discomfort and tedium and fear. I wish him rest, and ease and a gentle acceptance. But I don’t know him well, perhaps he will fight that dying of the light. Who knows?
