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Tetelestai is bound to make anyone uncomfortable, but when I was in college, I somehow could not get enough of it.

As a young woman I could not get enough of it.

It is lush, and it’s all-encompassing.  It’s a wild river.

The melancholy, the fear, the tenuousness.  The slamming grief.

I had no idea why I would listen to it again and again.  Why the words would resonate in me for so long.

“Dig through the interlaced roots — nevermore will you find me;

I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me”

The site on the internet – that writer said the poem is about death.  Well, are we dead?  It’s about the heart.

This poem, and the poems of Yeats, about aging, old age, gave me the anchor when I was just starting my life.  I was never morbid, never suicidal, although I had reason to be.  I always, always had hope and optimism about the future.  I always searched for things to try, and I always tried them at first opportunity.

I’m not a thrilled person, I’m mad and bitter when I’m out in public.  But I’m alive, I’m not a street person, I’m not sick, I’m not hurt or crippled, or a sex professional.  I’m not violent, and I have one perfectly delightful substance addiction, to moderate alcohol, which isn’t so bad, all things considered.  I can love.  I can walk, bend, squat, sprint, lift.  I have people who love me.  I have pretty much lifelong friends.  I had a love.  I’m true to my animals.  I support myself.  I own a house free and clear, and two Toyotas.  I have my teeth although a few are fake.    And most of the time I actually am happy, most of the time is fun for me.  I adore my children.  I have hope for the future.